ChroniclesOfSKZ

UN,DEUX,TROIS!

[chroniclesofskz]

Started: 30/01/25

Last updated: 06/07/25

Stray kids imagines

Lee Felix Bang chan Hyunjin

[boredmadamoiselle]

end of beginning

Pairing: Husband!Steve Harrington x wife!reader

Summary: All you ever wanted was a family. All Steve ever dreamed of was becoming a father. It should be simple. What if it isn’t?

Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress

English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!

Word count: +8k

Author's note: Girls, be ready: this is going to be really, really angst but it'll be worth it, I promise you! Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!

You arrived in Hawkins on an overcast afternoon in early fall of 1989, with two suitcases, a folded map, and the quiet determination of someone who had decided to start over. 

The town had greeted you with quiet streets, orange leaves scattered across the sidewalks, and that peculiar stillness that seemed to settle over everything once the summer crowds were gone. You didn’t know anyone. There were no familiar faces waiting for you, no relatives, no history tying you to the place.

Just a new beginning you had chosen for yourself.

It was scary but exciting at the same time. You couldn't wait to see what your new life had in store for you. You had a good feeling about it. 

You rented a small apartment downtown, modest, and slightly outdated, but it was warm. Safe. And, most importantly, yours. You told yourself that was enough. A few days later, the new semester began, and with it your job as a secretary at Hawkins Elementary School. It wasn’t the position you were looking for but there were no available positions as art teacher at the moment, so you had settled for what you could have, promising yourself it was only temporary. Sooner or later you would teach in classrooms full of paint-stained hands and creative minds. 

On your second day after starting the job, you met Steve Harrington. 

You were carrying a stack of folders as you tried to balance them against your chest while pushing the office door open with your shoulder. The door suddenly opened from the other side and the folders wobbled. A pair of hands reached out just in time, steadying the pile before it could collapse to the floor.

“Whoa,” a warm voice said, lightly amused. “Careful there.”

You raised your eyes towards your interlocutor and saw him. That was the first time you saw Steve Harrington. 

He was taller than you. Broad-shouldered, with soft brown eyes similar to chocolate and an expression that mixed concern and easy confidence in a way that felt oddly disarming. His hand still rested against the top folder, as if he was making sure you truly had it under control before letting go. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, adjusting your grip.

“No problem,” he replied. Then, after a small pause, “Hey. You’re new.”

You nodded quickly, smiling and said your name. “I started yesterday. I’m the new secretary,” you said timidly as if you were confessing something dirty, guilty. 

His eyes flickered with recognition, like a puzzle piece had just clicked into place. “Oh. So you’re the one everyone’s been talking about.” He smiled, crooked and genuine. “I’m Steve. Steve Harrington. Baseball coach and sex education teacher.”

You blinked and looked at him confused. “Everyone?”

“Small town,” he shrugged lightly. “New face. Big news.”

That was how it started.

At first, he was just a presence you saw in the hallways. A casual greeting in the morning. A quick conversation along the school corridors. A familiar figure leaning against lockers or kneeling beside children with untied shoelaces and scraped knees. Just a name mentioned by teachers and others colleagues. You noticed how the kids gravitated toward him instinctively, how he spoke to them at eye level, never dismissive, never rushed. He was patient, careful. And you couldn’t deny that it was fascinating to see a man interact with them like that.  

You were staying late to organize paperwork, the office quiet and dim except for the soft hum of the overhead lights, when you heard a gentle knock against the doorframe.

Steve stood there, arms crossed loosely, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re still here,” he said.

“So are you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Fair point.”

There was a brief silence, comfortable rather than awkward, before he stepped inside and reached for a stack of folders without asking.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But I want to.”

From that evening on, it became a habit. And then, before you could really realize it, you became friends really quick. He began to be everywhere. He waited for you in the mornings in the school parking lot, next to his car, just to have the chance to say ‘hello’ before you started your day. He walked you out after work. Sometimes, when he didn’t have practice, he gave you a ride home. He stopped by the office between classes just to talk, leaning casually against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world when in reality he was already late. He had lunch with you talking about the most random things that somehow always made you laugh.

Soon after, he also started picking you up before work. 

At first, you protested. “You really don’t have to drive me every day, Steve.”

“It’s on my way.”

“It’s not,” you said back. 

He grinned. “It is now.”

And somehow, after a few days, you found yourself listening for the sound of his car in the morning without even realizing it.

With him, Hawkins began to feel smaller. Less intimidating. Warmer. He showed you shortcuts through town, pointed out the best diner for late-night pie, the quiet park where no one went in the evenings, the video store where he had worked with his friend Robin. He introduced you to her one afternoon, and she eyed you curiously for exactly three seconds before launching into rapid-fire sarcasm that made you laugh despite yourself. Then came Dustin, Eddie, and the rest of that chaotic, strange group that revolved around him like an unconventional but loyal, lovely family. Before long, they became your friends too and you stopped feeling like a stranger. 

And soon Steve became something more than just a friend or a colleague, even if neither of you wanted to say it out loud. He was kind in a quiet, unshowy way. Protective without suffocating. Funny without trying too hard. You adored the way he cared for the children at school — tying shoelaces, wiping tears, listening to their stories as if each one truly mattered. It came so naturally to him as if he had always been meant to be around kids. Like he was already practicing for something bigger.

Some afternoons, you stayed after school and sat on the bleachers during baseball practice, your elbows resting on your knees and a book open in your lap that you rarely read. Your eyes drifted back to him again and again — the way he encouraged the kids, the way he clapped his hands and cheered when someone managed to hit the ball, the way he crouched down to reassure the shy ones. Sometimes his eyes met yours, other times you found him already looking at you.

It didn’t take long before he started flirting. Softly at first. Playfully. Like he wasn’t sure how far he could push. It started with simple things. A teasing comment about how you looked. A lingering glance a second too long.

You ignored them at first.  You had heard the whispers about Steve Harrington. The former heartbreaker. The popular boy. The one with a reputation. And part of you assumed that the charm, the softness, the little compliments, they were simply part of his nature. That he flirted with every girl and that it probably meant nothing.

And you refused to be just another name on his list or to lose his friendship. It meant too much. 

So every time  you laughed it off and changed the subject. But it was hard to ignore the way he looked at you. The way he made you feel beautiful without even saying the word. The way he listened when you talked. He made you feel safe without trying too much and seen in a way no one had ever bothered to before.

And while every woman in town was making eyes at him, Steve seemed to have eyes only for you. 

Sometimes, during baseball practice, you overheard mothers or older sisters whispering in the stands.

“How is Steve Harrington still single?”

“He’s so handsome.”

“I would absolutely take my chance if I wasn’t already married.”

And every single time, something inside your chest tightened. Jealousy.

The winter school dance became the turning point.

You and Steve had both volunteered as supervisors, walking slowly across the decorated gymnasium while children laughed under cheap string lights and paper snowflakes taped unevenly to the walls. Soft music played in the background, nostalgic and unexpectedly romantic for a room full of kids.

You were adjusting a crooked decoration when a shadow fell in front of you. The air around you suddenly shifted and you knew it was him even before you turned around. 

Steve stood there, one hand slightly extended, his other shoved awkwardly into his pocket. His usual confidence seemed softened by something almost… nervous.

“Dance with me,” he said.

You blinked. “Steve, we’re supposed to supervise.”

“We are supervising,” he replied, glancing around. “From the dance floor.”

You huffed a quiet laugh despite yourself, but your hand remained at your side.

He didn’t move it closer or insist. He waited, patiently. 

You were grateful for the music because your heart was pounding so loud that you were afraid that Steve could hear it.

This is just Steve, you told yourself. He flirts. He jokes. That’s who he is.

But the way he was looking at you now didn’t feel like a joke. It felt serious as if it wasn’t just an invitation to dance but something more. Like the beginning of something. 

Were you ready? 

Slowly, hesitantly, you placed your hand in his. His fingers closed around yours gently, almost reverently, as if he understood that this small gesture meant more than a simple dance.

From that moment on, you never truly let go of his hand, you kept dancing and everything moved faster than you had ever expected.

You eventually said yes. 

Yes to the first real date.

Yes to the second.

Yes to the life that slowly began forming around the two of you.

It felt less like a beginning and more like the continuation of something that had already been growing between you for months.

A few months later, you moved in together.

A year after that, on a quiet evening filled with nervous laughter and shining eyes, Steve Harrington got down on one knee, his hands trembling just slightly as he looked up at you.

And you said yes again.

And soon after, you became — officially, irrevocably, and happily — Mrs. Harrington.

The name still felt new, unfamiliar on your tongue.

You and Steve had managed to buy a house in Forest Hills — the one that had been Steve’s dream long before it ever became yours. He had shown it to you during one of your very first dates, back when everything between you was still new. You still remembered the way he had parked the car across the street, almost sheepish, fingers drumming nervously against the steering wheel before glancing at you. “Don’t get scared. I know it’s a little early to be showing you this,” he had said, clearing his throat. “But… I’ve been saving for it. For months.”

From the outside, the house was bigger than anything you had expected. A wide porch, tall windows that caught the sunlight, and a front garden that had clearly been left a little too wild but still beautiful in its own way. It wasn’t perfect. Some parts needed repainting, the fence leaned slightly, and the lawn wasn’t as neat as it could have been. But it was beautiful in a way that felt lived-in already, as if it was simply waiting. 

You had fallen in love with it before even stepping inside.

Steve had walked ahead of you with boyish excitement, pushing the front door open and turning back to look at you as if your reaction mattered more than anything else.

“Three bedrooms,” he had said, gesturing toward the hallway. “Big kitchen. Two bathrooms. And of course the garden.”

His voice had softened then, almost unconsciously. “I always thought… maybe after I get married. Move here. Fill it up.”

You had paused in the middle of the living room, sunlight pooling at your feet, dust motes floating lazily in the air.

“Fill it up with what?” you had asked, even though you already knew the answer.

He had smiled, that crooked, hopeful smile that always made your chest tighten. “Kids. A lot of them.” A quiet laugh. “This one’s gonna be chaos one day.”

Any other girl would have thought it was too soon to talk about that kind of stuff. Another girl might have been scared by that kind of certainty so early on. But you hadn’t been. Because even then, even when you refused to admit it out loud — especially to him — you were already falling in love with Steve. As you walked along those walls, you were already picturing yourself in that house with him. His dream was already yours. 

Years later, when you finally crossed that same threshold as his wife, the feeling hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only deepened.

The house was bigger than the apartment you had once shared. Fuller of light. The kitchen was wide and sunlit in the mornings, the kind of place where Steve leaned against the counter with a mug in hand and messy hair, talking about his day before it had even begun. The living room still needed a few finishing touches, and some of the walls had been repainted together on long weekends filled with laughter and paint-stained clothes. One of the three bedroom quickly became yours. Clothes, books, scattered sketches, and the quiet comfort of shared routines. The second was immediately claimed as a guest room, mostly because Dustin and the others had the habit of showing up very often and staying longer than planned, filling the house with noise, jokes, and the familiar chaos that followed Steve everywhere. The third room remained empty for now even though you had both already decided what it would become. 

It was going to be your child’s room. When, not if.

Because there had never been any doubt that you and Steve would have children. The only real discussion between you had been the number of kids you wanted.

“I want six,” he had confessed one afternoon, back when you were just friends, completely serious as he leaned back in his chair. “Six little nuggets. Minimum.”

You had laughed so hard you nearly choked on your drink.

“Six? Steve, that’s an entire basketball team.”

“I’m serious,” he had insisted, smiling but unwavering. “Big house. Loud. Messy. Full of life.”

You had rolled your eyes back then, teasing him, calling him dramatic and insisting that six was excessive even for someone who adored children as much as he did.

“Poor wife,” you had said and at those words Steve had looked at you. 

Now that you were finally married it was only a matter of time before that empty room would be painted in soft colors, filled with toys, laughter, and tiny footsteps echoing through the hallway. Or at least… that was what you had believed when you had decided to try for a baby. 

But months passed and nothing happened.

At first, it had been easy. Exciting. Almost playful. You and Steve had always had a very active sex life, and after deciding to try for a baby, your libido had only increased. Every free moment turned into stolen kisses, touches and laughter echoing through the halls of your new home. You inaugurated every corner of the house like it was part of some private ritual. Steve would pull you into his arms in the kitchen, grin against your lips, and murmur, “Practice,” as if the word itself was a joke only the two of you shared. Nights dissolved into tangled sheets, soft moans, and whispered conversations in the dark. Mornings began with lazy kisses and hopeful glances that neither of you addressed directly. Every delayed cycle gave you a flicker of excitement, making you optimistic and believe you were pregnant Then, negative tests began to pile up in the trash can one after another, each one heavier than the last. Each one stealing a little more of your patience and hope. 

Steve never pressured or questioned you. He remained blissfully positive and loved you the same way he always had. He remained patient and kept repeating that it was only a matter of time before it happened. 

But a whisper of doubt settled into your thoughts, soft at first, then persistent. You kept wondering if you were doing something wrong or what you were missing.

So you made an appointment with a specialist without telling Steve. You didn’t want to worry him yet. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe, as he had said, you just needed a little more time. 

Then, a few days before the appointment, you started to feel nauseous in the morning and to vomit. And your cycle… was late. You noticed it in silence, standing in the kitchen one morning with the calendar open on the counter and your heart beating faster than it had in months.

It felt like a sign. A quiet, almost sacred certainty settled in your chest. The timing felt too precise to be just a coincidence or a mistake. As if fate itself had intervened just before the appointment, as if the universe had decided to spare you the worry and give you the answer you had been praying for. So you didn’t take a test and decided to wait. You wanted to hear it from a doctor. From someone who could look at you, confirm it and make it real. Official. In the days that separated you from the visit you started to smile more around Steve. You let his arms linger around your waist a little longer. Watched him move around the house with that easy warmth, completely unaware that you were already fantasizing how you would tell him the happy news. 

When the day of the visit finally arrived, you sat in the doctor’s office with your hands folded tightly in your lap, thumb rubbing absent circles against your knuckles as the doctor reviewed your results. The place smelled faintly of disinfectant and the lights were too bright, almost blinding. 

When the doctor finally spoke, his voice was calm. 

“You’re not pregnant.”

You froze, your breath caught in your throat. Then you swallowed, nodding slowly, already preparing yourself to accept it like all the other disappointments before. 

Of course you were disappointed but it wasn’t news to you. You reminded yourself that that was the main reason you had gone to see a specialist. To understand better what was happening. To find a solution. 

You were about to say something, to ask him what should be done now but the doctor beat you to it. 

“There is something else we need to discuss, Mrs. Harrington.”

Your fingers tightened in your lap.

The room suddenly felt colder. Smaller. The faint ticking of a clock somewhere behind you became unbearably loud.

He folded his hands on the desk, his expression careful, almost apologetic. Why? What was he apologizing for?, you thought. 

“Based on your tests…” he paused, choosing his words with precision, “…it is very unlikely that you will be able to conceive.” For a moment, you didn’t fully understand. Silence filled the room so completely that you could have sworn you heard something crack inside your chest. Your mind struggled to register the rest. Medical explanations blurred together into indistinct sounds. Percentages. Options. Terms that felt distant and unreal, as if they were being spoken to someone else entirely. But all you could hear was one truth echoing over and over again.

You would never become a mother.

And that meant that Steve would never become a father. 

The image of him flashed in your mind instantly. The way he talked about kids. The way his voice softened around them. The way he dreamed aloud about a full house, laughter, chaos, love.

Six little nuggets.

In the span of a few minutes, you had gone from “I might be carrying a child with the man I love” to “I may never be able to give him one”.

The doctor hadn’t just taken something from you. He had taken the future Steve had been dreaming of long before you ever entered his life. The future that once had seemed so certain to you, now it wasn’t anymore. 

It felt more like the end of beginning. -

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Your hands remained locked around the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the worn leather, your breath shallow and uneven as the doctor’s words replayed inside your head over and over again with cruel precision, as if they had carved themselves into your mind.

Not pregnant.

And likely… unable to conceive naturally.

You stared at the house in front of you — your house — and felt something inside you shift in a way you couldn’t yet name.

How were you supposed to walk inside and tell the man you loved that his biggest dream —six little nuggets, a house full of laughter, children running through the halls— might never happen? That the future you had both spoken about in half-jokes and late-night whispers had suddenly become uncertain because of you. Because your body might not be able to do the one thing you had always assumed it would. And apparently there was nothing you could do to fix it. 

You were feeling helpless. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead briefly against the steering wheel as a tear slipped free. You wiped it away before it could fall any further, inhaled slowly, deeply, and forced your face into something resembling calm.

When you opened the front door, the smell reached you first — tomatoes simmering with garlic and onion — followed by the low hum of a radio playing softly from the kitchen and the clink of a spoon against a pan.

You walked toward the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

Steve stood at the stove in an old Hawkins High T-shirt and jeans, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, stirring a saucepan with focused care. A large pot of pasta boiled beside him, steam curling toward the ceiling. On the counter sat a bowl of chopped parsley, grated parmesan in a small dish, and a loaf of sliced Italian bread wrapped in a clean kitchen towel to keep it warm. He was doing his famous spaghetti with homemade meat sauce and garlic bread brushed with butter and herbs. Your favorite meal. Unpretentious, simple but good. 

The table had already been set — two plates aligned neatly, cloth napkins folded beside the forks, candles unlit but ready. In the center sat a small bouquet of daisies in a glass jar, slightly crooked but bright. His shoulders were relaxed, completely unaware that your world had tilted on its axis just an hour before.

You stayed there for a second longer than necessary, enjoying the moment and watching him, memorizing the simple scene as if it were something you might lose the second you opened your mouth.

Steve turned suddenly, startled by your presence and then his face softened into that familiar smile that you loved—the one that had undone you years ago when you first met.

“Hey,” he said warmly. “Perfect timing. Dinner’s almost ready.”

He crossed the room without hesitation and cupped your face gently before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You forced yourself to kiss him back. But when he pulled away, his eyes searched your face, lingering on it a second longer than usual. 

He knew your moods. Your silences. The subtle shifts in your expression. He knew you too well to know when there was something bothering you. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb lightly along your cheekbone.

The truth rushed up your throat, sharp and suffocating.

You swallowed it down and nodded instead, smiling. “Just a little tired,” you said, your voice quieter than usual. “I’ll go wash my hands so we can eat.”

His brows knit for half a second, but he still nodded. “Okay. I’ll plate everything.”

Dinner tasted like nothing. Your stomach was tight, your chest heavier with every passing minute, yet you forced yourself to eat, nodding at the right moments, smiling when Steve told you about his day. About his lesson. About practice. About how the kids had improved with their throws. His eyes lit up as he spoke, animated and proud, hands gesturing as he talked between bites. He was so proud of his students. His kids. Normally you loved listening to him talking about them but now every word about it felt like a needle pressing deeper into your chest, reminding you how he would be such a good father. He already carried that instinct in him. He was patient, sweet and encouraging. Kids, his students, everyone loved him.

When he finally asked about your day, your grip on your fork tightened. You didn’t know what to do or to say. Part of you knew that that was the perfect occasion to tell tell him the truth. Right there. At the table. With the music still playing and the flowers still fresh and his hand resting near yours. And you didn’t want to lie to him. You never had and just the idea of it sat wrong on your tongue. But you also knew that once you told the truth, there was no going back. Everything — your life, your relationship — would change irreparably. Forever. 

You looked at him. At the man who had built a life with you. Who had already filled a third bedroom with plans instead of furniture. Who talked about future children like they were already there with you.

You weren’t ready to take his dream away from him yet, even though you were already living your worst nightmare. So you pushed the words back down once again. 

“Normal,” you simply said, taking his hand as if that alone could anchor you. “A bit boring. A lot of documents and calls.”

It was a half-truth but you still hated it. 

Later, after the dishes were washed and the radio had gone quiet, you told him you were going upstairs.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he said, drying his hands on a towel.

You climbed the steps slowly.

Halfway down the hallway, you stopped. The door to the third bedroom was slightly ajar. You hadn’t meant to look inside, but you still did. 

You stepped into the doorway, your fingers brushing lightly against the frame. The room was empty except for few cardboard boxes in the corner that you hadn’t opened yet, while the window was letting in the soft blue of evening. You remembered standing there months ago with Steve, both of you imagining out loud where a crib might go. Where a rocking chair would fit. Laughing about how you’d probably argue over paint colors. At that time you had been full of hope, believing it would happen at any moment. 

You've never been so wrong, you thought. 

Now, when you looked around the room, it felt different. Not empty in a hopeful way. Just empty.

You stared at the walls and, for the first time since leaving the doctor’s office, you allowed the weight of his words to settle fully in your chest. 

Maybe this room — the one that had once felt full of possibility — would never change.

Maybe it would stay exactly as it was — quiet, untouched. 

Your vision started blurring. Footsteps creaked softly on the stairs behind you, and you quickly wiped at your eyes, forcing your breathing to steady before Steve could reach you.

-

In the days that followed, you treated the diagnosis the way one treated grief.

You denied it.

The more you replayed the appointment in your mind, the more it didn’t make sense. The doctor must have been mistaken. Maybe the tests were wrong. You were young and healthy. You didn’t smoke and had even stopped drinking to improve your chances. You and Steve were happy and deeply in love. There was no logical reason for your body to fail you.

That was the conclusion you clung to.

So you buried yourself in research withdrawing books from the library and buying every guide you could find. While Steve slept, you read late into the night about ovulation cycles, timing, positioning — anything, everything that could help you. You asked discreet questions to friends and colleagues who already had children, scribbling mental notes and trying every suggestion one after the other. You tracked cycles, symptoms, dates and every single, even the smallest, change in your body that could indicate you were pregnant. 

You convinced yourself that if you tried hard enough, it would happen. That the diagnosis was just a mistake waiting to be disproven. 

Every month that passed without a result felt like a personal failure. Every time your cycle returned, it felt like confirmation of the doctor’s words. You would lock yourself in the bathroom for a few minutes longer than necessary, staring at the sink, steadying your breathing before facing him again.

Every private moment with Steve became an opportunity to conceive. What had once been spontaneous, passionate, full of laughter and love slowly turned into something else—something more urgent, more calculated. It wasn’t about pleasure or intimacy anymore, it had begun to feel more like a task, something necessary. You sought him out with a kind of urgency that surprised even you. In the kitchen while dinner simmered. In the living room with the television still murmuring in the background. In the bedroom in the middle of a Sunday afternoon when sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains. You pulled him close without preamble, without the slow build you once loved. Even at school, behind the locked door of an empty classroom during a long break, or later in the quiet of the locker room after practice, when the building had mostly emptied and the halls had fallen silent. 

At first, Steve responded with the same warmth he always had. He laughed when you surprised him and wrapped his arms around you instinctively, kissing you back without question. But there were moments when he hesitated and confusion crossed his face. 

One evening, when Steve returned home, you were already waiting for him in the foyer. The soft blue babydoll barely skimmed your thighs, the delicate fabric almost translucent in the warm light of the hallway. Lace traced the neckline, falling open just enough to leave very little to the imagination. You had brushed your hair, put on just enough makeup to look effortless, and waited.

When the door finally opened and Steve stepped inside, the cool air from outside still clinging to him, you didn’t give him time to do anything more than shut it behind him. You crossed the space between you in two quick steps and kissed him. Hard. Your hands were already on him — sliding up his chest, fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt, working them open before he could even set his bag down. He froze for half a second before kissing you back and dropping the bag. Then his hands came to your waist automatically, pulling you closer. 

“Hey —” 

You barely heard him. Your lips moved along his jaw, down to his neck, your fingers slipping under the fabric of his shirt as you tried to pull it from his shoulders.

He caught your wrists gently and you looked up at him, breath slightly uneven, confusion flickering across your face.

“Hey,” he repeated softly. “Slow down.”

You forced a small smile, tilting your head as if the request amused you and didn’t say anything. Your lips brushed the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t move to meet them this time. His hands tightened slightly around your wrists, trying to stop you. His eyes searched your face. 

“Baby, I just got home,” he said gently.

“That never really stopped you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be? I just need you, Steve.” Your voice softened, almost pleading now. 

You slipped one hand free and kissed him again, deeper this time, your fingers sliding down his chest toward the waistband of his jeans.

He exhaled sharply and stepped back just enough to stop you. “Okay,” he murmured, voice still calm but firmer now. “Hold on.”

Your brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” you asked.

His hands moved to your shoulders this time, steadying you.  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Your expression hardened slightly. “What does that mean?”

Steve exhaled quietly, his gaze flicked down for a second — the outfit, the way you were practically pressed against him — before returning to your face. “You didn’t even let me take my jacket off.” 

A humorless laugh escaped you.

He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong.” He hesitated, clearly choosing his words with care. “You look incredible. And I love coming home to you like this. Believe me, I’m trying very hard not to just throw you over my shoulder right now and take you upstairs.” A small, almost apologetic smile crossed his face before it faded. “But I think something is going on. And I don’t know what it is. 

Your spine stiffened and you stepped away from him, putting distance between you. 

“Lately you’ve been… I don’t know… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, crossing your arms defensively. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Sometimes you seem miles away. Tense. And then suddenly the opposite, and you’re…” He gestured vaguely toward you. “…all over me.”

You jaw tightened. “And that’s a problem now? You didn’t seem to mind before.” You said, irritation creeping into your tone.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he replied immediately. 

You turned away from him, walking a few steps into the living room. Your bare feet crossed the rug as you stopped near the couch, arms folding loosely across your stomach. For a moment you simply stood there, staring at nothing, your back to him. You wished you had a glass of wine in your hand.

“We’re trying for a baby, Steve,” you said, sharper than you intended. “Or did you forget?”

The moment the words left your mouth, regret hit instantly and silence fell between you. You exhaled slowly, gaze dropping to the floor. 

Behind you, Steve sighed. He stepped closer, slower, as if approaching something fragile, not sure if getting closer was the right or wrong thing to do. 

“I didn’t forget,” he said quietly. “Of course I didn’t. Not for a second. It’s just that lately it feels like that is all we do…”

You felt him before you saw him. His hands slid gently along your arms — slow, careful — until they reached your fingers. Your shoulders dropped a little. You turned around but kept your gaze down, unable to meet his eyes.

“But this…” he gestured vaguely between you, “this doesn’t feel like us.”

You crossed your arms, your nails dug into your palms.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. Your voice trembled despite your effort to steady it.

He sighed, and the sound alone nearly broke you, making you feel terrible guilty. You briefly looked at him. Up close, the tiredness on his face was impossible to miss. Was he tired of you?

Your gaze returned to the floor and you closed your eyes. 

After a moment you felt his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest. You stiffened for a moment and then slowly melted into him.

“Hey,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a slow kiss to the top of your head. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“That’s not true.”

You shook your head, clinging to the only defense you had left.

“I’m just tired,” you said. “And frustrated.”

Another silence. 

Then his hand came up to cup your cheek, gently forcing you to look at him. His expression was soft. Loving. Concerned. Completely unaware of the storm inside you. 

“I know how much having a baby means to you and I know that it’s not happening as fast as you hoped,” he said quietly. 

Your vision blurred. “To us,” you corrected in a whisper. “How much it means to us.” 

He nodded immediately. “To us.”

His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“But it’s not something we can force or control,” he continued gently. 

Your breath hitched.

“And there is nothing wrong with you,” he added softly. “Okay? Sometimes these things just take time. When it’s the right moment, it’ll happen. We just have to be patient.”

The world tilted, his words struck deeper than he could possibly know. He was being kind. Patient. Careful. And unknowingly pressing his fingers directly into the deepest, most hidden wound inside your chest.

You let out a broken sound before you could stop it, your face collapsing against his shoulder as the tears finally spilled over.

Steve’s arms tightened around you immediately.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, alarmed now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

If only he knew that his reassurance felt like a knife wrapped in velvet.

That you weren’t okay. 

That there was actually something wrong with you.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt, crying as he held you, his hand moving up and down your back in slow, soothing motions.

“Listen to me,” he whispered. “Even if it takes time, it doesn’t change anything. Not us. Not our life. And for sure not how much I love you.”

Your heart shattered quietly inside your chest. He believed this was simply frustration, that you were hurt by the waiting. Instead you were already mourning something he still believed was only a matter of time.

And still, you said nothing.

You only nodded weakly against him, letting him comfort a pain he didn’t understand entirely, while the truth sat heavy and unspoken on your tongue, growing larger, heavier, and more impossible to confess with every passing day.

-

A few days later, you didn’t need a test to know you weren’t pregnant.

Punctual like clockwork, your cycle had arrived once again. You were alone at home when you saw the blood on the toilet paper, and for a second the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The bathroom light hummed faintly above you as the realization hit all at once. A scream tore out of your throat before you could stop it. It echoed against the bathroom tiles, sharp and raw, your hands gripping the edge of the sink as your vision blurred with tears. Your chest rose and fell too quickly, breaths uneven, desperate, as if air itself had suddenly become harder to find.

Another negative. Another silent confirmation of what you were trying so hard not to believe.

“No,” you whispered hoarsely, even if all you wanted to do was scream. “No, no, no…”

In the days that followed, you sought second opinions.

And third.

Then fourth.

You sat in sterile offices again and again, your hands folded tightly in your lap, one leg continuously hitting the floor while specialists reviewed your charts with polite, professional expressions. Each visit began with a fragile thread of hope. The doctors spoke carefully, their voices gentle, sympathetic, measured. But the conclusion never changed. And even though the wording was different, yet the meaning remained the same.

Visit after visit, your hope dissolved piece by piece, replaced first by disappointment, then by anger, and finally by something heavier. Something quieter. Something that settled deep in your chest and refused to move.

Acceptance.

The truth now sat inside you like a stone, growing heavier each day. Meanwhile, the lies you told Steve —small, harmless on the surface—began to pile up between you like bricks in a wall you had never meant to build. You found yourself drifting further away from him, even when you were sitting right beside him on the couch. You smiled when he looked at you, nodded at the right moments when he spoke, laughed when the situation required it. Yet half the time you weren’t really there. Your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Steve noticed. Of course he did. But instead of pulling away or insisting with you, he stayed patient and close to you.  He brought home dinner on nights when you claimed you were too tired to cook. He suggested quiet evenings together, movies on the couch, long walks after dinner. Sometimes he would simply sit beside you and pull you gently against him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as though proximity alone might make things better. 

And God, you wanted to lean into him, to tell him everything and to let him carry some of the weight crushing your chest. But how could you stay close to him without either lying… or telling him the truth? You didn’t know what to do. Every time the words rose in your throat, they died there. Confessing everything would make it more real and irreversible. 

You weren’t even afraid he would leave you. Steve loved you far too much for that. 

And that was precisely the problem.

What you, in fact, truly feared was that he would stay and give up his dream of a family, of six little nuggets running around the house. He would smile and tell you it didn’t matter, that the two of you would find another way to be happy. Until one day, years later, he would look back at his life and realize what he had sacrificed. He would end up resenting you. Maybe even hating you. 

The idea of seeing that look in Steve’s eyes someday — that quiet realization, that unspoken blame — was something you knew you could never survive.

-

You were sitting on the bleachers during baseball practice, but you weren’t really watching. 

The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the field, the rhythmic crack of bats and the shouts of children echoing through the air. But that day the sounds felt distant, muffled, as if you were hearing them from underwater. Your gaze was unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond the field, your thoughts looping endlessly in the same painful circle you had been trapped in for days. 

You barely noticed the moment one of the boys tripped. His cry cut through the air, snapping you back to reality. You blinked and looked up just in time to see a small boy clutching his elbow, tears already spilling down his cheeks where the skin had scraped against the dirt.

You stood up instinctively, ready to hurry down the bleachers toward him, but Steve was already moving. He crouched in front of the boy and examined the scrape carefully with gentle movements, then blew lightly over the wound as if that small gesture alone could take the sting away. One of his large hands rested gently on the boy’s shoulder while he spoke to him quietly. The child’s sobs slowly quieted under his calm reassurance.

Seeing he had everything under control, you slowly sat back down, your hands resting on your lap as you watched him from afar. Steve glanced over his shoulder and called something to the other kids, instructing them to keep practicing. They obeyed without hesitation, returning to their drills while he guided the injured boy to the side of the field.

You followed the movement with your eyes. He sat the child down on the bench and pulled out a small first-aid kit from the equipment bag. His movements were unhurried, gentle as he cleaned the scrape and placed a bandage over it, speaking quietly the entire time. The boy listened, still sniffling, but clearly comforted.

Behind you, a voice suddenly whispered, warm and amused. “Look at him.”

Another voice followed. “He’s so sweet.” 

You couldn't help but smile.

“He was born to be a father,” the second woman said. 

You pressed your lips together, the smile was gone now. Your fingers curled slightly. You keep listening as the conversation continued just behind your shoulder, unable to ignore it.

“I’m honestly surprised he doesn’t already have kids,” a third voice added lightly, clearly unaware of who was sitting only a few feet away. Then someone — maybe the first woman who had spoken — joked, her tone playful.

“Well, if he wants, I’m available to give them to him. As many as he wants.”

Laughter erupted behind you.

You swallowed the words like when you eat something you don’t really like, forcing them down. Your eyes burned, but you kept them fixed on the field.

Steve had just finished placing the bandage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy, handing it to him with a soft smile that instantly erased the last of the child’s tears and made him brighten. Then Steve ruffled his hair before sending him back toward the others.

Despite the pain those women’s words had caused, even though they had been totally insensitive and inappropriate, they weren’t wrong. 

Steve was meant to be a father. It was in his DNA, something he was born for. It was written in everything he did — in the way he crouched to meet a child at eye level, in the patience in his voice, in the quiet instinct he had for comforting them. And children loved him too. They gravitated toward him without hesitation and hung on his every word. 

You were sure that one day he would be an incredible father. The kind who stayed late to help with homework, who read to bedtime stories for the hundredth time without complaint, who made children feel safe simply by being there.

Just… not with you.

The realization settled into your chest with terrifying clarity, heavier than any medical diagnosis. 

Being a father wasn’t just something Steve was meant to be. It was something he wanted. Something that would make him truly, deeply happy in a way nothing else ever could. And you couldn’t be the reason he lost that, the reason he lived the rest of his life with something missing, something he would one day quietly grieve. You loved him too much for that. 

Suddenly your mind was no longer foggy. Now you saw everything more clearly.

The woman’s words echoed in your mind, louder, impossible to ignore. 

“Well, if he wants, I’m available to give them to him. As many as he wants.”

She wasn’t the only one. You were sure that, like her, many other women wished they could be in your place. You had seen it. The way other women looked at him. Their smiles. The way they lingered a little too long after practice, finding excuses to touch him, to be noticed. Mothers, sisters, women who already had families of their own and women who clearly wanted one. You had seen the glances they threw your way, too. Jealous. Curious. As if silently asking how you had been the one he chose. As if wondering how easily it could have been them instead.

And maybe… it could have been.

Maybe it should have been, you thought. Because unlike you, they could give him everything. Children. A family. Everything you couldn’t give him. Your chest tightened painfully. You looked at Steve and his eyes met yours. He was smiling, happy. Oblivious of the storm inside you. He waved at you and you forced a smile, waving back at him. When he turned around, your smile fell down and your vision blurred, the tears threatened to escape, while your mind was racing. Someone else could be for Steve what he needed and what you couldn’t be. A fertile woman. And a mother to his future kids. It was the thing you most wanted to give him and somehow you could still make it possible, even if not directly. Not personally. Even if it meant breaking your heart more than it already was.

Because while you couldn’t have kids, Steve could still be a father. 

That possibility hadn’t been taken from him. Not completely. 

And you could still make sure he had it. 

Even if it meant letting him go.

-

PART 2 will be out soon (read here the preview).

Let me know what you think and what you would like to see happen next :)

[atetheluck]

`~♡° even winter is warm

'24 TO 25' DAY SIX | FANFIC NUMBER 29

pairing: lee felix (이 필릭스) x reader • genre: fluff, drabble (?) • warnings: n/a • age rating: all • a.n: SO SHORT IM SORRY ILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU IM SORRY DONT HATE ME IM SORRY IM SORRY.

the way the snow fell on felix's nose gave him the best bad idea ever. he nudged you — his lover — with a big smile. “wanna go ice skating?”

“now?” you asked hesitantly, he nodded his head yes, already dragging you across the street. “come on, it'll be fun!” he giggled.

when you two did arrive, the place was huge, people ice skating everywhere. it was pretty exciting. “come on, lets get you started.”

he led you to the skates, letting you pick and put them on, then helped you to the rink. “we'll learn together, okay?” he smiled, taking your hand and stepping onto the ice.

dividers by @cafekitsune and @limesoda69

a.n: IM SORRY ITS SO SHORT 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

(sign up here!) event taglist: @collin-thegreat @hearteubeateuxz @sasgaycumfilledcondom @ayedomino008 @channiesbaby1433 @thebibleophile @imbaebi @chanchansgirly @vampire-up-all-night @missp0ssessivee @wolf-eyed-witch11 @nerdypuppylover7 @ilomilobabyy @pants-for-free123 @itsraininghyunebuckets @hazel-noelle @angelwings-fly @melfresita-ruri2

[chrriive]

𝖤𝖭𝖮𝖴𝖦𝖧 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤—𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖸 𝖪𝖨𝖣𝖲 (스트레이키즈)

かわいい how would it feel like to be in a relationship with both minho and jisung? 𖹭 . ⛩

─── ۶ৎ minsung x gn!9thmember!reader

彡 𝖨𝖭𝖢𝖫𝖴𝖣𝖤𝖲 fluff , threesome , reader has sensorial issues , mentions of minsung kiss , reader has trouble reading social cues

みずき─── hey guys !! i had this idea today and thought 'why not?' lmao. hope u enjoy ! <3 ✶

⌞ 0.6k words ⌝ ʚɞ

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄&𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 ❀ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𑣲 being in a relationship with both MINHO and JISUNG can get really chaotic. they love teasing, and if you don't join them in their little schemes, you'll end up being the victim. though, when you continue with the teasing, one of the other members end up having to deal with the three of you—or jisung becomes the main target. honestly, they find it a little cute and amusing how sometimes you don't understand their sarcasm sometimes, but it's okay, they'll explain it to you.

𑣲 you have to be used to touch because if you're around, they are going to pull you in a little cuddle pile. no way of escaping them. and that also goes for minho or jisung when they're not involved. if you're laying on bed with minho, for example, it's only a matter of time before jisung is throwing himself on top of the both of you, complaining you didn't call him, even though you were with him ten minutes ago.

𑣲 minho could be considered the most grounded one of the relationship. with jisung having really bad anxiety, and you occasionally having meltdowns, it's good to have someone more calm who can help you both in the rare moments it happens at the same time.

𑣲 they are always nagging you to make sure you never forget your things, knowing how bad your memory can be sometimes. before leaving they'll always go back and forth asking 'are your headphones with you?' 'did you grab your phone' or 'is your id with you?'. they don't do it to annoy you, they just wanna avoid seeing you grumpy all day because you forgot to bring something random—that you probably didn't even need.

𑣲 minho and jisung loves to hear you babble about your special interests. sometimes while doing something in the dorm, you'd randomly show up behind them, say a random fact about it and leave. other times, you'd easily spend two hours explaining all the details you can remember, feeling angry whenever someone interrupted and having them to reassure you that you can continue.

𑣲 despite jisung needing touch quite a lot, you're both glad minho is in the relationship as well because you cannot for the life of yours keep up with him. of course, there may be days you let him kiss you or cling to you, but most of the time kissing is too much for you, and so you actually prefer to just stay next to them in silence while they kiss. it's not like you're being left out—no, you can lay your head on their laps if you want, or just really do whatever.

𑣲 on days you're hyperfixating too much, they'll try their best to make you take care of yourself—which means eating, going to the bathroom and drinking water. minho usually lets jisung take the quest to talk to you because he can be very... blunt. and it can lead to a few arguments. so jisung, who knows how to handle this better, takes the assignment.

𑣲 during social events, they are never pressuring you into talking to anyone. jisung more than anyone understands how even a simple hi can be difficult, and so he doesn't want you to put yourself through unnecessary stress when they're right there.

𑣲 minho is ready to fight any person he sees that looks at you remotely weird. specially because you don't really understand why they're staring sometimes. you never know if people are looking at you because of your outfits or because of you. but they can. minho glares at anyone dares stare at you weird when you stim in public until they get uncomfortable.

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @minho4luv , @cherishyunah , @jisunggy

[chroniclesofskz]

The Fighter's Heart

The night was electric as Y/N stepped out with her friends, ready to soak in the vibrant atmosphere of the city. The club pulsed with life, lights flashing in sync with the rhythm of the deep bass that thumped through the concrete walls. Laughter and cheers mingled with the music, creating an intoxicating blend that drew them deeper into the heart of the night.

As her friends danced, Y/N felt increasingly aware of a group of guys across the room. They were loud, animated, and unmistakably eyeing her, their gazes predatory and hungry. She could sense their eyes on her, and despite the excitement of the night, a chill crept down her spine. They whispered among themselves, glancing her way, and their laughter felt sharp and invasive. Y/N's heart raced, not from the rhythm of the music but from the growing unease that bubbled inside her.

“Y/N! Come dance!” one of her friends called, pulling her back to the moment.

“Yeah, it’s a party!” another chimed in, oblivious to the eyes that followed Y/N's every move. Trying to shake off the feeling, she laughed and joined them on the dance floor, but the tension didn’t dissipate.

Every sway of her hips seemed to provoke the group, their attention now more intense. One of the guys leaned against the bar, smirking as he gestured for her to come over. Y/N turned her back on him, laughing with her friends, but her heart wasn’t in it. She could feel their eyes boring into her, as if she were prey, and that thought unsettled her deeply.

Suddenly, the music seemed to shift, the energy in the room transforming as she caught the gazes of the group moving closer. Their playful banter turned into something more threatening, their laughter sharp and pointed. One of them even made a bold move to brush against her, and she recoiled instinctively, her stomach twisting with anxiety.

“I need air,” she exclaimed, forcing a smile to mask her discomfort. “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you sure?” her best friend queried, concern etched on her face.

“Just a minute,” Y/N promised, stepping away from the volume of bodies and the energy that felt almost suffocating. She needed to breathe, to think, to escape the overwhelming pressure of being watched.

Leaving the club, she inhaled deeply, the cool night air wrapping around her like a welcome embrace. But as she leaned against the wall, taking a moment to collect herself, she sensed the group of guys emerging from the club as well. Their laughter echoed down the alley, and her heart sank.

“Look who’s all alone,” one of them jeered, a devilish grin spreading across his face. Y/N felt her shoulders tighten, a primal instinct kicking in as she realized this was no friendly encounter. Despite the chill in the air, she felt hot with fear.

“Leave me alone,” she said, her voice firm but trembling slightly. The path before her felt constricted as she backed away, her heart racing. It was an alley, and there was no escape.

They advanced on her, cloaked in boozy bravado. Panic surged through her chest, and every instinct screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. As they closed in, she hastily typed a message to Chan on her phone—Help. I’m in trouble. I’m outside the club. Please hurry.

But before she could hit send, one of the guys lunged forward, knocking the phone from her hand. This time, it was too late. One of them clamped a hand over her mouth while another pressed a small vial against her neck. Darkness consumed her as the world slipped away.

When Y/N regained consciousness, the alley around her was dimly lit, and she was on the cold concrete floor, feeling disoriented and weak. Her clothes were torn; scratches and bruises marred her skin. She felt utterly vulnerable. Just as despair began to set in, she heard Chan’s fierce voice slice through the darkness.

“Y/N!”

Moments later, Chan arrived, charging into the alley like a reckoning. He dispatched the thugs with powerful strikes, his boxing training lending him an edge. Brimming with protective instinct, he quickly overwhelmed them, leaving them in disarray before turning his attention to Y/N.

Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms, worry etched across his features. “We need to get you home.”

In his car, Chan drove swiftly through the streets, concern evident in every movement he made. Once they reached his apartment, he gently set her down on the couch. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly, his voice shaking slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through him.

As Chan retrieved a first aid kit to treat her wounds, Y/N felt a sudden surge of protectiveness rise within her. She couldn’t ignore the evidence of Chan’s own injuries—the blood dripping from his nose and the bruises marking his knuckles. “Chan, wait! You’re hurt! Let me take care of you first,” she insisted, her voice firm despite her lingering weakness from the earlier ordeal.

But Chan shook his head, his expression softening. “Y/N, you need to be taken care of right now. I can handle my own injuries later,” he replied, his determination unwavering as he focused on her.

Y/N frowned, frustration bubbling inside her at the thought of him sidelining his own pain for her. “I can’t just sit here while you’re bleeding! You fought for me—please let me help you first,” she pleaded, her heart racing as she reached out to examine the cut on his lip.

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine,” he insisted, though his tone was gentler now, filled with affection as he brushed her hand aside. “You’ve been through so much tonight. We need to get you cleaned up and comfortable.”

“Chan…” she started, but the sincerity in his eyes made her hesitate. There was a mixture of resolve and concern there, and in that moment, she realized how much he truly cared for her well-being—sacrificing his own comfort in the process.

Resigning herself, she sighed and nodded. “Okay, fine. But once I’m better, I’m taking care of you,” she said, a small smile breaking through her worry.

Chan smiled back, relief evident in his features as he directed her to the couch. “Alright, deal. But first, let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

As Y/N looked down at the dress she was wearing—now slightly rumpled and disheveled—she felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I look a mess,” she murmured weakly.

“Hold on,” Chan said, disappearing into his bedroom. He reappeared moments later with a pair of joggers and one of his oversized hoodies. “Here, put these on. You’ll feel so much better,” he insisted.

Y/N chuckled softly, feeling a mix of gratitude and playfulness. “Thanks, but you should turn around while I change,” she said teasingly, the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile.

Chan’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as he quickly turned around, trying to maintain his composure. “Of course! Just… let me know when you’re ready.”

Feeling a warmth spread through her at his flustered reaction, Y/N quickly changed into the comfy joggers and hoodie, the fabric enveloping her in a sense of safety. Once she was dressed, she called out, “Okay, you can turn around now!”

When he turned back to face her, Chan’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her in his oversized clothing, the fabric hanging off her frame in an adorable way. “You—wow, you look really cozy,” he stammered, still slightly blushing.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Thanks! It feels nice,” she said, feeling the comfort of the clothes sink in as she approached him. “Now, let’s take care of you.”

As Chan began to tend to her wounds, she winced slightly from the sting of the antiseptic, but the warmth of his care made it more bearable. Yet, her eyes kept drifting back to the bruises on his arms and the blood trickling from his nose.

“Chan…” she said softly, concern knitting her brows together. “You’re hurt too. Let me look at your injuries after this.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” he replied with a faint smile, attempting to downplay it, but Y/N wasn’t convinced.

“Your image can’t be ruined because of me, Chan,” she teased lightly, hoping to lighten the heaviness that had settled over them. Her heart ached at the thought of him being hurt for her sake.

“Y/N,” he interrupted, locking eyes with her, the sincerity radiating from him. “When it comes to you, I don’t care about anything else. I’d fight those idiots a hundred more times to make sure you’re safe.”

His words struck a deep chord within her. Touched by his unwavering dedication, a mix of gratitude and admiration bloomed inside her. There was more than friendship stirring in her chest—something profound and undeniable.

“Chan…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper as she edged closer, her heart racing. “You mean so much to me.”

With a sudden rush of courage, she leaned forward, her fingers grazing his cheek before she playfully nudged his face. The affectionate gesture caught him off guard, and before he could respond, Y/N surged toward him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss that ignited a spark between them.

The kiss was both a release and a promise, filled with everything they hadn’t said aloud—the fears, hopes, and the love that had quietly grown between them. Chan responded instantly, deepening the kiss and pouring all of his emotions into that single moment. It felt as if time had stopped, the worries of the world fading away into oblivion.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Y/N searched Chan’s eyes for reassurance. “I love you, Chan,” she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion as she felt vulnerable yet completely at home.

His expression softened further, filled with warmth and sincerity. “I love you too, Y/N. I always have,” he replied earnestly, pulling her into another tight embrace.

As he wrapped his arms around her, she felt truly safe—safe from the horrors of the night and the chaos that had threatened to engulf her. The feeling of warmth and security wrapped around her like his oversized hoodie, comforting her in a way she had never experienced before.

They sat together on the couch, the aftermath of the evening settling in around them. Y/N nestled into his side, feeling grateful for the sanctuary they had found in each other. “Can I take a look at your injuries now?” she asked gently, lifting her hand to brush against his cheek, careful not to aggravate any pain.

Chan hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s nothing serious,” he said, but Y/N could sense the lie beneath his bravado.

“Chan, please. I need to know you’re okay too,” she insisted, her voice softening to a coaxing tone, urging him to share his pain.

With a heavy sigh, he relented, turning slightly to reveal the bruises marring his arms. Y/N’s heart tightened at the sight, and she gently traced her fingers over the darkened skin. “You really went all out for me,” she murmured, a mix of admiration and concern flooding her senses.

“I couldn’t just let them hurt you,” he replied, his voice reflecting the intensity of his feelings. “You’re the most important person to me.”

Gazing into his eyes, Y/N felt her heart swell with emotion. “You’re important to me too, Chan. I don’t want you to think that I take your sacrifices lightly,” she whispered, feeling grateful for everything he had done for her.

He smiled softly, his expression revealing the trust they had built together. “I know you don’t. That’s why I’d do it all over again without hesitation.”

Y/N gently applied some antiseptic to his wounds, focused on treating him with the same tenderness he had shown her. As she worked, she couldn’t help but feel in awe of their connection—the understanding that transcended words.

Once she finished, she leaned back and smiled up at him. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“Much better,” he replied, glancing down at his cleaned wounds. “Thanks to you.”

Feeling bold, Y/N leaned in and pecked his lips once more. “You’re my hero, Chan.”

His cheeks flushed slightly as he returned her kiss, a playful sparkle in his eye. “And you’re mine,” he said, teasingly.

They shared a comfortable silence, the weight of the world outside slowly drifting away. Together, they had found solace in each other despite the chaos that had marred their night.

As they sat wrapped in each other’s arms, ready to face whatever laid ahead, Y/N knew one thing for certain—the love that had blossomed between them would only grow stronger. No matter what challenges lay ahead, they would navigate them together, side by side, with their hearts intertwined and their spirits unbreakable. With Chan by her side, she felt ready to face the world anew.

[leislibrary-deactivated20251224]

[skz] warm water, safe in your arms

pairing: felix x gn!reader x minho contains: fluff – should felix and minho devise an intervention for you to stop studying all the time? because they will. (threat). ♡ note: more minlix!!! reader just wants to do well so badly it hurts – not at all inspired by my own all nighters for my degrees. don’t say that. (🍉 anon i hope you like this one too <3). 2.2k words. dividers by @lariesographic / my masterlist

It’s late – early, really, if you care to be technical about it. You don’t. The on-campus library closed and shooed you out hours ago, the staff exchanging worried looks as you packed up your laptop and reams of notes. They were right to. You might as well begin writing them rent checks with how often you camp out at their tables during exam season. “Go to sleep, okay?” Hyunjin had asked as you exited the double doors, only to be met with your noncommittal hum. Relaxation doesn’t ace finals. 

The library closing doesn’t mean your work is done for the night – it just means you work in a different place. You’ve been at it nonstop lately. Nearly every surface in your apartment has been used as a makeshift desk within the past few days, and you have no intention of letting up until exams are over. 

Notebooks and binders scatter across your shared bedspread. At least one pencil is lost in your comforter; you’ll surely find it when you’re half-asleep later. Bright sticky notes litter the pages of any book unfortunate enough to be in front of you. To anyone but you, your system is chaos – like someone just dumped a box full of slightly tear-stained office supplies in front of you. You don’t need anyone else to understand it. You need to keep working. 

At least, that was your plan, but Felix and Minho know you too well. About fifteen minutes ago, Felix strolled into the bedroom to check on you, carrying a plate piled high with brownies, blueberries, and strawberries. He had taken one look at your hunched shoulders and bloodshot eyes, sighed, and spun around on his heel to walk right back out your bedroom door. Within seconds, he reemerged with Minho, both of them eyeing you silently while crossing over to your attached bathroom. 

Minho knows better than to outright disturb you while you’re reviewing material. Once, two semesters ago, he kept accidentally-on-purpose breaking your concentration while you wrote a last-minute essay. That debacle caused a fight that lasted way too long, as yours and Minho’s tensions were already high from exams and comebacks, respectively. Felix had to play mediator. For the relationship’s health, Minho now focuses all his mischief on his members once you start to hibernate with your laptop. 

They stay shut in there for a while. You’re too exhausted to spend any extra mental energy on anything that’s not attached to a formula. Your eyes burn each time you blink, but you push through. 

It’s time for phase one.

“Hey, jagiya!” Minho now calls from behind the bathroom door. “Can you come in here for a second?”

These practice problems are almost done. “In a minute!” you yell back. If you can just power through your bleary vision, you can finish up this chapter and– 

“Now!” This time it’s Felix. His tone is urgent, but he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, that’s more concerning. Your sweet boyfriend never rushes you unless he’s mad or it’s an emergency. If it’s truly an emergency, your review can probably wait for a few minutes. 

With a couple seconds more hesitation, you mark where you left off, close your notebook, and get on your feet. It takes a couple seconds before your vision stops swimming at the change in position. Your back and shoulders protest through soft pops as you stretch. 

Minho opens the door right before you reach for the knob. Inside the bathroom, Felix sits submerged in your large clawfoot tub – one of the features that sold you guys on this specific apartment. His head and shoulders peek above a thick layer of bubbles on the water’s surface. An elastic hair tie sweeps his long hair off his neck, but a few front pieces escaped to wisp along his cheeks. The plate of fruit and brownies rests on your vanity. Minho moves to stand in the doorway behind you. 

Felix’s bright smile beams up at you with none of the urgency from a few seconds before. “Get in,” he motions for you to join him. A few small bubbles float upwards at the disturbance. 

“No.” Is he insane? As much as you’d love to at any other time, right now – you check the time on your phone, 3:47 AM – you still have to study. 

His smile does not waver. “Get in or Minho will drown your textbooks.” Another glance at Minho. He nods once in confirmation. 

Minho is blocking your only exit – a security guard protecting you from yourself. The two men watch that realization settle into you. The urge to bolt sits under your skin, but Minho looked deadly serious about drowning your textbooks earlier. You’d rather not test him. It’s easier to accept your fate. Minho’s slow shit-eating grin matches Felix’s as you strip and grumble under your breath about their joint hypocrisy. 

The faint scent of lavender reaches you the closer you get to the bathtub. Felix holds your hand to help you climb into the tub and get comfortable between his legs. The crushing weight of your exhaustion hits as soon as you sit down – you would be embarrassed about how quickly your body betrays your biting words, if you weren’t with the two people who completely understand you. If you weren’t with the two people who conspired to make exactly this happen. Instead, you just give in and let your eyelids flutter shut.  

Felix’s chuckle vibrates against you. Warm water envelopes you two, bubbles lightly tickle your collarbone, your first boyfriend holds you safe in his arms. It’s perfect.

Once he’s satisfied you won’t make a run for it, Minho brings the fruit tray over to set it down next to you two. Wordlessly, to not disturb you, he presses a kiss onto Felix’s forehead, then yours. He lingers a bit, a soft smile forming on his lips at the sight of his partners, then leaves the room. The door clicks shut behind him. 

Comfortable silence drapes over the room, only broken every once a while by one of you shifting. Your muscles loosen the longer he holds you. Right here, with him, there’s no tasks to prove your value. There’s no grade assigned to your best effort. You can just exist, and that’s perfect. His heartbeat provides a steady, grounding rhythm as a backdrop. 

“Hey,” Felix whispers to get your attention. Your soft hum tells him you’re listening. “Eat,” he continues. 

You open your eyes to find he’s already looking back at you. Up close, his freckles decorate his face like stars in the sky. He’s holding a strawberry up to your lips. The crease in his brow disappears when you bite into the fruit. Tartness bursts on your tongue, juice dribbling slightly down your chin. Felix, adoration and reverence incarnate, kisses it away, then kisses you properly. He’s gentle, mindful of your fatigue, yet his grip around your waist tightens more with each passing second. He loves the taste of strawberries – especially off your lips. 

He pulls away from you too soon. Conflict wars inside him; it’s evident on his face. He clears his throat, as if to distract himself. It’s the loudest sound since Minho left, and you have to fight not to flinch at the intrusion. 

He brings his hands up to rest where your neck meets your shoulders. The water only adds to the heat of his touch. Almost absentmindedly, he begins massaging the knots out of your shoulders as best he can without hurting you. “Talk to me, angel,” he says, voice as warm and bubbly as the water rippling at your skin. “Feel like I’ve hardly seen you lately, you’re working so hard.” 

Of course you are. “I have to do well,” you murmur. Felix knows what you’re talking about – you’ve ranted about your exam schedule to him and Minho more times than any of you can count. 

“You always do,” he says. It’s true, you’re a good student, but the ever-present anxiety gnaws at the edges of your consciousness again when he says it.

“What if I don’t?” A cruel twist in your stomach. Another intrusion. “I’ll lose my scholarship.”

“Then Minho and I will fight over the chance to pay your tuition.” 

Your neck tenses again under him. “I don’t want-”

“I know,” he cuts you off before you have a chance to rehash this old argument. Not disrespectful, never disrespectful to you, just refusing to bring up past hurts right now. “I know. I’m just saying, you have a support system.” 

A ghost of a smile haunts your lips. “Is that what this is? Not kidnappin- oh.” As you spoke, Felix dug his knuckles into a tight knot gnarled into your muscle. 

“Tell me again how it’s kidnapping,” he says once you slump back in relief. You can hear the grin in his voice. He takes your silence as defeat. The conversation fades out without an official ending, as they so often do between people who know each other inside and out, yet will keep talking until they can no longer. 

Eventually, the water chills and Felix’s back begins to hurt. After feeding you one last brownie for good measure, he tells you to go, that he’ll handle cleaning up. 

It’s time for phase two. 

Minho startles awake to the sound of your bathroom door creaking open. He’s laying spread out across your bed, clearly taking advantage of an uncrowded mattress for once. His hair is ruffled and his shirt wrinkles against his chest. The scene would be heartwarming – but, most noticeably of all, your materials are gone. 

Everything. Your highlighters. Your notebooks. Your stupidly expensive textbooks that definitely erode your spine carrying them in your backpack. 

Minho sees the confusion written on your features. Through a yawn, he points towards the foot of the bed. There, on the ground, all your supplies are in neat little piles. Even your loose papers you had out are paperclipped and stacked to easily differentiate them. 

“Organized by course and chapter,” Minho pipes up, as if he read your mind. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

There’s a softness on his face that contradicts his sass. Sleepiness lingers in the air, completely replacing the stress from just an hour ago. He’s sluggish, moving as little as possible, but Minho holds out an arm to you, inviting – no, welcoming – you into his hold. It’s never an invitation, not when it’s only ever meant for you and the boy who appeared behind you. 

You don’t even realize you are moving until you collapse into him. He pulls you in almost impossibly closer to his chest. His shirt’s soft fabric presses against your nose – he smells like his cologne and comfort. Like home. 

“I made you tea,” he whispers into your hair. The mug is resting on your bedside table, slowly losing its heat. 

Lead weighs down your bones. Moving any muscle at all would require gargantuan effort, and you’re not willing to leave Minho’s arms. Sleep already threatens to drag you under. Through sheer force of will alone, you murmur a muffled, “You guys can have it,” into his chest. 

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. A loud slurp sounds through the room, right before he switches off your lamp and plunges everything into darkness. 

The mattress dips behind you when Felix climbs into bed too, pressing himself into your back and draping an arm over your waist. Minho’s breathing is beginning to even out again, now that he has his world in this bed with him.

Right on the edge of sleep, Minho talks again, like he can’t fall back under without letting you know. “Mm, I missed you,” he shifts to rest his cheek against your head. A small smile. “Felix isn’t as mean as you.” 

Behind you, Felix’s protest is delayed. “My baby isn’t mean,” he defends.

“See?” Minho whispers into the air, complemented with an affectionate squeeze where his hands rest. 

They continue talking with slurred words and drifting responses. As you lay in their combined grasp, sleep finally washes over you, like waves lapping on a gentle beach. 

In the morning, you’ll stress about your exams again. Of course you will. You will be surrounded by their love, as you always are, especially resting between them right now. Neither of you knows where one ends and the others begin. They’ll take care of you for as long as you need, just as you always take care of them. In the morning, you will still be theirs. No matter what happens, no matter how well you do, even through the worst outcomes, you will always be theirs. They will always be yours. 

you either make mistakes or you don't make anything at all. don't point out mistakes though.

skz taglist: @emilyywhyy @velvetmoonlght @opiumfidgetspinner @bahngarang @angelwings-fly @pixie-felix @certainstarfishmiracle @luvvvivi @strhwa @ayedomino-08 @flwrkssed @breakmeoff @foppishitudinality @ilovedallywinston @cookiewookie9t @lezleeferguson-120 lmk if you want to be added/removed from the taglist!

[wolfiesroom]

𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚂 → 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗; 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶: 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻 & 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴: 𝗙𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. 𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽.

𝚆𝙲: 𝟮𝟵𝟭

𝙲𝚆: 𝗡𝗼𝗻𝗲.

𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈: 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹, 𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗽. 𝗛𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀, “𝗦𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘀, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲,” 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀.

It starts the way it always does. You’re curled up in bed with your phone balanced on your pillow and he’s sitting in his studio chair surrounded by the soft glow of his monitors. 

The two of you aren’t really even talking anymore. You did, at first—about random things, stupid things, the kind of nothing that fills the silence like a warm blanket.

But now, its quiet. You can hear the faint clicking of his mouse, the hum of his computer, and the low rhythm of his breathing when he leans back in his chair to really look at you. 

“You still there, baby?” He murmurs, voice low and rough from hours of talking. 

You hum, barely awake, a soft little sound that makes him genuinely smile. But, you don’t answer this time. 

There is only the sound of your breathing, slow and steady. The rise and fall of your chest barely visible in the low light of your shared bedroom. 

He glances at the screen and sees that you’re still on the call, still there—ever present, you’re just asleep now. 

Chan leans back again, rubbing the corner of his eye when his voice drops to a barely there whisper, “Sweet dreams, love.” 

He doesn’t hang up. 

He never does. 

The calls stays open while he works—your quiet breathing keeping him company, steady and real through to the early morning hours. Sometimes he even forgets to play music because the sound of you is enough for him. 

And when he finally calls it a night, somewhere around 3 a.m., he looks at you through the glow of the screen and smiles to himself. 

“Good morning, baby girl.” He whispers, like a secret you’ll never know you heard. 

[theramnam]

Next time

The sea was calmer now that the shoot had ended. The crew had begun to pack up: lights dimming, camera lenses capped, the sound of chatter fading beneath the hush of the waves. You lingered near the edge of the set, hugging your arms against the breeze. The evening sun had turned gold into rose, washing everything in soft light.

Felix hadn’t moved for a long time. He stood where the last few shots had been taken, the horizon melting behind him. The bouquet of orange poppies he’d used as a prop still rested in his hand. When you called his name, he turned slowly, as if surfacing from a dream.

“Hey,” you said, smiling gently. “You don’t have to stay. They’re almost done packing up.”

He nodded but didn’t move. “I know… give me a minute.”

There was something different in his tone, quieter than usual. You watched him for a moment before walking closer, the crunch of sand under your shoes breaking the silence between you. “You okay? Need anything?”

Felix looked down at the flowers, twisting them lightly in his hands. “You ever finish something and realize you’re not ready for it to end?”

You tilted your head. “The shoot?”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe. Maybe not just that.” His gaze flicked up then, catching yours. “You looked beautiful today. You always do, but… today felt different.”

You laughed softly, trying to break the tension. “You’ve been staring at cameras all day. I think you’ve forgotten how to talk to real people. Or you are really just too tired. You really need to rest.”

“Maybe,” he said, smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But I mean it.”

The sunset painted gold lines across his face, and the wind tugged gently at his shirt. For a moment, you saw him as perfect and distant, but there was a realness beneath that polish that you could see something tender.

“Felix…” you began, but he interrupted, his voice low.

“Every time we finish a shoot,” he said, eyes drifting toward the horizon, “you walk away first. You always say something like, ‘See you next time,’ and I tell myself I’ll say something more, but I don’t.” He looked back at you, his words steady despite the tremor behind them. “I don’t want to keep waiting for ‘next time.’”

You blinked, caught off guard. The breeze shifted, carrying the weight of what he wasn’t saying. “What are you saying now?” you asked softly.

He took a breath, then stepped closer. “I think I’m done pretending this is just work,” he said. “That this is just… another project, another photo, another sunset.” His voice softened. “I don’t think about anyone else when the lights go off. Only you.”

The words hung between you, suspended in the quiet rush of waves and wind. Your heart stumbled, unsure whether to keep listening, waiting for him, or run. “Is this… why you asked for these flowers?” you asked, nodding toward the flowers.

He nodded once. “Yeah. They reminded me of you. Bright. A little wild. Impossible to ignore.”

You laughed quietly, but your voice shook. “You’re terrible at this, you know?”

“I know,” he said, smiling now, the kind of smile that was real, full of nervous relief. “But I’ve been worse at not saying anything.”

You reached out slowly, taking the bouquet from his hands. Feeling them not as a prom but something real. The petals brushed against your fingers, still warm from his touch. “You really mean this?”

Felix met your gaze, eyes steady. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been waiting to tell you. I just… didn’t know if I should.”

The air between you shifted. The last light of the sun caught in the waves, scattering across his face. He looked so impossibly sincere that you couldn’t hold back the small, trembling smile that found its way to your lips.

“Next time,” you said quietly, “don’t wait until the end.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Before you could say anything more, he leaned in and pressed his lips over yours. The scent of the sea, the warmth of his breath, and the quiet rush of the waves wrapped around you like the closing note of a song.

“I want you to remember me like this,” he whispered, almost smiling. “Looking at you like you are a beautiful sunset,” he continued. “So, next time, there is no way out for you. I will be waiting for an answer.”

[sereia4skz]

written | my baking judge

pairing: felix x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: fluff, baking, food, eating

word count: 800

masterlist: Masterpost | Special EP

Your small apartment kitchen is a haven of warm, comforting chaos, the air smells overwhelmingly of bright lemon zest and toasted sugar, a fresh batch of lemon sugar cookies cooling on a wire rack. As a baker, you still need honest feedback, but as his girlfriend, you mainly need to feed your overly busy boyfriend.

He arrives wearing a ridiculous, oversized hoodie and sweatpants, his hair soft and slightly damp. Instead of just inhaling the aroma, he walks straight to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and leaning his chin on your shoulder, exhaling deeply.

“Sunshine” he murmurs into your neck, his voice dropping to a low, weary sound. “The aroma alone is already a five-star review. You smell like warm butter and safety.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laugh, turning in his embrace to quickly peck his lips. “You just finished practice. You’re just hungry.”

He doesn't even look at the clipboard. He squeezes you tight, then grabs a still-warm cookie, one rolled in extra sugar, and settles at the small kitchen island, pulling you gently against his hip so you're standing side-by-side.

“Analysis begins with intake,” he declares, popping half the cookie into his mouth.

You watch, leaning your cheek against his messy, damp hair. He chews slowly, his eyes closed, giving an exaggerated, happy shudder. You notice the deep shadows under his eyes and the slight tremble in his hand from overexertion.

“Texture is perfect. Crisp edges, soft, chewy middle. The sugar crust is excellent. Nine out of ten,” he announces.

“Why the point off?” you press, already knowing the answer.

He opens his eyes, looking momentarily guilty. “Because I haven’t had a second one yet, and that’s unfair to the final product.”

You sigh happily and indulge him. He takes a large, eager bite of the second cookie, and immediately his critique becomes messy.

“It has the perfect amount of zing,” he mumbles, trying to talk through a mouthful of citrus and butter. A tiny smear of melted butter and granulated sugar transfers from his finger to the corner of his mouth.

This time, you don't hesitate. You reach out, your thumb brushing his soft skin as you gently wipe the sticky smear away. It’s a completely natural, comfortable gesture of dating intimacy. He leans into the touch, his eyes half-closed.

"You have magic in your hands, Sugar," he murmurs, his tone soft and entirely serious. He reaches up and gently takes your hand that just touched his face, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a soft, long kiss to your palm. "Everything you touch is perfect."

You feel the familiar rush of warmth, not frustration this time, but secure love. You thread your fingers through his hair.

He pulls you back against him, leaning his forehead against your collarbone. He shifts slightly, and the playful energy he arrived with completely drains away, leaving him heavy and vulnerable.

“I’m really tired, Y/N,” he whispers into your shirt, the admission flat with exhaustion. He doesn't need to elaborate; you know he’s been running on very little sleep, pushing through rehearsals.

“I know, Lix,” you whisper back, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, holding him close. You gently rock him from side to side, your own body providing the rhythm of calm.

“When you’re here, it’s the only time I feel really calm,” he repeats, his voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt. “I just... needed your space.”

You pull back just enough to tilt his chin up. His eyes are soft, pleading, and completely unguarded.

“You’re the best person I know at making me feel safe,” he says, his eyes already closing again, content in your grip.

You don't need to ask if that's all you are to him. You are his soft landing, his best friend, and his secret comfort.

You lean in and kiss him, long and slow, full of lemon, comfort, and deep affection. He kisses you back instantly, the pressure of his lips secure and familiar.

When you finally pull away, he doesn't open his eyes. He just sighs, a sound of deep, utter contentment.

"No, you dummy," he whispers, pulling you closer, resting his cheek against your chest. "You're not just safe. You’re the best part of my whole day, and my favorite thing to come home to."

He squeezes you one last time before pulling away, a sleepy, goofy smile on his face. You gently take his hand, pulling him toward the hallway. "Okay, tired boy. You're falling asleep on your feet. Let's go collapse."

He follows instantly, but stops right before leaving the kitchen light. He turns, his eyes landing back on the cooling rack full of bright lemon treats.

"Wait, wait, wait," he murmurs, dragging his feet. "Just one more, for the road. Bedtime cookie, for energy. You have to feed it to me, though."

You laugh, unable to resist that look. "Only if you promise to be horizontal in five minutes."

"Deal," he says, already opening his mouth for the final, sweetest bite.

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog @babigriin @tricky-ritz @kibs-and-bits @warped-rabbithole @crowfrompluto 

[chroniclesofskz]

Glimmer Fics is a platform for interactive fanfiction. Don't just read a story - play it, as the main character.

Everyone go follow my new story about stray kids and ateez featuring enhyphen on glimmer it’s insane 3 chapters out now more pending

[emmiesoverthemoon]

so i just felt the egg leave my ovary

[ybklix]

mommy

♡ [ b. chan x fem!reader ] ♡ you found some interesting stuff on chan’s laptop.

♡ warnings: smut, titfucking (reader has big boobs for this😔 actlly not me tho, so it’s the only "physical appearance" description u will find, sorry), dry humping, oral sex (m. rec), boobplay, mommy kink, sub!chan, edging, orgasm denial, petnames, cumhoots, unprotected sex, creampie, chan is a pervert lol ♡ wc: ~4.6k

ᴍ.ʟɪsᴛ 𓏵 ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

wen’s note: christopher defend yourself, u little gooner! (I learned that word from tiktok, how did i do it?😃) couldnt help it w his recent mssgs lol, im warming it up for the upcoming fics<3

Appearances can be deceiving. They really were, because if it were up to you, you would swear that your hot and handsome neighbor fucks a lot, gets all the girls he wants whenever he wants, and makes them reach orgasm while seeing stars and destroys them with his incredibly exquisite cock.

That was your most sincere thought as soon as you met him. But the reality was quite different.

Yes, he was damn handsome, but at the same time, he was a loser with no luck with girls. He didn’t really know how to approach them without giggling and getting incredibly nervous. Maybe he released all that frustration at the gym, creating a very sculpted and perfect body; maybe he released it by masturbating until his cock was sensitive and limp with his favorite porn collection on his laptop.

His appearance attracted many girls; his shy and awkward presence made them fall head over heels... But Bang Chan, being a muscular guy with a defined face, simply the perfect masculine appearance that makes you melt as soon as he shows his adorable smile. With that, women waited for him to make the next move, or the first step, to send them a message after following them on Instagram... but he couldn’t even do that. He felt like a loser.

As on many occasions, he got a new crush, but for his very sexually frustrated spirits, you became his slight obsession and his greatest sexual desire from the moment he saw you. The young college girl who moved right next door, whose tiny skirts and cleavage kept him on the verge of orgasm every morning when he saw you leave your apartment.

But Chan had to admit it, he spent long minutes whimpering as he stroked his cock, imagining the perfect, tight sensation of your pussy suffocating him, picturing you fucking him slowly for him to cum in his hand, thinking of your lips moaning his name. He needed you so desperately. In his mind, he still had the vivid memory of a simple Wednesday afternoon when, like a good neighbor, he kindly and with a smile said to you, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me.” It was the most he had ever spoken to you until now.

And God, you liked Chan too, but you thought he was too polite and indifferent to you. You thought he had a beautiful girlfriend, or that approaching him and flirting with him would be useless, besides which, he had probably said that to you out of kindness.

But the day came. You really needed his help. Your laptop suddenly stopped working, and you had to continue with a rather important assignment that you refused to do tediously on your cell phone. Your friends also needed their laptops, so you couldn’t ask them... so, as a crazy idea, you decided to knock on Chan’s door and, with considerable embarrassment... you asked to borrow his laptop.

He was flustered, swallowing hard as you tried to explain. But he agreed and did something he had never dared to do before. He gently suggested:

“If you want, you can do your homework here. I can make you some coffee while you do it. Do you like coffee or prefer tea?”

You couldn’t turn him down. Besides, the pleasant, clean smell of his apartment was so inviting. And during your stay there, you felt his very penetrating gaze on you... Chan couldn’t stop watching the way your baby tee stretched right across your breasts. Chan had never felt so blessed to be able to appreciate you up close as he was now... you were a dream. More perfect than his twisted mind had ever fantasized.

You blushed, not knowing how to act, and continued doing your assignment... while he sat silently in front of you, looking incredibly handsome and striking up a little conversation from time to time. Now you knew that he was a music producer, and that he didn’t have a girlfriend. And that he knew three languages, including Japanese, which you said you would like to learn, to which he simply replied:

“I can teach you.”

Chan didn’t know what was happening, but he liked taking those small steps with you. He was making progress, which clearly meant he wanted to have you close.

You accepted, and it was a little difficult to concentrate with such a handsome man in front of you.

But you had to continue with the real purpose of why you were there. After that, in one simple movement... you were left speechless. You opened his internet browser to look for information for your assignment, typing quickly, and accidentally closed the window of the page that was still useful to you, so you naively opened the history, flustering you instantly.

You pretended to be fine. Chan was sitting across from you drinking tea, looking so damn attractive. His long hair, sculpted features, and relaxed posture as he held the glass with his very manly hand.

But oh my God. You didn’t know how to act genuinely. On the screen, there were the few pages you had opened and below them a bunch of links to adult websites.

You felt embarrassed. Does Chan know what incognito mode is?

You were shocked, but quite curious, so your finger slowly slid down... seeing recurring names like sub male, BDSM, spanking, cosplay, mommy, blowjob, punishment, edge, teasing, hentai, big tits... and a bunch of Japanese pages that you didn’t understand but you were sure they were just as “terrible.”

What the fuck. The guy’s a fucking pervert. You couldn’t process it. Besides... you learned a lot about his private life in the blink of an eye. Everything that turns the gloriously handsome Chan on. What were you supposed to do with that information now?

You nervously ran your tongue over your teeth. You looked in his direction, guilty, as if he could see what you were doing, but he remained calm. You opened the page you wanted for your assignment... but, somewhat curious, you started digging deeper into his laptop. And sure enough, you found even worse things, folders sorted by category with their respective pornographic videos, about 2 or 3 videos per file... you want to be disgusted, but you’re so stunned that you can’t quite manage it.

You didn’t know what to think; you really didn’t expect it. You even got scared your assignment could catch a virus.

But thanks to that, that’s how you ended up fucking him.

You insisted, “Thank you so much, Chan, really. I have to thank you somehow.”

He smiled sweetly, never once thinking about sex and being modest with you... but now that you knew exactly what his fetishes were... it felt excitingly forbidden to carry such information. So you had to do something. You also fantasized about fucking him so hard that you would remember the feeling of him for days.

So, fuck the Japanese. That was just an excuse. You were halfway through your first basic course session together. He tenderly and kindly explained the alphabet and a little bit of the background and history of the language... while hiding a soft erection in his pants at your closeness.

And you knew it, you could feel it. In fact, you were wearing a tiny skirt and low-cut top... just for him. It was something new... but if he liked you to be a little rough and dominant, damn it, you wanted to fulfill every one of his fantasies.

You stared at his bony, manly, long fingers for perhaps too long, just as he stared with a certain boldness but embarrassment at your breasts. You both wanted each other intensely.

So you would act just as he liked.

You took his hand, which was holding a pencil, and although you were a little nervous, you continued.

“Don’t you want to do something else?” you said in a soft voice.

It was something you didn’t do often, fuck your handsome neighbor just because you felt like it. Fuck someone simply for the sake of having a good time and because you’re horny. Or, just maybe because you didn’t know how to feel after discovering his not-so-secret pleasures.

How do you continue with your life after assuming that your handsome neighbor was probably sexually frustrated and desperate to fuck?

Chan saw you as soon as you touched him; his confused expression was certainly cute: a soft, slightly terrified look, a frown, and his exquisite, fluffy lips wanting to say something. His heart fluttered at your touch, and his world began to spin.

“S-something else? Do you want to go further, I can—” he began to stammer, doing his best to control himself.

But you interrupted him. You smiled, somewhat guiltily and amused, but there was no other way to say it, so you just blurted out:

“Do you want to fuck?”

“Huh? Excuse me?”

He blinked in disbelief, genuinely thinking he hadn’t heard right... that you could never say something like that. Why all of a sudden?

You raised your eyebrows and nodded gently, waiting for a response. “Do you wanna... or...?”

You saw him swallow nervously. "What...? Are you serious? Is it a joke?"

It wasn’t. It was his biggest fantasy come true. Sex in the palm of his hand, fucking his hot, big-titted neighbor. God, Chan couldn’t remember how many porn videos with the stupid trope of fucking the sexy stranger he had jerked off to. And it was coming true, just for him on the quietest Thursday afternoon.

“No. I mean it, Chan. I’m ready and... apparently so are you.”

Your smile widened as your hand slid down his thigh until it reached his erection. Chan still couldn’t quite believe it, but desire took hold of him in seconds, turning him on so damn fast that it was downright pathetic. He couldn’t control himself around you, so he moaned softly as soon as he felt your hand and nodded without even thinking twice. Suddenly, he felt so sensitive and unable to speak; he was on the verge of whimpering if you kept touching him.

“So, let’s fuck,” you said, amusedly, quickly standing up from the chair.

He looked at you, confused and with a certain admiration, since you were the one who aimed to fuck him.

“Turn your chair around to face me and stay seated,” you ordered, trying to sound as stern as possible.

You may have done a little research on what he likes... and you may have touched yourself a little while fantasizing about him.

Chan shuddered completely... your voice giving him orders made his erection throb at a painful pace, and with bright, submissive eyes, he obeyed you instantly. It was his biggest fantasy. Easy sex, God, he could cum at any moment, his whole body trembling with excitement, and you hadn’t even touched him. You were standing there in front of him, your tiny skirt and exquisite cleavage flattering the blessed and generous size of your breasts.

You straddled him and positioned yourself perfectly so that the bulge of his erection pressed against your center, allowing both of you to enjoy the sensation. Chan moaned once more, sinking deeper into desperation with each passing second. He enjoyed the sweet pressure of your weight on his already dripping cock trapped in his tight pants and watched you in front of him, with such a lewd look... but certainly sweet; you still didn’t quite understand how someone like him preferred to take orders, you could see it, and damn it, it fascinated you so much.

“Come on, Chan, you can touch me,” you whispered, noticing him still shy, almost taken aback by your actions.

You put your arms around his manly shoulders, moving closer to him, driving him crazier and crazier with the way your center crushed his much-needed sex. Your core reacted just as violently and desperately, throbbing and heating every inch of your body as his big hands finally grabbed your waist. Chan looked even more handsome up close, with his luscious lips, which you didn’t hesitate to take, kissing him first passionately and hastily, while your hips began to move on him, provoking heated desire, suffocating the room with sex and pleasure in seconds.

Chan touched you timidly, his hands running over your back, your thighs... but he was certainly overwhelmed, it was too much for him, he didn’t know what to take first, what to focus on, he was in paradise; your lips worked on him so skillfully, joining tongues and savoring and sucking each other’s taste, your chest pressed against his, your hands playing with his hair, pushing his neck further and further back... and the movement of your hips was his total undoing. He couldn’t take it anymore, the way your body moved on top of him with exquisite and persistent pressure, his heart beat fast and he was so agitated that it was difficult for him to even touch you or keep up with you in the kiss... it was just so unreal, he hadn’t felt this aroused in so long... Obviously, the real sensation of your body on his was a thousand times better than all his dirty fantasies and long nights where his only company was his hand.

Chan whimpered softly on your lips, you moved more and more, practically fucking him through his clothes, making a mess of each other’s underwear for both of your excited and lubricated sexes. You slowed down the pace of the kiss, making it more provocative, seductive, and sloppy kisses just to suck his puffy lips, and when you were incredibly turned on, you gently pulled away from him and appreciated his overwhelmed and cute face.

“You like that, huh?” you said breathlessly, teasing him and rubbing yourself more against him.

He whimpered, and his hands clung tighter to your waist. “Yes-yes, please don’t stop,” he begged.

His desperate panting turned you on even more, your pussy throbbing almost as fast as your heart. You smiled. You had him right where you wanted him... but you were also a horny girl with the same desperate needs as him, a part of you screaming to just bury his cock inside you, but you still wanted to have more fun with him. That’s why you were there in the first place.

You noticed that his caresses were still timid, but you admired the very daring and lustful way he looked at your face and moved down your restless body, torturing it by pressing his cock, the sensation of which took you to the clouds. It was so desperate and hot, you could feel the hard friction of his shorts, of his large bulge provoking your folds. His gaze roamed all over you, but it was obvious that there was one place he admired more than the rest, where his gaze lingered and his eyes sparkled with excitement: your breasts. Of course.

“I know what you’ll like best,” you said.

You acted quickly, and in a moment you took off your blouse and, in the next second, you got rid of your bra too, leaving your breasts exposed and leaving him dazzled. You took his wrists and directed them towards your breasts. Chan swallowed hard and felt the incredible energy run through his masculinity, stimulating him even more as his hands rested on your breasts. Somehow, they fit perfectly in them. He looked down at your chest and then up at your face, subtly biting your lip.

Chan didn’t know exactly what to look at. It felt too good for both of you.

“Touch them, isn’t that what you wanted? Use them” you moaned softly.

He nodded, his face filled with wonder, like a man hungry for sex, as if your breasts were the best thing he had ever felt. He gladly accepted that invitation and permission, beginning to knead your breasts, pressing them and taking them with a desperate but exciting patience, memorizing their size in his hands, their motion, and the exact pressure that made you moan as you continued to ride him with your panties on.

Chan admired and indulged the anatomy of your breasts, playing with your hardened nipples, squeezing them exquisitely in just the right way, making you tremble slightly with the incredible desire you had to take him and fuck him right then and there. You were both so overstimulated, panting in front of each other. This time, Chan leaned toward you, taking the initiative and giving you a very hot and passionate kiss, without letting go of your breasts.

You began to feel overwhelmed, your panties were a mess, the fabric clung between your folds from so much friction, and your labia rubbed mindlessly against his erection. You struggled to maintain your sanity and role, but you were dying to feel him inside you.

Chan kissed his way down your neck until he reached your breasts, practically burying his face in them with such satisfaction that every inch of him trembled. With one hand, he held one of your breasts, while with his mouth, he held the other. His free hand held your waist, pressing you firmly toward him. The way he took your breasts in his mouth was so exquisite, giving your skin soft, delicate kisses with the gentle touch of his lips, then savoring them, licking them carefully, and sucking, losing himself completely in the act. He could play with your tits for hours and cum in his pants until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You watched his attractive face buried between your breasts and threw your head back, moaning and enjoying it. Your movements became more desperate, passionate, and erratic. It was difficult to concentrate when you were so excited. You could taste your orgasm in such a promising situation.

“Fuck, you’re wonderful. Mmm, they’re so soft—mmm...” Chan babbled in a whimper, incredibly lost in your boobs.

You started to whimper; he was making you so sensitive, and intense emotions were building up inside you. So, you sadly stopped him, only to continue pleasing him even more.

“Ch-Chan, Channie. Please, I’ll make you feel better, okay?” You held his chin gently, and he looked up, seeing you with bright, pleading eyes, his lips shiny and sweetly coated with saliva from sucking on your breasts. He nodded and, with a burst of energy, you said something that made him tremble even more, turning his cheeks and ears red. “You’ll let Mommy make you feel good, mhum? Will you be a good boy?”

His vision almost clouded over as he brought himself to orgasm almost immediately when you said that. But he didn’t cum yet. He didn’t understand how you could know each and every one of his fantasies. He was dying to whine, for you to make him suffer while he moaned “Mommy” over and over again for you.

“Y-yess, ye-yes, mommy! I’ll be a good boy, I swear,” he whimpered.

You smiled with satisfaction. You felt a little pity, but seeing his reaction was quite rewarding. He was enjoying it too much. So, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, finally appreciating his toned body, which aroused you even more.

You caressed his abdomen and leaned down to kiss his neck, causing him to sigh in surprise. You teased him a little until you reached his collarbone, surprising him even more when you moved away from him to kneel in front of him. Chan moaned softly, immediately imagining what was coming.

You caressed him again, this time his noticeable bulge, and, unable to wait another moment, with a little help, you spread his legs slightly, touching his knees and removing his shorts and underwear. His cock slowly sprang out, so erect and stimulated, surviving your pleasurable friction. It looked so appetizing and was so much like him. You still couldn’t believe he was the kind of man who loved to whine and beg. You adored him.

You also noticed the slight mess he had made, precum oozing from his pink, cute glans, gently staining his underwear. He was holding back an orgasm. His cock throbbed on its own and made Chan groan.

“Aww, Channie...” you said with some emotion.

You wasted no more time and positioned yourself right in front of him, grabbing his hard, erect, throbbing flesh with one hand and caressing his testicles a little with the other. Chan shifted in his chair in surprise and let out a whimper that made him close his eyes tightly. It was happening... every one of his darkest fantasies.

You felt a great need to be attended to in your intimacy, but for the moment, it was all about Chan. You were so eager to see him writhing with pleasure for you, to play and have fun with him, in reward for all the times he had to entertain himself alone.

Finally, you used your mouth, and that was almost the breaking point for Chan. His thighs began to tremble, and he whimpered, babbling, almost incomprehensibly, completely blinded by pleasure, “Mmm, fuck, mommy, yes, ple-please.” His tone of voice was desperate and needy, between high-pitched and low-pitched as his voice came from deep within his very excited body.

Your warm tongue went from the tip to the base to moisten his needy cock, until you took it little by little, your lips circling his length and entering your cavity, sucking and pumping it, taking Chan further and further to the extreme. With one hand, he clung to the edge of the chair, while the other caressed your head. He enjoyed the sight of your sweet face and your mouth fucking his cock, but it was difficult for him to control so much pleasure that he was forced to whimper, to moan loudly as he closed his eyes and threw his head back, prolonging his orgasm.

You wanted to touch yourself, run your hand over yourself just to calm your throbbing organ, but teasing Chan was so much fun. He looked so damn good while he seemed to be getting the best blowjob of his life. And he was. It was dirty, precise, your saliva starting to make noise on his thick cock, gently drowning him in you. And when you felt that the poor guy was having too much, that he was starting to relax his body, you stopped completely, leaving him in a state of emptiness.

“Don’t cum yet,” you ordered him, “Mommy still wants to have fun with your cock, okay?”

“Y-yes, yes, mommy.”

Chan’s eyes were teary. It was obvious he was going to be good to you and not allow himself to cum until you told him to. He was completely devoted to you from now on. His precious fantasy.

You squeezed your legs together, teasing your needy clit a little, and did something you had fantasized about as soon as you knew your handsome neighbor adored your tits. You cupped your breasts and squeezed his cock between them. Chan bit his lip and whimpered throatily. The sensation and the delightful, obscene sight of your breasts embracing his penis was almost enough to make him cum right there.

You moved gently for him, your chest going up and down, stimulating his cock to the point of collapse, just like his exhausted but agitated being.

“Fuck!” he whimpered again.

Chan thought he was unable to take his eyes off your delicious breasts, masturbating his cock, but it was too much for him. He never thought he would be in that position, the soft sensation of your breasts and your skin suffocating his sex. He was crying, begging to cum through his agitated moans, but he didn’t say it, he wanted to resist for you.

“Are you enjoying it, baby?” you teased him.

Chan nodded desperately. “Yes, mommy, it feels so good, but—”

“But? What is it, Channie?”

“I-I need to c--...”

Chan whimpered, daring to look at you, the image of his cock between your tits etched into his mind forever. You knew he was having too much.

“Cum in my tits, fill them with your cum, Channie, you can do it.”

He cried out, both hands clinging to the edge of the chair, veins popping out from the force held in his taut body. He began to shake more, reflected in the slightly violent movement of his abdomen. You felt his member twitching between the curves of your tits and your skin, at which point you quickened your movements, fucking him with your breasts faster, stimulating him more until he came vigorously in a very hot broken cry. His semen shot out of him, first hurriedly and then warmly and thickly, spurting all over you, splattering your breasts. You slowed down, soothing his orgasm as he tried to recover, squeezing every drop out of him.

“Good boy,” you said.

He was breathless but managed to blush, happy to have obeyed you; Chan was about to say something, but saw you stand up. You weren’t done yet; you were still quite aroused. You quickly removed your skirt and underwear, standing naked in front of him, leaving him even more surprised, his tender and eager gaze returning, despite still recovering from his orgasm.

You positioned yourself on top of him again, rubbing his sensitive shaft against your wet pussy.

“Momm—” Chan tried to say, but you interrupted him.

“My turn to cum, Channie. You’re going to let me use your cock, aren’t you?”

He barely managed to nod before you had already taken his cock and aligned it with your entrance. Chan grabbed your waist while you held onto his shoulders and slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, savoring the feeling of his thickness stretching your entrance. He groaned, reveling in the gently painful sensation of his exhausted cock being used again, trapped inside your warm core. You let him bury himself deep inside you first, then slowly begin to move up and down, making him completely hard again, causing you to moan with an indescribable pleasure at finally being filled, gently teasing your spot.

“Lick your cum off my tits, baby. Taste yourself, Channie,” you ordered softly.

He obeyed instantly, letting you use him, fuck him at your pace, letting you adjust to him and slide onto his cock your way. Chan maintained eye contact—teasing you in the same sweet way you did a moment ago when you gave him head—stuck out his tongue, and sensually and slowly licked the outline of your breasts where they were stained with his cum. Chan sucked your skin and left your breasts free of any trace of him, speeding up and heating up the process. With his right hand, he encircled your figure, deepening the way you rode him, and his mouth continued to savor your tits, more ruthlessly and nimbly, leaving aside for a moment that shy personality he had.

You were so close, panting over him as you rode him more aggressively, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. The passionate act became beastly, desperate, your naked body seeking the quickest release, until you came shuddering on top of him. Your movements gradually ceased, allowing your ecstatic, throbbing sex to collapse with him inside you, but surprisingly, Chan began to thrust into you over your orgasm, whimpering to satisfy himself and fill you completely.

You were a hectic mess. Filthy and shameless, recovering in each other’s arms... and all because of the stupid, weird porn you found on his laptop.

♡ taglist: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @cherricola-star @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @hyune-sssne @oddracha @choso4u @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @bokkiesluv @thvsuga @myrkhive @enhacolor @nightmarenyxx @smuttaburger @mintchocoddeonut @ysljoon @wonniecutie @staytinyluva @vernorica123 @rockstarkkami @lyuuu88 @vxyselectric @mrsha-ang-kim @rekussk @biscuitthefirst @wh1mp

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty for reading! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

did we like this? mmm i hope i didnt ramble a lot lol, it was supposed to be a lazy smut, it kinda is hehe

[crescent003]

Silver Temptation

Pairing: Bang Chan x Wife!Reader Genre: Fluff, Domestic, Smut, Established Relationship Word Count: ~3.5k Summary: Chan comes home with freshly dyed silver hair. Your one-year-old isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at Daddy’s new look… but once the baby’s asleep, you finally get to appreciate just how dangerously good your husband looks.

Warnings: smut (oral f. receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, soft dom!Chan, lots of kissing, aftercare). Fluff and domestic themes throughout.

—————————————————————————————————— The morning sunlight spilled softly across the living room as you balanced your one-year-old son on your hip. He was babbling to himself, small fingers clutching at your shirt while you swayed gently to keep him calm. Life with a toddler was messy, loud, and exhausting—but also full of these little pockets of sweetness that made you feel like your heart might burst.

You heard the front door click shut, followed by the sound of shoes being toed off and a duffel bag hitting the floor.

“Daddy’s home,” you whispered, smiling down at your son.

His little head perked up, eyes widening as he recognized the voice singing lightly from the hallway. “Hey, my loves!”

Bang Chan appeared, still in his hoodie and joggers, hair slightly damp from a quick rinse at the studio. But today… something was different. You blinked.

His hair.

It wasn’t the usual warm brown you’d grown used to running your fingers through. It wasn’t the blond phases or the darker shades he’d played with before. No—his hair was a striking, cool grey that caught the light in a way that made him look effortlessly mature and heartbreakingly gorgeous.

Your mouth actually went dry.

Chan’s smile softened when he saw you holding the baby, but then his attention shifted to your son, who had stopped mid-wiggle. The baby stared at him—long and hard. His chubby brows furrowed, lips trembling slightly.

And then, a tiny whimper.

Chan froze. “Uh oh…”

The baby buried his face into your neck, peeking out at Chan like he was a stranger.

“Love, what happened?” Chan chuckled nervously, touching his hair self-consciously. “It’s just me.”

You tried not to laugh, but the situation was too adorable. “I think…” you whispered, bouncing your son gently, “he doesn’t recognize you.”

Chan gasped dramatically, hand over his chest. “My own son? Already betrayed me?”

The baby whined again, eyes still fixed on the unfamiliar silver locks. You could practically see the gears turning in his little head—Daddy smells the same, sounds the same… but why does Daddy look different?

You stroked your son’s back, soothing him while you grinned at your husband. “I mean… to be fair, you do look really different.”

Chan tilted his head. “Different bad or different good?”

Your cheeks warmed as you looked at him properly for the first time, really taking in the sharpness it gave his features, how the grey made his skin glow, how it highlighted the deep warmth in his eyes. It was… unfair, really.

“Different… dangerously good,” you admitted under your breath.

Chan’s smirk returned instantly, dimples flashing. “Oh?”

The baby squealed at his tone, confused again, and clung tighter to you. You rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“Don’t tease,” you whispered, biting back a smile. “Your son thinks you’re an intruder.”

Chan crouched down a little, softening his voice. “Hey, buddy. It’s still Daddy. Look—same smile, same hugs.” He reached his arms out gently, not pushing too much.

The baby considered it for a long moment, lips wobbly, then cautiously reached one pudgy hand out to tug at Chan’s hoodie strings.

“See? Still me,” Chan murmured, kissing his tiny fingers.

Your son blinked, eyes darting up to the silver hair again, but this time he didn’t cry. Instead, he let out a questioning little “Da?”

Chan’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Da. Daddy.” He scooped him carefully from your arms, peppering kisses all over his cheeks until the baby giggled despite himself.

You crossed your arms, watching the two of them with a smile tugging at your lips. It was the same sight you saw every day—your husband with his whole world in his arms—but the grey hair added a new layer, like you were suddenly looking at him in a new light.

A light that made your stomach flip and your heart race.

Chan caught your gaze over your son’s head, reading you instantly. His lips curved in that teasing, knowing way that always made your knees weak.

Yeah. You were in trouble tonight.

Dinner was a blur of highchair mess, mashed veggies smeared on the table, and your son shrieking happily every time Chan made airplane noises with the spoon. You couldn’t stop smiling—even when you were on cleanup duty—because Chan looked so content. His silver hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, soft laugh echoing through the kitchen every time your son giggled back.

Eventually, bath time came. The routine was familiar: Chan hummed soft melodies while holding your slippery toddler steady in the water, you scrubbed carefully, and together you wrangled pajamas onto a wiggly, giggling body.

By the time your son was tucked into his crib, a lullaby humming from the small speaker and his little chest rising and falling in peaceful sleep, you felt the kind of bone-deep exhaustion only parents could understand.

You leaned against the nursery doorway, whispering, “Finally.”

Chan came up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Finally,” he echoed, but his voice carried a warmth that wasn’t just about rest.

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim hallway light. Up close, the silver strands shimmered, and you felt that strange little flutter in your chest again.

“You really like it,” he murmured, eyes searching yours.

You tried to play it cool, even though your pulse betrayed you. “It’s… not bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, lips quirking. “Not bad?”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Okay, fine. It’s… ridiculously sexy. You look like you stepped out of some drama where the mysterious, devastatingly handsome man breaks hearts without trying.”

Chan chuckled, low and pleased, dimples flashing. “And here I was worried my wife wouldn’t like it.”

You scoffed softly. “Your wife is currently wondering how fast she can get her son back to sleep tomorrow night just to have you all to herself.”

That earned you a quiet groan, his forehead pressing into your neck as he held you tighter. “Don’t say things like that when I can’t touch you properly in the hallway.”

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly before tugging him toward the bedroom.

Once the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. No baby monitor beeping, no toys scattered across the floor, no sticky hands tugging at your shirt. Just you, Chan, and the soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the room.

He leaned back against the dresser, watching you with that lazy, smoldering gaze that always unraveled you. His fingers raked through his hair—silver glinting against tan skin—and you swore he knew exactly what he was doing.

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were hungry.

“Like you’re undressing me with your eyes.”

Chan smirked. “Maybe I am.”

You took a slow step toward him, heart hammering. “Bold.”

“Honest,” he countered, tugging you flush against him the moment you were within reach. His hands splayed across your back, holding you like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment.

You curled your fingers into his hoodie, tilting your head up. The grey hair caught your attention again, and before you could stop yourself, you reached up to run your fingers through it.

He closed his eyes, sighing softly. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Actually,” you whispered, brushing a strand back from his forehead, “I think I do.”

His laugh was soft, breath warm against your lips as he kissed you—slow at first, then deeper, more insistent, like he couldn’t get enough.

It had been a long day, but in that kiss, in his arms, you forgot about the exhaustion, the mess, the endless routine. All that existed was the two of you, tangled together in the quiet of your shared space.

Your lips moved in sync, hungry and desperate, as though you’d both been starving all day. Chan pressed you back against the dresser, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, effortlessly lifting you until you wrapped your legs around his waist.

The kiss broke only when he needed air, his forehead pressed against yours, chest heaving. His voice was low, rough. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You smiled breathlessly. “Me? You’re the one who came home looking like—” your eyes flicked up to his hair, “—that.”

He smirked, lips brushing your jaw as he trailed kisses down your neck. “So you really like it.”

Your fingers tugged lightly at the silver strands. “I love it.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He carried you to the bed, laying you down carefully before crawling over you, his weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. His hoodie was the first casualty—you tugged it up and over his head, revealing the toned chest and arms you knew so well.

Your hands roamed greedily, memorizing the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.

When his hand slipped under your shirt, you gasped softly, arching into his touch.

“Still so sensitive,” he whispered against your lips, palming your breast gently through the fabric. “Even after all this time.”

You bit back a moan. “Chan—”

“Shh.” His mouth found your collarbone, sucking lightly until you whimpered. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he did.

Piece by piece, he undressed you with a reverence that made your heart ache. Every kiss, every touch was worship, like he couldn’t believe you were his. The cool strands of his silver hair brushed against your skin as he trailed kisses down your stomach, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you.

When his mouth finally settled between your thighs, you muffled a cry against your hand, hips jerking at the first flick of his tongue.

“Always so sweet,” he murmured, glancing up at you with eyes dark and full of heat. “Let me taste you, baby.”

You could only nod, already too far gone.

He worked you slowly at first, tongue teasing, savoring every reaction. But when your legs started trembling and your moans grew desperate, he held you steady, devouring you with a hunger that left you dizzy.

Your release hit hard, your back arching as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop until you tugged gently at his hair, gasping for breath.

Chan crawled back up, kissing you softly, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Good?”

You laughed weakly, still trembling. “You’re asking me that after that?”

He grinned, dimples flashing. “I like hearing it.”

You pulled him down for another kiss, rolling your hips against his. The hard length pressing against you left no doubt what he needed.

“Please,” you whispered.

That single word broke whatever restraint he had left. He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, then aligned himself with you, pausing just long enough to kiss you deeply before sliding inside.

The stretch made you moan, nails digging into his shoulders.

“God—” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You feel perfect.”

He moved slowly at first, savoring every inch, every sound you made. His pace built gradually, each thrust deeper, harder, until you were clinging to him, whimpering against his ear.

The bed creaked softly under the rhythm of your bodies, but the world outside ceased to exist. There was only Chan—his warmth, his strength, the love in his eyes every time he looked at you.

“Look at me,” he whispered, tilting your chin until your eyes locked. “I want to see you when you fall apart for me.”

And you did.

The second orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name. He followed soon after, groaning into your shoulder as he spilled inside you, holding you as if he’d never let go.

For a long moment, you just lay there together, sweaty, tangled, and blissfully spent. His hand stroked your hair, his breathing gradually steadying.

“Still scared of Daddy’s hair, huh?” he joked softly, voice hoarse but teasing.

You laughed weakly, swatting his chest. “Your son might be. Your wife, on the other hand…” You kissed him gently, savoring the taste of him. “She’s obsessed.”

He smiled, eyes softening as he kissed your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You curled into him, heart full, body sated, and knew that silver hair or not, he’d always be the man you’d choose a thousand times over.

[sunshinesfreckless]

Filthy Little Secret

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Felix x younger!fem!reader

Summary: Felix takes a liking to his best friend’s younger sister.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, sexual content.

A/N: Younger does not mean under 18. The reader is fully legal, don’t worry.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

He knew he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t sit in the dark like this, parked down the street with the engine purring low, watching the lights flicker in the house. Every time, he told himself it would be the last. And every time, he came back anyway.

Felix’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as a slow smile tugged at his lips. Because there she was—Chan’s little sister. The one he had no right to want. The one he couldn’t stop touching.

She slipped out of the front door in a hurry, glancing over her shoulder like she was already guilty. A pretty pink dress with little flowers clung to her figure, riding up higher as she ran barefoot across the lawn. Sweet. Innocent. Everything Chan swore to protect.

And yet… she was his secret. His sweetest sin.

Felix leaned across the seat as she swung open the door, her breathless smile undoing him instantly.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, stealing a kiss before she could even close the door.

“Hi, Lixie.” Her giggle was soft, conspiratorial, like she loved the danger as much as he did.

“You look gorgeous—”

“Don’t talk,” she cut him off, tugging her dress lower even as it crept back up her thighs. “Just drive. He can’t see us.”

Felix laughed under his breath, stepping harder on the gas than he needed to, the thrill sparking through his veins. His best friend’s sister. The one girl he was never supposed to touch.

And yet here she was, in his car, in his hands, in his bed.

Chan’s little sister. His own private addiction.

Chan’s sister. The girl clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she cried out for him.

“Harder, Felix—harder.”

Her moans grew louder with every thrust, bouncing off the steamed-up windows of his car. The same backseat he had ruined her on countless times. The place he’d stolen her virginity, the place he’d made her choke on his cock, the place where he had taught her every filthy thing she now begged him for.

Once upon a time, she’d been Channie’s sweet, annoying little sister—the one who cried when the boys left her out. Everyone knew her as that innocent girl. But Felix knew her now. Really knew her. Her nipples between his fingers, her pussy stretched around him, her voice breaking on his name.

“You like that?” he growled, his voice low and rough in her ear. He knew the way it made her melt.

“Yes—yes, Lixie—” she gasped, tits bouncing with every thrust.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he panted, watching the way she unraveled beneath him. “Want to mark you… let everyone see who you belong to.”

Her moan broke into a whimper. “Channie oppa… could see—”

…the thought of Chan finding out sent a sharp jolt of fear and arousal through him. His best friend would tear him apart without hesitation. He’d kill him for even looking at her like this—let alone fucking her raw in the backseat of his car.

For a split second, he remembered years ago: middle school. That boy she liked, the one she had a crush on, trembling when Chan and he had shown up like two older demons at her school.

And yet Felix couldn’t stop. He shoved deeper, harder, chasing the sound of her broken moans.

“Don’t say his name when I’m inside you,” he hissed against her neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re mine here. Only mine.”

Her thighs trembled around his hips, squeezing him tighter. “I—I know, Lixie—just yours.”

He groaned, hand sliding down to her clit, rubbing circles that had her head tipping back against the window. “That’s right, baby. Sweet little Channie’s sister… fucked open on my cock. If he knew what I do to you—fuck—he’d lose his goddamn mind.”

Her whimper came out almost like a sob, her body clenching around him. “He can’t… he can’t ever know…”

Felix smirked, though his chest burned at the danger. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Then scream my name louder, baby. Drown out the guilt. Let me hear who owns you.”

Her legs spread wide, tears streaking her cheeks as her body shook. She moaned, coming hard around him, only to smile through the mess when he followed—filling her up until she could feel the warmth dripping inside her.

It made her think of all those times she’d hidden pregnancy tests in the house, terrified Chan would notice. He’d asked her more than once if she was hiding something, always the protective big brother. She never admitted it was because of Felix.

Because she let his best friend pump her full of cum, so many times while Chan was just upstairs, waiting for Felix to come back and play video games.

When Felix finally pulled out, he gentled his touch, wiping away her mascara-streaked tears, pressing soft kisses where he’d just bitten.

────୨ৎ────

And the next day—like every other time—she came downstairs freshly showered, her hair damp, her body wrapped in tiny hotpants and a cropped top. The house was quiet; their parents were gone. Chan stood in the kitchen, fresh from one of his college classes, cooking something for himself and… Felix.

Her breath hitched when she saw him. Felix, leaning against the counter, lifting his gaze to hers with that same polite smile he always wore around her brother. The same mouth that had been buried between her thighs hours ago.

She crossed the room slowly, heart pounding. Chan’s back turned as he stirred the pan. And just like every morning-after, Felix moved close—so casually it almost looked like nothing. His hand slid over her ass, squeezing it possessively, hidden from Chan’s eyes.

She bit back a gasp, fighting to keep her expression neutral.

Felix only smirked. He loved this. Loved knowing she was ruined because of him. Loved knowing that sweet, innocent Channie’s sister was his filthy little secret.

[chroniclesofskz]

Holding Onto Hope

Warning: This story talks about infertility and the deep heartbreak of not being able to conceive. If you're going through something similar, know you're not alone. Healing takes time, but love and hope can help us find a new way forward.

From the moment Felix and Y/N met, their worlds intertwined with a gentle promise — a promise of love, of future days filled with laughter, tiny hands clutching theirs, and a home echoing with joy. They sat beneath star-studded skies, whispering softly of the family they longed for, their hearts full of hope and innocence. Every dream they dreamt together shimmered with possibility — a life where love grew boundlessly, and their hearts beat in harmony with the idea of holding their own children someday. But life, in its quiet, relentless way, began to shatter those dreams piece by fragile piece.

It started with subtle signs—missed periods, a distant ache that Y/N brushed aside, convincing herself it was nothing but nerves or exhaustion. She told herself to be strong, to ignore the faint nagging voice inside that warned her something was wrong. Days turned into weeks, and each month she whispered silent prayers, clinging desperately to hope. But deep within her, a quiet dread grew — a knowing she refused to accept. She tried to brush aside her fears, convincing herself that maybe, just maybe, she was overthinking. Yet, the truth was too loud to ignore anymore, gnawing at her with relentless persistence.

Finally, unable to carry the weight alone, she quietly booked an appointment with the doctor. She left home in silence, her heart pounding like a thunderstorm inside her chest, her mind spiraling with fear she couldn’t yet face aloud. Felix, so busy with rehearsals and preparations for their upcoming tour, remained blissfully unaware of the torment brewing beneath her surface. She tucked her trembling hands into her pockets, fighting the swell of anxiety and dread as she drove to that sterile, unfeeling building, her every step echoing with dread.

When the doctor finally spoke, her words were carefully chosen, gentle but heartbreaking. “Y/N,” she began softly, voice soaked with empathy, “I want you to understand that what I have to tell you isn’t easy, but I believe honesty is the only way.” Her eyes watched Y/N’s trembling form with kindness. “After reviewing your tests, I have to tell you that your reproductive system shows no support for pregnancy — it’s complete. There’s no possibility of conception, now or ever. It’s a stark, final truth.”

The words hit her like a blow. Her entire body went numb. Her breath caught, heartbeat thudding painfully in her ears as her mind spun out of control. The room blurred around her, the doctor’s kind voice fading into the background. Her dreams, her hopes, the love she’d envisioned holding in her arms one day — all of it dissolved into an icy abyss within seconds. Her vision blurred, tears blurring her sight, and she felt her world shatter beneath her. The finality of the words left her hollowed out — a hollow that echoed with the hollow ache of dreams denied and hope extinguished. Her heart crumbled in her chest, aching with a pain so profound it swelled uncontrollably, tearing her apart from within.

She fought to breathe, fighting the sobs threatening to escape her lungs, but her throat clenched under the weight of despair. Silence engulfed her, broken only by the sound of her trembling tears. She stared blankly at the invisible distance, unable to speak or process what she’d just heard. The brutal truth made her feel like her entire world had been ground to dust. Her fists clenched at the sterile table, trembling with grief too deep for words.

The kindness in the doctor’s voice faded into background noise as Y/N sank into a heap of grief. Her mind replayed the moment endlessly—the hopes, the plans, the futures she’d imagined — all gone, swept away by cruel, irreversible truth. Her dreams of holding her own child now crumbled into dust, leaving behind only an emptiness so vast it clawed at her soul. Her entire being felt weighed down by sadness so heavy it was almost a physical pain, a piercing emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole. Her tears streamed freely now, raw and uncontainable, as helpless sobs broke through her lips — a song of heartbreak, yearning, and despair.

And yet, she chose to keep her pain hidden. She knew Felix would be devastated too, and right now, he needed to focus on the upcoming tour. Their lives were chaotic, filled with plans, rehearsals, and the relentless schedule he was bound to. Her grief was her own, a wound she couldn’t burden him with just yet. So she kept silent, hiding her heartbreak in shadows, afraid that if she told him, the weight of despair would become overwhelming for both of them.

In the days and weeks that followed, she maintained a brave front, trying to act normal, trying to keep everything together. She tried to carry on as if nothing had changed, forcing herself to laugh at little jokes, to pretend she was fine, but inside, each day felt like walking through a fog of grief too thick to see through. Every time she looked at Felix preparing for the tour, she felt a pang of guilt — for hiding her pain, for pretending to be strong, for not telling him the truth.

She watched him from afar, her heart aching with love and guilt as she kept her secret locked deep inside where no one could reach. She was a fragile shell of herself, hiding her despair beneath a forced smile, pretending she was okay — all for his sake, all while her world was quietly crumbling.

Finally, one night, sitting alone in their bedroom, her trembling hands pulled the sealed envelope from where she’d hidden it. Her heart was pounding harder than ever. She stared at the white paper, trembling so violently she could barely hold it. The words she’d long feared stared back at her — cruel, final, devastating.

“There is no possibility of pregnancy. Your reproductive system is unable to support conception. You will never conceive naturally or through any medical intervention.”

Her body went cold. The room seemed to spin around her as everything she’d believed in, everything she’d dreamed of, dissolved into a shattered, unrecognizable nightmare. Her heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, and the tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally erupted — a flood of grief that poured out in uncontrollable sobs.

She sank to the floor, clutching her stomach as if trying to hold the remnants of her hope inside her, but it was no use. Her tears racked her entire body, trembling with despair, broken by the cruel finality of the diagnosis. Her sobs tore through the silence, loud and raw, her voice lost in an ocean of heartbreak.

Meanwhile, Felix had been practicing at the studio, pouring his soul into melodies, unaware of the storm brewing in the house. His phone buzzed with missed calls and messages from her, but he hesitated, distracted. When he finally arrived home that night, he expected to see her smiling, maybe ready to share a joke or a story.

Instead, his heart plummeted. The door creaked open, and he saw her lying in bed—her body trembling uncontrollably. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her face so fragile, so broken. She clutched a tiny, familiar blanket — the one they had bought for their first child — as if clutching the last remaining piece of hope.

His tired, practiced demeanor shattered in an instant. He ran to her side, his heart pounding, worry etched into his eyes. His mind spun — he’d known about her appointment, but she had told him she was fine, that she was strong. Now, standing before him, he saw what all her silence had hidden.

When he looked into her trembling face, he knew. Until she confirmed it, it felt like the truth was just outside his grasp — hiding behind her tears, behind her trembling voice. But seeing her like this, so utterly broken, made it all painfully real.

He moved quickly, instinctively wrapping her in his arms, clutching her tightly against his chest as if to hold her pieces together. His own eyes welled with tears, helplessness overwhelming him.

“Y/N,” he whispered brokenly, voice thick with emotion. “What happened? Please… tell me.”

She looked up at him, tears pouring down her face, her whole body shaking with emotion. Her voice was cracked and trembling, words spilling out desperately.

“I… I found out today,” she whispered through her sobs, “the doctor… the results… I can’t have a baby. Felix… I can’t be a mother.”

His heart clenched painfully at her words. The pain was written into every feature of her face — her trembling body, her tear-streaked cheeks, her broken sobs. It felt as if someone had ripped out his own heart and handed it back in pieces, ache and helplessness engulfing him.

He instinctively pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could. Tears slipped down his cheeks now, helpless and overwhelmed, feeling as if the very ground beneath him had cracked open.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice hoarse, trembling with raw emotion. “I’m here. I’m so sorry… I wish I could take this pain away. I wish I’d been there with you.”

He held her trembling form, feeling her heartbreak as his own. For a long moment, neither of them spoke — only tears and soft whispers of love filling the silence between them, a fragile thread holding them Felix held her fiercely, pressing his forehead against hers, trembling with his own heartbreak. Every tear she shed felt like a dagger piercing straight to his soul, and he wished desperately he could take her pain away — to turn back time or make her see that she was still enough, still loved more than anything in this world.

“I wish I could fix this,” he whispered hoarsely, voice thick with emotion. “I wish I could make it better, but I’m just… I’m so sorry, Y/N. I can’t believe this is real.”

Her trembling eased slightly as she clung to him, her sobs gradually quieting into ragged breaths. But beneath her tears, the ache remained — a raw, unhealed wound that would leave its mark forever.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her damp hair, holding her close in a silent vow. “We’re going to get through this, love,” he murmured softly. “We may not have the family we thought was waiting for us, but we still have each other. We’ll find another way. I promise.”

Her body shuddered in his arms, a fragile, broken thing yearning for healing. She looked up at him, exhausted but desperate to cling to some sliver of hope.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered, voice trembling, “but I don’t want to lose you. I... I don’t want to lose us. Even if this isn’t what we imagined, I want us to find a new way — together.”

Felix’s eyes shimmered with tears, and he cupped her face tenderly, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “We will,” he said quietly, voice unwavering. “Whatever it takes. We’ll face it all — side by side. And when you’re ready, we’ll talk about all the options — surrogacy, adoption — whatever it takes to make our family, in whatever form, happen.”

She looked into his eyes, her heart aching with love and grief, trying to believe in those words. To believe in the future that still, faintly, shimmered beyond the pain.

“Okay,” she whispered finally, voice fragile but determined. “When I’m ready.”

Felix nodded softly, leaning in and gently pressing his forehead against hers, their trembling breaths mingling in despair and hope.

In that quiet, battered space between heartbreak and healing, their love endured — fragile, wounded but unyielding. Because even amid the darkness, they knew that together, they could still find a way to forge a new kind of family — built not just on biology, but on unwavering love, resilience, and the hope that someday, somehow, their dreams would still come true.

And in that promise, they found a flicker of light to hold onto — a spark that refused to be extinguished by sorrow.

[chroniclesofskz]

Pushing Buttons

The evening sun painted the sky a gentle orange as it dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room where Y/N and Felix sat, their eyes glued to the computer screen. The only sound in the quiet apartment was the steady ticking of the clock and the occasional hum of the fridge. Both were wrapped in their own worlds, the soft glow of the screen illuminating their faces, highlighting their determination as they played their favorite game.

Felix's hands moved with the precision of a seasoned pianist, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, Y/N's fingers danced over the keyboard, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she watched her avatar outmaneuver his for the third time in a row. The air grew thick with tension as the scoreboard flashed the results of the latest round: another victory for her.

"Looks like I'm the grill master here, huh?" she taunted, her voice teasing and light, not expecting the storm brewing within him.

Felix's jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening on the mouse. "You want to keep this up?" he challenged, his voice a warning whisper. He couldn't believe how she was basking in his defeat, enjoying the moment a little too much. Yet, it was oddly endearing to see the competitive fire in her eyes, a stark contrast to her usual softness.

"Bring it, pretty boy," she shot back, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. Her heart raced, thrilled by the challenge she saw in his gaze. She had never seen him like this, so fiery and intense. It was as if she had unlocked a side of him that she didn't even know existed.

Felix's eyes darkened, the corners of his lips tipping up in a smug smile. He knew he could take her down a peg or two. "Alright, you asked for it," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he launched into the next round.

Y/N's smirk grew wider as she watched him, her heart pounding in anticipation. This was going to be good. They played on, the tension in the room palpable. Each move they made was a silent declaration of their skills, a dance of digital swords. The game was their battlefield, and they were both determined to emerge victorious.

The minutes turned to hours, and the room grew warmer as the air thickened with their competitive spirits. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, their breaths grew heavier with every victory and defeat. The occasional laughter or grunt echoed through the apartment, punctuating the silence like a drumroll before a dramatic finale.

Finally, it was the deciding round. Y/N's heart raced as she made her final move, her eyes glued to the screen. The seconds ticked by, the suspense unbearable. And just like that, the words "Victory" flashed before her eyes, and she couldn't help but let out a triumphant cheer.

Felix's grip on his chair tightened, his teeth grinding together. He had lost again. But instead of the usual frustration, he felt something else, something primal and untamed. He turned to her, his eyes burning with a mix of irritation and something else—desire.

Without a word, he pushed himself out of his chair and closed the distance between them. Before Y/N could react, he spun her chair around, trapping her in the confines of his arms. His eyes searched hers, looking for a challenge, a sign that she wasn't just playing games. And that's when she realised, she had been playing a dangerous game of her own, one that had gone further than she ever intended.

Their gazes locked, the air charged with unspoken words. Y/N's heart fluttered like a trapped bird, her breath catching in her throat as she met his intense stare. The room seemed to shrink around them, the only sound their ragged breaths mingling in the stillness.

"I dare you," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, her eyes filled with a dare of her own.

Felix leaned in closer, his breath hot on her cheek. "Careful what you wish for, princess," he murmured, his voice a low purr. "You might just get it."

And with that, he claimed her mouth in a fiery kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through her body. It was rough, demanding, and everything she didn't know she wanted. Y/N gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into it, her hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Her initial fear quickly melted away, replaced by a burning curiosity that ignited into a full-blown flame. This was a side of Felix she had never seen before, and it was intoxicating. As the kiss deepened, she felt a surge of power within her, a sense of control she hadn't known she had. It was like they had crossed an invisible line, and there was no turning back.

With a surprising strength, she pushed him away, her eyes flashing with excitement and challenge. "Is that all you've got?" she teased, her voice breathless.

Felix's anger didn't waver, but his expression changed—it grew hungry. He grabbed her wrists, his grip firm but not painful, and yanked her out of the chair. Before she could react, he had her pinned down on the bed, his body hovering over hers. The room spun around Y/N as she stared up at him, her heart racing.

"I don't know what game you're playing," he growled, his eyes dark and intense, "but you're playing with fire." His words were a warning, but his voice was a caress, sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N didn't miss a beat, her own eyes sparkling with excitement. She raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Maybe I like playing with fire." She didn't struggle as he held her hands above her head, instead, she leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of his body pressing into hers.

With surprising agility, he took off his belt, the leather sliding through the loops of his jeans with a smooth whoosh. He wrapped it around her wrists, securing them to the headboard. The sudden restraint sent a thrill through her, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud.

Felix studied her face, looking for any sign of fear or doubt. All he found was a hunger that matched his own. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers as he whispered, "You're going to regret this."

Y/N met his gaze, her voice steady and filled with mischief. "Is that a promise?" she said, her eyes never leaving his.

Felix's head tilted back, and a flash of frustration crossed his face. His jaw clenched slightly, and with a silent challenge, he pushed his tongue into his cheek. He let out a deep, heavy groan-laugh, a sound that was a mix of annoyance and arousal. "Don't fuck with me, Y/N," he warned, his smirk never fading.

"Oh, but you're so fun when I do," she cooed back at him, her voice dripping with a seductive playfulness. She squirmed underneath him, the leather belt around her wrists tightening slightly as she tested her boundaries. Her hips rocked upward, brushing against him, and she could feel his response, his erection pressing into her.

Felix's eyes narrowed, his smirk growing into a full-blown grin. "Alright, you've had your fun," he said, his voice thick with desire. He reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one swift motion. His eyes raked over her exposed skin, his gaze lingering on her breasts, which were now barely contained by her lacy black bra.

Her heart raced as she watched him, her chest heaving with each shallow breath. "Are you going to leave me like this?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr. The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable.

Felix smirked, his eyes dark with desire. "Not a chance," he murmured, his thumb tracing the lace of her bra. He took his time, enjoying the way her body responded to his touch. With a flick of his wrist, he unclasped the hooks, and her bra fell away, revealing her perky breasts.

"So, you're going to play the gentleman now?" Y/N quipped, her voice a mix of sarcasm and lust. She watched him, her eyes half-lidded, as he took in the sight of her.

Felix chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I've never claimed to be a gentleman," he replied, his voice a low growl. He leaned down, his breath hot on her skin as he captured one of her nipples in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from her. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

Y/N's cheeks flushed as she watched him, her body arching into his touch. "So, what does that make you?" she managed to say, her voice laced with sarcasm despite the moan that escaped her lips.

Felix smirked against her skin, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he pulled away. "A man who's had enough of your games," he murmured, his eyes glinting with mischief. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "But I'm more than happy to show you how I play."

Y/N couldn't help the sarcastic giggle that bubbled up from her chest. "Oh, I'm terrified," she quipped, her body betraying her with a shiver of anticipation. She felt his smirk against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as he chuckled.

Felix pulled away slightly, his eyes searching hers, a hint of challenge in his gaze. "You should be," he murmured, his voice low and filled with heat. He kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth, exploring and claiming. Y/N met his passion with her own, the kiss turning desperate and wild.

As they broke apart, panting for air, she quipped, "You think you can handle me?" Her eyes gleamed with excitement, the teasing lilt to her voice unmistakable.

Felix smirked, his hands sliding down her sides to the button of her jeans. "Oh, I can handle you, Y/N," he said, his tone confident and filled with promise. He deftly undid the button and zipper, sliding them down her legs and tossing them aside.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she watched him, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "Is that so?" she challenged, her voice a soft purr. "Because from where I'm lying, it seems like I'm the one holding all the power."

Felix smirked, his eyes flashing with amusement. "You think so?" He leaned down, his nose brushing against hers. "You're about to find out what happens when you push me too far." His voice was a dark whisper that sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but smirk in response.

Y/N felt his weight shift as he reached over to grab something off the nightstand. She couldn't resist the urge to make another sarcastic comment. "What's the matter, scared to take it all the way?" she quipped, her voice full of false bravado.

Felix's eyes narrowed, and he leaned back over her, his smirk turning predatory. "Scared? Not even close," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her body. In his hand, he held a blindfold, and he held it up with a raised eyebrow. "But if you're so eager to find out, let's even the playing field."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help the smug smile that spread across her face. "You think I'm scared of a little darkness?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Felix's eyes lit up with a predatory glint. "Oh, it's not about fear, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "It's about trust." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin as he secured the blindfold over her eyes.

The sudden darkness heightened her other senses, making the sound of his zipper echo in the room. She could feel his heat as he positioned himself over her, his erection pressing into her stomach. "Still think you're in charge?" he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

"You wish," she retorted, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as he flipped her onto her stomach. The coolness of the bed sheets against her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from gasping as he grabbed her hips, pulling her towards the edge of the bed.

Felix's hand reached out, and she heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Her heart raced as she felt something soft and leathery brush against the back of her thigh. "What's that?" she asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

"Just a little something to even the score," he replied, his tone smug. She felt the flogger in his hand, the strands of leather trailing along her skin, sending goosebumps up her arms. "Ready to find out what happens when you push me too far?"

Y/N's mouth went dry, and she swallowed hard. "Bring it on," she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She had no idea what was about to happen, but she knew it was going to be intense.

The first strike of the flogger was light, a gentle caress across her lower back that had her jumping in surprise. She yelped out a laugh, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. "Is that all you've got?" she goaded, her voice filled with mock bravado.

Felix chuckled, the sound sending a thrill through her. "Oh, I'm just warming up," he assured her, his voice low and seductive. The next strike was harder, the leather biting into her skin with a sharp sting that had her gasping.

Y/N's breath hitched, and she bit down on the pillow to muffle her moan. Her body was on fire, her skin alive with sensation. Each strike of the flogger was followed by a gentle caress of his hand, the contrast driving her wild with desire.

The pain was delicious, each blow sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She could feel her pussy growing wetter, her body begging for more. "Harder," she murmured, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Felix's grip tightened on the flogger, and she felt the next strike coming before it hit her, the anticipation making it all the more intense. The leather kissed her skin with a fiery sting, and she moaned into the pillow, her body arching into the blow.

Their laughter and gasps filled the room, the sound of the flogger hitting her skin punctuating the air like a symphony of desire. It was a dance of power and submission, a dance that neither of them had ever experienced before.

As the last of the tension between them melted away, Felix dropped the flogger and leaned down to kiss the red marks he had left on her skin. "I love it when you're feisty," he murmured against her shoulder.

Y/N's body trembled, her eyes still blindfolded. "You love it too much," she quipped, her voice shaky with arousal. She felt his hand slide between her legs, his fingers finding her wet and ready.

Felix's voice grew rough with desire. "I love all of you," he murmured, his thumb circling her clit. "Every single inch."

Their breathing grew ragged as he slid two fingers inside her, his other hand gripping her hip. Y/N moaned, her body moving with his rhythm, the pleasure building with each stroke.

Felix leaned down, his breath hot on her ear. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Say you love me."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, her body tightening around his fingers. She took a deep breath, the words on the tip of her tongue. "I love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Felix stilled for a moment, his eyes wide with shock. He had never expected to hear those words, not here, not like this. But before he could say anything, she continued, her voice stronger. "But I'm not going to let you off that easily."

With a chuckle, he leaned down and kissed the side of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin gently. "Is that so?" he murmured, his hands sliding under her body to grip her ass firmly.

He pulled her hips back, lining her up with his cock, and with one powerful thrust, he rammed into her wet pussy. Y/N's body arched off the bed, a scream of pleasure tearing from her throat. She was still blindfolded, her senses heightened, making the sensation of his cock filling her up all the more intense.

Their bodies moved together, a dance of passion and need. He set a punishing pace, driving into her with every ounce of his strength. The bed creaked and groaned beneath them, a symphony of lust that echoed through the room.

Y/N's moans grew louder, her voice hoarse from the constant stream of pleasure that rolled through her. She could feel herself getting closer, her orgasm building like a tidal wave. "Felix," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea.

He responded with a grunt, his own orgasm building. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice thick with need. His hand slid up her back, gripping her shoulder as he slammed into her one last time.

With a scream, she did, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. He followed soon after, his own release a powerful wave that left them both gasping for air. They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts racing.

For a moment, they lay there, panting, the only sound the thunderous beating of their hearts. Then, slowly, Felix leaned down and kissed her, the taste of her lips sweet and familiar. "You know," he murmured, his voice still ragged, "I think we're going to have a problem."

Y/N smirked beneath the blindfold, her voice filled with satisfaction. "What's that?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr.

"You've unlocked something in me," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "And I don't think I can go back to just being your best friend now."

She leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. "Good," she murmured, her voice a whisper of promise. "Because I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

Felix's eyes searched hers, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. "I'm not going anywhere," he vowed, his voice filled with raw emotion. "Not now that I know what we could have."

And with that, they kissed again, sealing their fate. The game was over, the battle won. But their love was just beginning, a love born from the flames of passion and the ashes of their former friendship.

Their bodies tangled together, the heat of their desire never fading. They explored each other's bodies with a newfound sense of urgency, their kisses deep and hungry. It was as if they had been starving for this connection, for this intimacy, and now that they had found it, they couldn't get enough.

Y/N's hands roamed over his back, her nails digging in slightly as he thrust into her, filling her completely. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.

Felix's teeth grazed her neck, his tongue tracing a path of fire along her collarbone. "Mine," he murmured, his voice a possessive growl that sent shivers down her spine.

"Yours," she breathed, the word a declaration that seemed to resonate through the very air around them.

Their love grew with each passing moment, each touch, each kiss. It was raw and unfiltered, a love that neither of them had ever felt before. And as they lay there, tangled in the aftermath of their passion, they both knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

[chroniclesofskz]

What makes you tick

The living room was a typical bachelor pad, but with a touch of Y/N's flair. A mismatched array of beanbags, cushions, and blankets surrounded the TV. Posters of their favorite movies and bands covered the walls. The smell of popcorn wafted through the air, and the low murmur of their friends setting up filled the room. Y/N flopped onto the couch, and without a second thought, Bang Chan sat down beside her, pulling her into a side hug.

The film began, and the lights dimmed. She leaned her head on his shoulder, his warmth and scent enveloping her. The scene grew tense, and Y/N found herself yawning. She felt his fingers brush through her hair, soothing and gentle. His breath tickled her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You tired?" he whispered, and she nodded sleepily. He didn't miss the way she nuzzled closer, her eyes drooping shut.

Her breathing grew even, and his touch grew bolder. His thumb traced the curve of her ear, and she let out a soft moan, her body reacting in ways it never had before. She felt the heat from his fingertips, his touch electrifying. His whispers grew softer, but the message was clear: he cared for her more than just a friend. He knew her better than anyone else, and she craved the comfort that only he could provide.

The room had gone quiet, the others engrossed in the movie. Without a word, Bang Chan gently scooped her up in his arms, carrying her up the stairs to his bedroom. The light was off, and he laid her down on his bed, his heart racing. He hovered above her, unsure if he was dreaming. He had felt something shift between them, a current of desire that was undeniable. He tucked her in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before retreating to the door.

The week that followed was a tumultuous dance of unspoken tension. Y/N went about her days with a newfound buzz of excitement, her thoughts often straying to those moments of intimacy. Every time she saw him, she felt a jolt of electricity. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her hair, it was all different now. At work, she found herself daydreaming about his hands on her body, his whispers in her ear, and the way his eyes searched hers for a deeper connection.

SUMMARY^1: During the movie, Bang Chan's tender whispers and touches make Y/N feel something new. He carries her to his room after she falls asleep, laying her on his bed, and the week that follows is filled with unspoken tension as their friendship evolves. Y/N experiences new feelings for him, thinking about his touches throughout her workday.

When game night rolled around again, the anticipation was palpable. She walked into the room, and their eyes met. The air between them crackled with energy. The other Stray Kids members were oblivious to the silent conversation passing between the two of them. They greeted her with their usual banter, but she couldn't focus on anyone but Bang Chan.

He noticed her tension, the way her shoulders were tight, and her eyes slightly glazed with fatigue. He knew she'd had a rough week, and he wanted nothing more than to ease her pain. As they settled in for the night, he casually suggested, "Hey, why don't you sit here?" He patted the spot between his legs on the floor. She hesitated for a moment before sitting down, feeling the warmth of his thighs against her back. He began to massage her shoulders, his strong hands working out the knots she hadn't realized were there.

The pressure was heavenly, and she couldn't help but let out a contented sigh. His touch was familiar, comforting, but tonight it sent sparks down her spine. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, and murmured, "Does that feel good?" She nodded, unable to find the words to express just how much she needed this. He gently moved her hair aside and continued his ministrations, his fingertips grazing her neck.

Y/N felt her body responding to his touch, and she couldn't ignore it anymore. A warmth pooled in her stomach, and she leaned further into him, her eyes slipping shut. His hands traveled up her neck, his thumbs stroking the base of her skull, eliciting a low moan from her lips.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the sound she'd made, and she quickly pushed herself to her feet. "I'm just gonna grab a drink," she murmured, hoping the darkness of the room would hide her reaction. She practically bolted to the kitchen, her heart racing. She poured a glass of water, the condensation cold against her trembling hand. She took a deep gulp, trying to cool down her heated skin. The sound of his footsteps on the stairs made her pulse quicken even more.

Bang Chan stepped into the kitchen, his eyes searching for hers. "You okay?" he asked, his deep Australian accent thick with concern. She nodded, avoiding eye contact as she took another sip. "You sure?" His voice was closer now, and she could feel his body heat behind her. She knew he was waiting for an explanation, something to justify the intimate sounds that had filled his room. But she didn't have one, at least not one she was ready to share.

Y/N turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm fine," she said, her voice quieter than she'd intended. "It's just been a long week." She offered a weak smile, hoping it would be enough to deter his questions. But he wasn't buying it. His gaze was intense, his eyes searching hers for the truth she was trying to hide.

"What was that back there?" he asked, his voice low and gruff. "You've had plenty of massages from me before, and you've never reacted like that."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn even hotter. She swallowed hard, trying to come up with a casual response. "It's just a sensitive spot, I guess," she murmured, playing it off. But she knew she couldn't hide from him anymore. Every time he touched her, it was like a match to gasoline, igniting a fire she hadn't realized was there.

Chan leaned in closer, his hand reaching for her neck again. "This one?" he whispered, his thumb brushing over the spot that had made her moan. She froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The intensity in his gaze made it clear he wasn't just teasing anymore. He wanted answers, and she knew she couldn't lie to him.

"Yes," she gasped, the admission leaving her on a trembling exhale. His eyes searched hers, and she could see the curiosity and something else - desire - flickering in their depths. He stepped closer, his chest pressing against her back, trapping her between him and the kitchen counter. His breath was hot on her neck, and she could feel his body responding to her confession.

"What about this nerve?" He whispered, his breath fanning across her sensitive skin, making her shiver. He waited for her response, his thumb tracing small, delicate circles. She nodded, unable to form words as his touch sent waves of pleasure through her. He leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Good," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his voice.

"What are your other kinks?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise and she stuttered, "W-what do you mean?" She was aware of the risk they were taking, their friends just a room away. But the thrill of being caught only heightened her desire.

"You heard me," he said, his grip on her neck tightening gently, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me, baby. What makes you tick?" He knew he was pushing boundaries, but he couldn't resist. Her body was like a puzzle he had to solve, and he was eager to put all the pieces together.

Y/N's pulse raced, her mind a whirlwind of emotions and sensations. "I-I don't know," she stuttered, her voice a soft whisper. "You've never asked before."

Chan's grip tightened just a fraction, his thumb still caressing the spot that sent jolts of pleasure through her body. His eyes bore into hers, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. "Well, I'm asking now," he said, his voice a seductive rumble. "And I expect an answer."

Her pussy clenched at the command in his tone, and she couldn't help the moan that slipped out. He noticed her throat bob with the effort of swallowing, and his eyes darkened. He leaned in closer, his breath a warm caress against her cheek. "You like it when I talk cocky, don't you?" His voice was a whisper.

"Y-yes," she stuttered, the word barely a breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt his hand slide down her chest, cupping her breast through her shirt. Her nipples pebbled against his palm, and she arched into his touch. "Chan," she gasped, her body betraying the need she felt for him.

He chuckled darkly, enjoying the power he had over her. "Is that all?" he teased, his thumb flicking her nipple. "You're so much more than that, baby." He stepped closer, his erection pressing against her lower back. "I want to hear you beg for it."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her body responding to his every move. She felt a rush of brazenness and neediness that she hadn't experienced before. "Please, Chan," she whispered, her voice a shaky plea.

Bang Chan's smirk grew wider, his cockiness evident in his every movement. He loved seeing her this way, desperate and craving his attention. His hand moved from her neck, down her body, and under her shirt, finding her bare skin. His thumb circled her nipple, teasing it into a tight peak. She arched her back, pushing herself into his touch, her breath hitching.

He leaned in closer, his mouth next to her ear. "Keep going," he urged, his voice a seductive rumble. "Tell me what you want." She bit her lip, the words on the tip of her tongue, but she was too shy to say them out loud. He took that as a challenge. He slid his hand down her stomach, reaching the waistband of her sweatpants. With a flick of his wrist, he unbuttoned them, his hand dipping inside to find her already soaking wet panties.

He moved the fabric aside, his fingertips grazing her slick folds. She gasped, her knees threatening to buckle. "Is this it?" he whispered, his voice filled with dark amusement. "You want my hands on you, don't you?" She nodded, unable to form coherent words as he explored her further. His touch was feather-light, but it sent shockwaves through her body.

Y/N felt his fingers slide along her slit, her arousal coating his skin. He groaned in appreciation, his own desire growing with every breathy moan that escaped her lips. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?".

She couldn't resist the urge to be a little bratty, to push back against his dominance. She leaned back into his chest, a smirk playing on her lips. "What makes you think you know what I want?" she teased, her voice low and sultry.

Chan groaned in frustration, his hand stopping its delicate dance on her skin. "You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N," he warned, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. His grip on her neck tightened, his thumb now pressing into the sensitive spot with more force. "But I'm going to win," he added, his voice a dark promise.

With surprising speed, he spun her around to face him, pinning her against the counter. His eyes searched hers for consent, and she nodded, her breath coming in short, needy gasps. He claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep as if to taste her very soul. His hand left her neck, only to find its way to her throat, squeezing just enough to make her moans come out as whimpers. His other hand reached down to cup her mound, the pressure of his palm making her hips buck.

He pushed her sweatpants and underwear down, leaving her bare to his gaze. His eyes raked over her, taking in the sight of her wet folds and the desire glazed in her eyes. He stepped back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his taut abs and broad shoulders. Y/N took in the sight of him, feeling a mix of awe and desire.

Without breaking eye contact, Bang Chan unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down, freeing his thick erection. It bobbed against her stomach, leaving a trail of precum. He stepped closer, aligning their bodies so that his cock rested at the entrance of her pussy. "I've wanted this for so long," he growled, his eyes dark with need.

Y/N could feel the pressure building, her body begging for release. She nodded frantically, her eyes never leaving his. "Me too," she admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Without wasting another moment, he thrust into her, filling her completely. A scream threatened to rip from her throat, but he was quick to silence her, his hand cupping her mouth as he pushed her head back. She bit down on his palm, the pain mixing with pleasure. He groaned, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy through her body, her walls tightening around him.

Her eyes watered as he began to choke her, just enough to make her gasp for breath. The lack of oxygen made her head spin, but it also heightened her arousal. His other hand slid down to her throat, gripping it firmly, the pressure making her moans vibrate against his hand. The room spun around them, their bodies moving in perfect sync, a dance of dominance and submission.

He slammed into her again and again, her legs trembling as she tried to keep herself upright. She could feel his cock thickening inside her, the friction driving her closer and closer to the edge. His grip on her throat tightened, and she knew she was close, her orgasm just out of reach. "Cum for me, baby," he growled, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "Let me feel you come all over me."

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as she let out a muffled cry, her body shaking with the force of her climax. She clamped down around him, her pussy pulsing with pleasure. He groaned, his own orgasm following quickly after, filling her completely. They remained there for a moment, their bodies entwined, both trying to catch their breath.

Slowly, he released her throat, his hand moving to cup her cheek gently. He kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against her lips. She blushed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet so cherished.

The sound of laughter from the living room brought them back to reality. The others were oblivious to the intimate scene that had just unfolded in the kitchen. They pulled away, both of them trying to compose themselves. "Did they...?" Y/N's voice trailed off, her cheeks burning with the possibility of their friends having heard.

"Doesn't matter," Chan said, his voice a gruff whisper. "This is between us now." He helped her fix her clothes, his eyes never leaving hers. They shared a silent understanding that their relationship had shifted. The line between friendship and desire had been irrevocably crossed.

They walked back to the living room, their faces flushed, their hearts racing. The moment they entered, the room fell silent, all eyes on them. The tension was palpable, and Y/N could feel the heat in her cheeks. The members looked at them with knowing smirks, the air thick with the scent of their passion.

"So, what's the verdict?" Hyunjin asked with a playful wink, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did you two finally confess your love over a pint of ice cream?" The room erupted in laughter, and Y/N felt her face turn scarlet. Bang Chan shot him a glare, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. He knew his friends wouldn't let them get away without some teasing.

"We're just friends," Y/N managed to say, her voice wavering slightly. But the smirks on their faces told her they weren't fooled. They had heard the faint sounds of pleasure that had escaped from the kitchen, and they knew there was more to the story. The room grew quieter, and she could feel their curiosity burning into her.

Chan stepped in, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Yeah, we were just... catching up," he said, his eyes locking with hers, silently telling her not to give in to the embarrassment. She took a deep breath, letting his presence ground her. "Why don't we get back to the movie?" she suggested, trying to change the subject.

The rest of the night was a blur of stolen glances and accidental brushes of hands. Y/N could feel the electricity between them, and she knew the others noticed. But no one said a word, allowing them the space to navigate their newfound feelings.