Summary: You spent a peaceful, romantic day in Italy together - filled with a romantic start to the day, some shopping and a nice wind-down.
Disclaimer: All content on this blog is fictional. Any characters, scenarios, or portrayals of real people are created for storytelling and entertainment purposes only. They are not intended to represent real events, real personalities, or factual information about the individuals mentioned.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: One suggestive comment
The first thing you felt were the warm sunbeams dancing on your face. The soft pillow beneath your head felt impossibly light, as if it were still holding onto the last traces of a dream. You didn’t move. You just breathed – slow and deep.
Somewhere beyond the half open window, you could hear the distant hush of the sea. Not loud, not dominant – just there. A curtain stirred in the breeze, brushing softly against the wall.
You opened your eyes.
The room was washed in gold. White walls, a wooden chair with yesterday’s clothes draped carelessly over it and on the small table beside the bed two half empty cups filled with water.
You turned your head slightly and there he was. Still asleep. His hair was caught in the sunlight in a way that made it look almost unreal. His breathing was slow, even – a quiet snoring escaped his lips. He was laying on his stomach, his face turned toward you, his cheeks squished against the soft pillow, his lips puckered. One hand rested between you, close enough that your fingers almost touched.
His naked back was on full display, the blanket barely covering his backside. A smile tugged on your lips as you watched his calm frame. The usual frown on his forehead was gone, he looked genuinely at peace. Your fingers slowly ghosted over his skin, burning to touch him. You slowly lowered them, barely making skin contact, but you still felt the heat radiating from his body. The fingertips flew across his skin, dancing over his muscles.
That moment felt so fragile, so sacred, so intimate between the two of you. Your touches were gentle and soft as if you were scared that this peace would vanish if you moved too quickly.
Outside a church bell rang once, then again. Chris stirred – his eyebrows furrowed, taking a deeper breath, you noticed movement beneath his eyelids. Your fingers found his and he immediately tightened his around yours in a quiet way. In that small, unconscious gesture, there was something grounding.
He made a small sound, then his eyes fluttered open, just barely. At the view of you his eyes immediately softened and he raised your interlaced fingers to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “The sun drew a halo over your head, you look like a literal angel”, his raspy, tired voice half mumbled against the cushion and your smile grew even bigger.
“And you look like someone sculpted by god himself.” He chuckled quietly, hiding his face completely, his ears turning red. You chuckled and scooted closer to him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, leaving featherlight kisses there. He tucked in his neck, completely caught off guard by your touches. “Baby”, he exhaled, followed by a loud cackle, which only encouraged you more.
Your lips moved down across his spine, leaving a kiss here, a light bite there. His back was now a playground for your affection and you fully enjoyed your togetherness in this moment. You slowly worked your way back up, your lips now hovering next to his ear. “Good morning, baby”, you whispered and pressed a kiss on his ear. He turned his head to face you, sleep still in his eyes. He shot you the most devastating smile as his thumb and index finger found your chin, gently grabbing it and pulling you toward him to leave a soft kiss on your lips. After he detached himself from you, he whispered a low “Good morning, baby”, to you too.
You slowly climbed down and laid next to him. You buried your fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp, which earned you a satisfied grunt. “You wanna grab some breakfast?”, you suggested, while he closed his eyes again, fully melting into your touch. “Yeah, sure”, he replied, but didn’t make any effort to get up.
Your stomach started to growl. “Ok, just lay there for a couple of minutes, I’ll be in the bathroom”, you were about to detach yourself and get up, but his hand quickly found your wrist, preventing you from doing so. “Nooo”, he whined, trying to pull you back to him. “Let’s just lay here.” His eyes were still closed, but boy his grip was strong.
“If I don’t get anything into my stomach, I am going to riot.” He chuckled and put his forearm over his forehead. “You know what? I have an idea, what you could put into your stomach-“ You slapped his chest, gasping. “Christopher!” He laughed, finally letting go off you. “I am kidding! Ok go get ready, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Now you sat outside a café at a small table with an exquisite sea view. The morning air was soft and salt kissed, drifting in from the sea just beyond the low stone wall of the café terrace. The water shimmered in slow blues and silver light. A white tablecloth, one Cup of Espresso and one Cup of tea, a basket of warm bread still releasing faint steam when torn open.
You were talking about something – nothing important, a dream you had half remembered, but you kept getting distracted by the view, pausing mid-sentence just to look out at the horizon.
“You’re not even listening”, you said eventually, narrowing your eyes at him. “I am” , Chris replied, too quickly. You raised an eyebrow. He didn’t deny it again. Instead he reached casually for his phone, pretending to check the time. But you noticed immediately. “No”, you laughed. “Put that away.”
“It’s not what you think”, he lied, badly.
You leaned back in your chair, suspicious now but amused. “If you’re taking photos of me while I’m eating bread again-“
“But you look so pretty and cute right now.”
“Ugh, you’re unbelievable.”
The wind moved lightly through your hair as you turned back toward the sea, pretending to ignore him.
Click.
You reached for your coffee, sunlight catching the edge of your sleeve.
Click.
A small laugh slipped out when a wave hit the rocks below a little harder than expected.
Click.
“Are you done?”, you asked without looking at him.
“Almost”, he said, lowering the phone but not entirely. You turned back. “Let me see.”
He hesitated just long enough to make you suspicious again, then he slid the phone across the table. You scrolled slowly. There you were – unposed and completely yourself. The wind tangled hair, the half smile you didn’t realize you were making, the way the light softened everything around you. You looked up at him.
“They are actually good”, you said softly. “You are so good at taking pictures. Is there anything you can’t do?” He shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s not difficult to take pictures of someone who literally looks like a goddess.” You handed the phone back, shooting him an eye roll. “Have I already told you, that you’re unbelievable?”
His hand caught yours over the table, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Maybe you’ve mentioned something like that.” You leaned back in your seat, glaring at him, but he acted like nothing happened and took a bite of his bread, while he typed something on his phone.
Now it was your turn to take some candid pictures of him. You took some pictures of him mid bite, some with his full cheeks and some normal ones – all without him noticing, he was completely oblivious to it.
“So, now that we are fueled, should we go explore the city a bit?
The streets were alive but unhurried. Small shops spilled onto the cobblestones: ceramics painted in bright blues, linen dresses fluttering on racks, and tiny bakeries perfuming the air with lemon and sugar.
You stopped in front of a shop window full of hand painted tiles. “Look at this”, you said, pointing at a small plate decorated with lemons and sunbursts. He stepped closer. He looked at you in awe, as you adored the plate – looking all excited. “I am looking”, he said, though his eyes were on your face. “It’s so pretty”, you mumbled and entered the store to go to the check out. Before you could place the plate onto the counter, Chris gently grabbed your wrist. “Hey, before you buy it, I just saw matching mugs out there, you should check it out.” Your mouth widened, as you gave him the plate to hold. “Shut up, what?”, you ran past him, running toward the shelf where the alleged mugs were, but you couldn’t find them. In confusion you started to check out the environment around it, but you couldn’t find it.
As you went back to the check out you stumbled into Chris, who looked at you with a mischievous smirk. “Did you prank me? I couldn’t find any”, you pouted. Instead of answering you right away, he just kept smirking and grabbed your arm, pulling you out of the shop. “Wait, my plate!” “Don’t worry about it”, he held up a bag, which now dangled in front of your nose.
You looked at the bag. Then at him. Then back at the bag. “You … you did prank me right? You just didn’t want to let me pay for the plate myself, right?” You crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking at him all disappointed. He started whistling, looking into the air, acting all innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but stepping forward, wrapping your arms around him. “Next time you let me pay”, you mumbled against his chest. He put his arms around you as well, squeezing you tightly. “Debatable.”
At a corner shop, a woman was arranging bottles of olive oil in the sunlight. You stepped inside and the bell above the door chimed softly. It was cool in there – filled with the scent of herbs and citrus. He wandered toward a shelf of limoncello, while you got distracted by a stack of handmade postcards.
“You’re going to buy everything again”, he said, watching you pick up a postcard, then another. “You mean, you’re going to buy everything again, because no matter what I do, you are not letting me pay for anything? Like in the last five shops we went in?”
He leaned closer, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear without thinking. You paused for a fraction of a second, then softened into it, like the gesture had undone something small and unnecessary. He slowly took the postcards out of your hands and without another word he headed to the checkout to pay for them as well.
This sneaky … When he got back, you still stared at him dumbfounded. “I can’t believe you distracted me like that!” With a crooked grin he booped your nose, before he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the shop.
Outside again the light was sharper, brighter. You tried to grab the 100 shopping bags that he was carrying (and paid for), but he was insisting on not letting you do any work today.
At this point you had been walking for hours through the winding streets, drifting in and out of little shops, stopping too often for things you didn’t need. By the time you reached a quieter stretch, the charm of the day was still there, but your steps had started to slow. You hesitated for a moment on a sun-warmed cobblestone, then shifted your weight slightly. He noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”, he asked. “It’s nothing”, you said too quickly, then sighed when he raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe my feet are kind of dying.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, fully dying.”
He laughed softly, glancing down the street as if thinking. Then he pulled you with him. “Come on”, he said. “Where?”
“I have a better plan than continuing your slow suffering.” He pulled you gently forward, weaving you through a small side street until you reached a tiny grocery store – nothing fancy, just a slightly cluttered shop with baskets of fruit outside.
Inside it smelled like citrus and bread. He grabbed a small basket and started tossing things into the basket: cold drinks, a couple of pastries wrapped in paper, a small box of strawberries. “Pick out some things”, he told you and you did as he told you. You had no idea, what he was up to, but you couldn’t say no snacks, so you added some chips and grapes into the basket.
When you stepped back outside, the light had softened into the late afternoon gold. The sea was closer now, visible between the buildings. He pulled you to a quiet stretch of rocky shoreline just outside the busier paths. No crowds, no noise – just waves folding gently into stone.
You kicked off your shoes the moment you sat down. “Ughhh, freedom”, you sighed dramatically and flexed your feet. He sat beside you, opening the bag and handed you a drink first without even asking. “Drink something.” That was him – always making sure you were hydrated.
You leaned into his shoulder as you took a sip letting the cool drink contrast with the warm air. He tore open the bag of pastries and handed you one, brushing his fingers lightly against yours as he did.
For a while, you didn’t talk much. Just the sound of the sea, the occasional laugh, the rustle of paper bags.
At some point the sun had started to dip lower over the coast, turning the sea into a darker shade of blue. Half empty snacks bade you, the last of the strawberries gone, the world around you quieter than before. The warmth of the afternoon had faded into something softer – pleasant at first, then just a little too cool.
A small shift in posture. A subtle pull of your sleeves over your hands. A glance toward the horizon that lingered a bit longer than usual. “You cold?” Without waiting for an answer, he shifted closer took of his own flannel, that he wrapped around your shoulder, before adding his arm, pulling you closer.
“Better?”, he asked quietly. You nodded against his chest. “Much better.”
One hand was resting on your shoulder, while the other brushed lightly over your arm, creating some extra heat.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the faint salt of the sea and the distant sound of waves breaking against the rock. You exhaled slowly, sinking further into him. “You’re like a human heater”, you murmured.
“Always for you”, he murmured and pressed his lips on your forehead, while pulling out his phone at the same time. A quick look at his display revealed that he recently had changed his lock screen. It was replaced by one pic of you that he took this morning during breakfast and you couldn’t help but smirk against his chest.
He raised his hand, opening the camera and pointed it at the two of you. “We look so cute together right now, let’s take a pic”, he exclaimed in excitement. He put his cheek on the top of your head, while he happily looked into the camera and you also shot a shy smile.
You glanced at the screen as he pulled the phone back, his grin widening instantly. “It’s actually … really nice”, you admitted quietly. “Really nice?”, he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly. “That’s all I get? This is clearly masterpiece-level.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingering on your lips gave you away. “Okay, I like it Picasso.” He laughed, satisfied, then glanced back at the picture again, his expression softening for a split second – something more genuine.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked at you again. “Come on”, he said, a spark of excitement returning to his eyes. “Let’s get closer to the water.” Before you could respond, he reached for your hand.
And just like that he started leading you down toward the shoreline, the sound of your footsteps mixing with the rhythm of the waves. You left your shoes back and got closer to the shoreline. Without overthinking it, you stepped forward and you squealed for a moment, as you made contact with the water, that was colder than expected. You instinctively grabbed his arm. “Oh my god, that’s freezing.”
He laughed immediately, wincing as the water hit his own feet. “Okay, yeah no one warned me about that.”
But neither of you stepped back.
Instead you slowly adjusted letting the chill settle into something refreshing. The waves rolled in gently, brushing against your ankles, then retreating again. You started walking along the shore side by side, your shoulders occasionally bumping, while holding each other’s hands. “Gosh, it’s beautiful here. Look how the sea is glistening”, you pointed out to the sea that reflected the moon on the sky. “It is indeed”, he agreed, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, before halting to a stop.
You looked up at him in confusion. But before you could say anything, he suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground.
You let out a surprised laugh, instinctively holding onto his shoulders as he spun you around, your feet leaving the wet sand completely. “Hey, what are you doing?!”
He laughed and spun you once more before finally slowing down. When he sat you back on your feet, he didn’t let go. Instead his arms stayed wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm steady hug. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and close.
Then he tilted his head slightly, his voice softer now. “You’re really cute, you know that?”
Your face warmed instantly. “You’re unbelievable”, your murmured. “If I had a dollar for every time you said that to me today I’d have three dollars”, he replied with a smirk and you playfully rolled your eyes. “But that doesn’t change anything about the fact that you’re cute.” And before you could come up with a comeback, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips – soft, a little shy despite everything. As if he wanted to consume everything in this very moment.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours, both of you smiling without even trying – somewhere at the Amalfi Coast surrounded by nothing but the sea, in a moment you knew you’d carry with you long after it was over.
Chris was already in bed when Y/N entered the room. Or rather, he was on top of it, his sturdy torso nestled amongst the soft duvet as he scrolled lazily through his phone. He was giggling to himself in a way that made his broad shoulders shake lightly, the glorious stretch of his smooth skin glistening golden under the dim lamplight. His hair fell into his eyes in frazzled coils and he ruffled a hand through it, pushing it away before resting his chin on his forearm. Head tilting a little to the side, Chris yawned, legs rustling amongst the sheets as a sleepy, content expression crossed his face.
Y/N bit her lip as an overwhelming smile spread its way across her face. There was something so comforting yet heart wrenching about seeing her husband in his own little world. He looked adorable with his crinkling eyes and feet kicking around at the end of the bed when he came across something that amused him.
Quietly stripping her own clothes off with Chris still completely unaware of her presence, Y/N set the garments aside before padding over to the bed. The end of the mattress dipped a touch as she crawled onto it, and Chris turned his head slightly just as she landed on top of him with a giggle, her entire body draped over his and her face flat in her hair.
Chris burst into hushed chuckles. “Hello to you too. Didn't even know you were here.”
Y/N sighed happily as she curved her arms around her husband's frame. “I know … too busy scrolling.”
She nuzzled her face into the crook of Chris's neck. He was warm, so much warmer than she had anticipated, and Y/N shivered upon feeling his rolling heat seep into her skin. She let out a shuddery breath as she buried her face deeper into the small dip between his neck and shoulder; the scent of him surrounded her in a musky, sweet cloud, almost as if tiny molecules of his fragrance and skin were locking millions of arms around her body, the very essence of him clinging to her being.
And she loved every single bit of it.
“Am I too heavy?” Y/N murmured, kissing the sharp curve of his shoulder. She lifted her hips a little, unloading some of her weight; but Chris's legs were quick to tangle around hers like veins, ensnaring her into the curve of his body.
“Never,” Chris said. “You're perfect.”
Her smile was satisfied against his skin. She turned her face so her cheek rested against the nape of his neck, and one of her hands started tracing her way down his side. She smoothed over the soft dips of his lats, marvelling at the way his firm muscle rippled with the smallest of movements. She adored the feel of him - he was strong, yet so soft at the same time, and every inch of him moulded to her frame as if he was made just for her. Her fingers continued to dance along the pepper of moles along the expanse of his silky skin, and Chris hummed at the feeling, his fingers loosening around his phone.
“You're so warm,” Y/N whispered, kissing just below his ear. “And so soft. You're always so soft. And comfy. And you smell so good … “
Chris's body vibrated underneath her skin as he laughed silently. He reached an arm out without looking, intending to gently pat her head. But the palm of his hand collided with Y/N's face instead, her nose and her lips and her flushed cheeks soft against him, and laughter broke out of her at the impact. Chris chuckled alongside her just as he curled her fingers around his wrist and kissed his fingers.
“Sorry baby,” Chris slurred, fatigue creeping up on him. He moved his hand again, finding his wife's cheek, and he gently caressed her warmth before his fingers drifted to her hair, his fingers brushing lightly the way he had wanted to in the beginning.
Another smile on her face, Y/N lifted her head from Chris's shoulder and gently cupped his jaw. “Kiss,” she hummed, and Chris let out a happy sound before he turned his face to the side where her head was just an inch away.
Y/N's hands swept over the curves of Chris's back as he turned his body a fraction so he could kiss her better. He was too tired to move again; one of his arms was thrown lazily above his head, fingers curled into his pillow, his other fingers like individual furnaces against the back of Y/N's neck as he drew her closer to him. His lips were sealed over hers in a long, languid kiss, and the heated tickle of his breath skimmed her cheek as he exhaled, the very tip of his tongue tracing the seam of Y/N's lower lip. She hummed under her breath and ran the flat of her hand up his waist, the slope of his spine, and up to his head where she sank her fingers into his silky curls, gripping and tugging at them ever so slightly. Chris's groan was low in his throat, spilling into Y/N's mouth, and she shivered, pressing the heated skin of her chest further into his back.
When she pulled away, Chris's lips were rosier and they curved up into a sleepy smile. He leaned forward against to brush a kiss to her nose, and then her cheeks, and then her forehead, before Y/N's head took up residence on the upper portion of his back once more.
“You're so clingy today,” Chris whispered, reaching over his head for her hand. He laced their fingers together before bringing them down to the sheets, tangled together on his pillow. “I love it when you're like this. My little koala.”
Y/N giggled. She grazed a series of lingering kisses along the planes of his shoulders, and then up his neck. “You're a tree.”
He squeezed her fingers as he chuckled into the sheets. “A tree? Mmm … you telling me to work out more? I don't think trees are comfy.”
“No, not like that,” Y/N whined. “You're comfy. Very comfy. You're only a tree because you called me a koala and koalas love hugging trees.”
“Mm. Aight. If you say so.”
“I do say so,” Y/N breathed. Her fingers had begun trailing down his hips now, down to the sharp grooves that tucked inwards below his abdominal muscles. She traced the ridges with a featherlight touch, and Chris's breath hitched, his body tensing below hers as his skin prickled with goosebumps.
“Baby … “ Chris swallowed thickly. “You're gonna kill me.”
Her fingers danced along the soft dimples at the very bottom of his back in response. The man groaned again, the end breaking off into a smitten puff of laughter, and he shifted just a little, tightening his legs around hers.
“My pretty boy,” Y/N kissed into his skin. The constant heat emanating from her husband was making her incredibly drowsy; her eyes began to droop a little, and she dragged her hands back up the sides of his thighs, using the tips of her fingernails to softly scratch against his skin as she did so. Her hands settled at his middle and she slid them beneath him, tucking her arms underneath his body as she hugged him tight.
“Now you really are a koala,” Chris commented. “Clinging to her branch.”
She responded by dragging her hands up; her fingers grazed the underside of his pecs, and then the very peaks of them, making the entire man jerk at the sensation.
“Fuck,” Chris huffed into the duvet. “Baby … you're the biggest tease ever, you know that?”
Y/N burst into quiet giggles against his neck. Her hands retreated and she settled them neatly just over his heart, the steady thud thud thud pressing against her fingers.
“Don't wanna move,” Y/N mumbled. “Wanna stay here forever.”
Chris smiled to himself. “Then stay.”
She hummed sleepily. Y/N shifted so her body was completely curled around his, tucked into his back in a bubble of safety and unmistakable peace.
“Love you,” she yawned, letting her eyes fall shut.
Chris was about to reply when he felt her arms loosen just a touch. He peered over his shoulder; the shadow of her eyelashes kissed her skin and her lips formed a soft pout as her cheek squished up against his back. She was well and truly fast asleep, chest rising and falling like a weighted blanket against him, and the man's face almost melted with softness.
He placed his hand over hers as he dragged his pillow gently beneath his face so as not to jostle her. He turned one more time and planted a warm kiss to the bridge of her nose, his voice the faintest whisper in the quiet room.
Aside from the gentle rustle of pages from Y/N's book and the faint pitter-patter of raindrops rolling down the large bedroom window, the only other sound was the rhythmic breathing from the man laying in bed beside her. Chris's cheek was cushioned by his pillow, his eyes shut, the dim lighting from the bedside lamp creating tiny dancing shadows along his cheekbones from where his eyelashes fluttered softly in his sleep. His body was entirely relaxed, his fingers loose against the duvet and his forehead smooth, yet he was angled towards Y/N in a way that was beyond devastating. Even though he was fast asleep, he still sought her out, his unconscious body language gravitating towards his wife.
Quietly shutting her book after sliding one of her favourite bookmarks into it - something Chris had gifted to her a while ago - Y/N set it down on her nightstand. She was sitting up against the headboard; she turned so that her front was facing her husband instead. Her eyes softened as she took in the peaceful outline of him. It was one of those rare nights where he was still in clothes; the wide neckline of his dark t-shirt had slipped to one side and revealed the long like of his collarbone, a warm amber in the lamplight. His tiny moles were like paint splatters across his smooth skin, and they travelled up his neck, kissing the curves of the cheek that wasn't pressed up against the pillow.
Y/N found herself tracing the marks for the millionth time. She knew their placements like the back of her hand, and she found comfort in the familiarity of them beneath her fingers. The act of automatically counting each one as her fingertips danced along his limbs was soothing to her nervous system. She exhaled through her nose as her fingers reached the sharpness of his jaw, her thumb caressing it delicately before sweeping across his cheekbone.
The longer she watched him sleep, the more her eyes filled with slow tears. He looked so innocent and vulnerable while fast asleep that Y/N's mind suddenly began to remind her of all the things he had endured with his quiet strength. He had spent such a large chunk of his life surrounded by dozens of people, yet still utterly alone. There were so many experiences he had held close to his heart from when he was a child, all the way into adulthood. Things he had kept to himself and had pushed through with silence, refusing to lean on people around him, yet being the pillar for others to rely upon instead.
He had always been that sort of person. Quietly holding onto all the people who needed him, while his own pain piled on top of him like a tall, rickety tower, swaying fast or slow depending on the weather. Yet he would never push away anyone who came to him in need. The bridge might collapse, but he would always get them to safety before thinking of himself.
And if he was to fall?
Then so be it.
Y/N's wet cheeks glistened in the shadows as he kept up the tender caresses over her husband's face. It was late, the early morning hours filled with a haze of blackened indigo, thicker from the rainclouds covering the stars. Her heart always expanded to triple its size at such a time; emotion flooded over her until there was nowhere left for it to go, except for the exit through her eyes in the form of burning tears.
Her fingers gently stroked Chris's dark curls away from his temples. He shifted then, eyebrows twitching momentarily as he moved in his sleep, his stomach pressing up against the mattress, his head turned towards her, and one of his arms slipping below his pillow. His other hand reached out and sleepily curled around Y/N's wrist, his head pressing up against her thigh.
“Stay … “ Chris mumbled in his sleep, his words thick and slurred. “I … “
“Shh … “ Y/N breathed, cupping his jaw in her hand again. “I'm right here.”
“‘M … sorry … “
Y/N's heart sounded in her chest, another tear spilling over her lashes.
“I'll be better … “ Chris continued quietly, fingers tightening just a touch around her wrist. “I'll … I can take it. I don't … get hurt … “
Breath catching in her throat, Y/N leaned down and gently brushed her lips over his cheek in a tender kiss. “Shh. I love you, Channie. I'm right here. You're safe.”
Chris's heavy breathing halted for a moment, and his mumbled words stopped. His grip on Y/N's wrist loosened, and he hummed sleepily as his eyes began to open.
His gaze immediately landed on his wife, the rich brown of his eyes turned onyx in the shadows, tiny stars dancing about the centres. They were hooded, and he breathed slowly, the broad expanse of his back rising and falling as he continued to look at her. The corners of his plump lips lifted minimally at the corners, and his thumb started to smooth back and forth over the soft skin of her inner wrist.
She didn't say anything. Just watched the way he was touching her so gently, his eyelids fluttering shut again. A split second later his arms hooked around her waist, and she was pulled down until she was laying face to face with him. He exhaled heavily, his breath hot and sweet on her lips as he leaned closer, the sheer emotion in his dilated eyes making Y/N's breath catch.
“Why did you wait so long … ?” Chris suddenly asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Y/N blinked in surprise. “Wait?”
A tear spilled down Chris's cheek, and her eyes widened.
“To find me,” he breathed, eyes locked on hers. “All those years before we met … I felt so alone. Why didn't you come to me earlier?”
It felt like someone had punctured Y/N's lungs with a hundred blunt needles all at once. All she could do was stare at her husband, completely dumbfounded with an aching chest.
Because what was she supposed to say?
“It wasn't time,” Y/N whispered shakily, pressing her hand up against his cheek. “We … weren't supposed to meet before we did.”
“But why?” He gasped brokenly as more tears rushed out of his eyes, spilling across his nose bridge and into his hairline. “I needed you. I … “
His words broke off, and he dropped his face into a hand, shoulders heaving.
“Baby … “ Y/N's lips trembled as she pulled her husband into her arms, his head falling against her shoulder as his entire body shook in his embrace. “I'm here now. I'm not leaving … you're not alone anymore, Christopher.”
He sobbed into her skin, the sounds quiet but no less painful to Y/N's ears. Her own eyes clenched shut as she held him tightly, her fingers sinking into his hair as she cupped the back of his head. His shoulders caved into her body, the width of them shaking with each silent cry that left his body.
It took him a while to settle down again, his breathing slowing yet punctuated with tiny hiccupy sounds that each made Y/N's heart twinge with sympathy. She was holding him as secure as she could under the duvet, their limbs completely tangled when Chris finally lifted his head so he could look at her.
“‘M sorry,” he sniffled. His ears were pink now, and he looked embarrassed. “I … I don't know what just happened.”
Y/N pressed a kiss onto his warm forehead. “Did you have a bad dream?”
He nodded once. “Yeah,” he swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple jutting outwards with the movement. “It was … more like a memory?”
“A memory?”
“From over two decades ago,” Chris laughed awkwardly. “It sounds so stupid. I'm sorry.”
Y/N cupped his wet face in her hands. “Tell me.”
He sighed and turned his face to kiss the inside of her palm. “It just felt like I was … back there. Going through all the pain and … and … loneliness all over again. I haven't felt like that in a long time, but … “
He broke off and dropped his forehead against his wife's plush chest. “I know there's nothing either of us could have done. I wouldn't want to change anything either, not really. But sometimes … sometimes I wish I'd known you way before.”
Y/N's smile was soft as she kissed the top of his head. “I wish I'd known you back then too. But … “
“But … ?”
“But there's no point thinking about the past now,” Y/N whispered. “We met when we did for a reason. We can't change that, but ... we can somewhat control being together in the future?”
At that, Chris started to smile. He hummed in agreement against her skin. “I want to stay with you forever. Even when we die. And afterwards too. Me and you in every lifetime, no matter what.”
“I'm going to hold you to that, Bahng,” Y/N whispered. She pressed her forehead against his, their eyes finding home in each other across the short distance. “I'm so proud of you, you know that?”
Chris's lips parted in surprise. “All of a sudden?”
Her fingers found their way to his hairline where they gently swept the silky strands away in a soothing, repetitive motion. Her eyes flowed over his face with reference, taking in each one of his features that she so loved.
She didn't give him her reasoning. Just smiled and pressed another kiss to his nose and his cheeks. “I love you. So much. I … I'm so grateful that you exist. And that I get to spend my days with you. I feel like the luckiest woman alive.”
Y/N heard the way her husband's breath got stuck in his throat at her words. She also felt the soft puff against her lips when he exhaled, his eyes shining all over again in the darkness below the sheets.
His arms tightened around her waist like a vice as he pulled her closer, trying to completely merge their bodies together into one. Chris's face was steaming when he buried it deeply into the crook of Y/N's neck. His fingers too had wandered beneath the hem of her pajama top, and they curled into her skin like he needed it to anchor himself.
He didn't verbally respond to her words. Instead, his lips drew shapes over her skin in the form of reverent kisses, each one followed by a fresh tear.
synopsis ✿ it’s been a rough night. your heart is still recovering from being broken, you need an uber home, your phone is dead, and everyone else has already left the class 1-a yearly reunion. well—everyone except bakugou. he gives you not just a ride home, but a solution to your lonely predicament
✿ BEFORE YOU READ ── female reader ; pro hero bakugou + pro hero reader ; reader was in class 1-a ; reader has a quirk (she's stretchy - think like elastigirl from the incredibles LOL) ; reader gets her heart broken by an unnamed random guy + has insecurities ; bakugou is silently pining (and quite good at hiding it tbh) ; friends (sort of) to lovers ; cunnilingus ; p in v ; creampie ; morning after ; confessions (sort of. its bakugou ok) ; getting together ; the class 1-a girls are gossips
꒰ word count ꒱ 12.0k words — give it a chance plssss
꒰ commentary ꒱ hi my name is riv and i am going thru mental breakdown after mental breakdown about my life but it wont stop me from writing about letting bkg hit
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing.
Sure, years pass. Adulthood kicks in. Lives become busier, more hectic, more demanding. Time is a funny thing—nine years ago, you were sitting in a classroom with these people, learning how to be a hero. Nine years later, you’re sitting in a rented-out bar, sharing a drink with them as they trade hero stories like it’s part of the average day.
Then again, you suppose it is the average day for pros. Wake up, go to work, save people, crack cases, go on patrol, and go to sleep. Repeat.
Adulthood is a bummer. Everything is so different now—you don’t gossip with Toru every day or giggle with Mina in passing periods. You don’t tease Ochako about her rapidly growing crush or share headphones with Kyoka during lunch. You don’t study with Yaomomo or sit in Tsu’s room and have deep discussions about philosophy. Class 1B isn’t there to rival you and your peers. Mister Aizawa isn’t popping around at the oddest moments in that ridiculous sleeping bag.
And then adulthood is nice. Some things never change—Bakugou is yelling about something in the distance like a maniac, while Midoriya rubs his neck sheepishly. Todoroki says something with that deadpan face of his, and that only seems to set the blonde off even more. You can’t help but huff, rolling your eyes fondly.
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded, and fuck if it’s not one hell of a bond—adulthood claiming your lives and free time or not. You’ll find the time to get together like this at least once a year—with someone as good at planning as Yaomomo and someone as persistent and vocal as Iida, everyone makes it to the Class 1-A routine meet-up.
If only you weren’t so fucking devastated at this meet-up, you could have appreciated it properly. But you are, and there’s nothing to do about it now but suck it up—and hey, there’s always next year, right?
That’s what you tell yourself as you robotically hug each girl goodbye. That’s what you tell yourself as you watch your former classmates—turned occasional colleagues—file out of the bar and head off in different directions, dispersing along all the paths life has dragged them down separately.
You stand there for a good second after everyone leaves—you’re the only one left, you’re sure. Alone. As always, you think with a self-deprecating scoff, you’re alone. Even when you’re surrounded by a room full of people, you’re alone.
You should just get an Uber home. It’s late, you have morning patrol, and it’s getting really fucking cold, the night breeze biting at your skin. But you stand there anyway, stiff and unresponsive, because you are, despite trying to shove it all aside for one night, devastated. And so fucking alone.
“The hell are you still standing out here for?” comes a gruff voice from behind you.
You jolt—and that’s how out of it you are, because who the hell sneaks up on you so easily? You’ve honed your fighting abilities and reflexes better than that. You’ve made sure your skills are good enough that you aren’t crept on so easily. So why didn’t you hear Bakugou coming up behind you? You have no clue.
“Bakugou,” you mumble, “why are you still here?”
“Hah?” He looks at you, mildly irritated. “I asked you first, Stretchy. Answer me before you ask me stupid questions.”
Stretchy. Even after all these years, Bakugou calls everyone by those obnoxious nicknames he comes up with instead of their actual names. You’ve noticed a long time ago that he always goes one of two routes when picking his stupid little names: by physical appearance or by quirk. It just so happens he chose to use the latter for you—ever since the day your body stretches out like elastic in front of him for the first time, you’ve been Stretchy. Have been nothing else. Will probably never be anything else.
If you weren’t so emotionally downcast, you might’ve rolled your eyes and snapped back: my name is not Stretchy! But you don’t have it in you. So you just mutter, “I’m getting an Uber.”
“So get it, then,” he grumbles. “The hell are you waiting for? It’s the middle of the fucking night.”
You don’t point out that it’s…kind of sweet, in a blunt, Bakugou sort of way, that he’s concerned about your safety. Or that it’s pointless to be, considering you’re a pro hero too—one who patrols in the middle of the night on a regular basis. But anyone who’s shared years with him, classroom and battlefield alike, knows better than to argue with him over meaningless things if they value their eardrums.
“Yeah, whatever,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to call the damn Uber. You should’ve just driven yourself, but you’d been too exhausted—and, frankly, too sad—to deal with the thirty-minute drive. It’s not like you can’t afford to waste the money, anyway.
You tap your screen once. Then twice. Nothing.
Huh.
You press and hold the power button. Still nothing. You’ve got to be fucking kidding, you think.
As if your week couldn’t have gotten any worse.
First, you get ghosted by your almost-but-not-quite boyfriend, who was never really your boyfriend, but that’s not the important part. The important part is that he almost, just almost, was by anyone’s standards. Then, after he gets you fucking attached, you find out he ghosted you for some other girl with way nicer fucking tits and longer legs than yours (no, you did not stalk that girl’s socials, thank you very much. You just happened to stumble onto it and accidentally…tapped the tagged user. That’s all). Then, you miss out on enjoying the one night you look forward to every year because you can’t pull yourself out of this stupid, heavy funk. And now, finally, your phone is dead. Completely dead. No Uber, no ride home, no immediate access to the ice cream in your freezer to have a good, necessary cry.
And Kaminari has already left, so he can’t charge it with his quirk. Great. Fantastic, even.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Bakugou’s voice cuts through your spiral as he glares at you. “Were you here to be social or be on your damn phone all night? How’s that thing already dead, huh?”
“I wasn’t on my phone,” you shoot back, a little more petulant than intended. “I just…forgot to charge it before I got here.”
He stares at you with what can only be pure, hard judgment. “You people are so poorly prepared for everything, it never fails to piss me off.”
Well. If your week couldn’t get any worse, you now have to have Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, call you an Uber and get you home, which means you have to tell him your address. Which means you will, inevitably, lie awake all night wondering if he’s going to look up your apartment and judge it. Not that you think your place is bad, or that Bakugou is even the type to care about that kind of thing—but your brain is not exactly known for being reasonable once it gets going.
At the same time that you say, “I’ll pay you back if you call me an Uber,” he exhales sharply and snaps, “Well, fucking follow me, then.”
You pause.
“What?” you blink.
He’s already started walking off, and your question only seems to irritate him further. “Exactly what the fuck I said. Follow me.”
You do—only because you have to, if you want to ask him again to get you the damn Uber. “Bakugou, I’ll pay you before the Uber even gets here, okay? You don’t have to worry about your money—”
You hear the sharp beep of a car unlocking, and then a sleek, obnoxiously fancy Porsche lights up from the inside. Bakugou yanks the passenger door open and jerks his chin toward it, already glaring.
“Get in. And don’t talk like I can’t afford a fucking Uber—I’m not so desperate for money that I need you coughing it up that fast, you damn loser.”
“You…what?” You just blink at him, stupidly.
Bakugou looks like he’s just about one minor inconvenience away from exploding. He tips his head back with a long, aggravated groan. “God damn it, Stretchy—I’ve got shit to do in the morning, okay? Get. In. Did you hear me that time? For fuck’s sake, your hearing can’t be that bad.”
“…Why?” you ask, somehow even more stupidly.
You can’t help it—this doesn’t feel like a Bakugou thing to do. And it definitely doesn’t feel like a Bakugou thing to be doing for you of all people.
“Can you just fucking get in the car so I can drive you home and call it a night?” he grits out.
His eye is twitching now, just slightly, and you decide you would actually like to make it home tonight, so you decide not to push your luck. You walk over and get into the car without another word. It’s best not to piss him off to the point where he changes his mind on helping you altogether. That would be rough.
The door slams shut behind you almost immediately after you’re in, and Bakugou is in the driver’s seat just as fast. “Put your seatbelt on,” he mutters, reaching for his own.
He says this as you’re in the process of reaching for it, and you sometimes forget just how unnecessarily annoying Bakugou can be. And bossy. Very, very bossy.
“I am,” you mutter back, rolling your eyes.
”Here,” he only grunts in response, handing you a charger, and you wordlessly take it, plugging in your phone.
”Thanks,” you say quietly. “Good thing you were still there, huh?” You give him a sheepish look.
His only form of reply comes as a flat look. You wither under it.
”What were you still doing there while everyone was gone anyway?” You mumble.
”Taking a phone call,” he mutters. And then, because he’s apparently still as petty as he used to be back in the day, he glances at yours and adds, “Because I keep mine charged.”
You all but pout at his pointed statement, huffing as you start to defend yourself. “Okay, well, I never make this mistake usually. I just—”
You cut yourself off when your phone lights up from charging and turning on, catching your attention at the same time it does Bakugou’s. Well—that was pretty fast, at least. You almost wonder if the five percent he’s managed to get you to will be enough to last you on an Uber ride home. That would be better than a long thirty minutes sitting next to the agitated lump of blonde hair next to you, right?
You can’t entertain the idea for even a second longer than you had it, though. Because Bakugou is already muttering under his breath, “Finally,” before looking at you and saying, “now send me your address so I can type it in.”
”You know, if you were this pressed for time I could’ve just typed the address into your GPS myself,” you say dryly.
”Great idea,” he says just as dryly, “next time, maybe I’ll try that when you talk less. Now gimme the address, idiot.”
Well. You give up on your idea of the Uber and you do. And you watch as he slots his phone into the holder on the dash, your message lighting up the screen—Stretchy. That’s your contact name.
Of course it is. (But then again, it’s a miracle Bakugou even saved your contact at all—you’d always assumed he had the class group chat muted.) You fight the urge to roll your eyes again and just slump back into your seat instead, resigning yourself to your fate for the night as he taps on your message and pulls up your address in his GPS.
The engine hums to life, low and smooth, and the car pulls out onto the road. You sink a little deeper into your seat, letting your head fall back for a second before, against your better judgment, your eyes drift over.
Bakugou drives like he does everything else: so absurdly impressively, it’s actually ridiculous. It’s just driving, and yet he makes it look like it’s something only he can do so well—one hand on the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift, relaxed. His posture is easy, shoulders set, gaze sharp on the road ahead. And it’s just one of those attractive things men do for no reason.
It’s…annoying. How natural he looks. How good he looks.
The streetlights flicker over him in passing streaks, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brows, the way his eyes narrow just a bit when he switches lanes. Bakugou looks so annoyingly good, and you’re helpless to notice it.
Because that’s just the thing—you’ve always noticed it.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought he was attractive back in high school. You definitely did. It was hard not to. He was bulky and muscular and tall with a good face—he even wore baggy pants and a tight-fitted shirt for his hero costume. He did all the right things (without meaning to, of course) to be attractive to the average girl.
But his attitude? Well…that’s another matter.
That had killed the attraction before it could ever be anything more than a passing thought. A surface-level thing. Something you’d notice and immediately shove aside because Bakugou Katsuki was not someone you entertained a crush on unless you were actively trying to make your own life harder. And you definitely didn’t need that, so you never put much thought into it.
And yet, now, years later, watching him drive like this, you’re painfully aware that it’s…still there. That lingering attraction that you undeniably have for him. Persistently so.
You tear your gaze away before you can get caught staring. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s just Bakugou. You’ve known him for over a decade, and you’ve never been affected by him like this, and you won’t start now. Your broken heart and devastating loneliness are getting to you. That’s all.
The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, exactly, and you’re sure Bakugou would prefer it this way, if anything. But still, you feel like it’s too stiff for you to handle, so you do what you’re best at. Awkwardly making small talk to fill in the awkward silence, even if it’ll annoy him.
(If anything, you hope it will.)
You clear your throat. “So.”
He doesn’t look at you. “So?”
“…Busy lately?” you try, immediately regretting it. God, that was lame.
He huffs quietly through his nose. “Yeah. Work doesn’t exactly stop for heroes.”
“Right,” you nod, even though he isn’t looking. “Same.”
Another beat of silence. You glance at him again, just for a second, and immediately regret it when you notice the way his hand shifts slightly on the wheel, forearm flexing.
Holy fuck.
“Your new agency’s…uh. Doing well?” you ask, grasping at anything that sounds remotely normal. Remotely interesting. Bakugou would love talking about himself—right?
“Tch. Obviously,” he mutters. “We’re not half-assing shit over there.”
“Yeah, I figured,” you say quickly. “I’ve heard good things.”
He shoots you a brief sideways glance, like he hardly believes it. “From who?”
“People,” you shrug, already cringing. “Around.”
“Hn,” he grunts. He looks back at the road. “Well, they’re right. I’m gonna be the best agency soon, too—you’d do well to remember that.”
You press your lips together, trying not to smile. God, he’s insufferable. You hum, letting your head rest back. “Kaminari said you’ve been working yourself to death without some sidekicks.”
“Dunno why you’re listening to that idiot,” Bakugou scoffs. He looks a little sulky at the mention of having no sidekicks—like it’s a sore topic. (You’re not surprised in the slightest when Kaminari tells you that no sidekick stays for long after getting a taste of Bakugou’s abrasiveness.) “Dunce-face talks too much.”
“He said you don’t take breaks.”
“I don’t need breaks.”
You snort softly. “Yeah, okay.”
That earns you another glance, longer this time, but the sulkiness is gone, and there’s something almost amused sitting underneath it. Barely there, but it’s there. “Worry about yourself,” he says, turning back to the road. “You’re the one who looks like shit tonight.”
You blink, then scoff. “Wow. Thanks.”
“You know what I mean,” he mutters.
Yeah. You do. You’re sure you looked miserable and stiff as a board all night. No way the girls didn’t notice, but they know you well enough to know you’ll come to them on your own time—and you will. When the time is right, you’re sure you’ll vent away about men and their shittiness and their lack of communication and commitment when you’re feeling up to it.
For now, though, you’ll just sit here and be driven home by Bakugou Katsuki, who seems to know something is up, yet does not comment on it as he does a surprisingly nice thing for you. And for some unknown reason, that makes something in your chest feel just a little less heavy.
The rest of the car ride goes rather smoothly, and you pull up to your apartment in what feels like a surprisingly fast amount of time. Time…doesn’t seem to drag on with Bakugou, even when it’s silent. Of course, he’d actually entertained your small talk when you tried here and there, but you find that there’s almost…comfort in Bakugou’s silence.
He parks in front of the building. And then, he surprises you as he says bluntly, “You've been actin’ weird all night. What’s with you?”
You stiffen, jaw tightening. “Nothing, I don’t know what you’re—”
“That’s bullshit. I’m not fucking stupid,” he cuts in, flat.
“Well, why’s it your business?” you snap, sharper than you mean to.
Bakugou shrugs, like it really doesn’t matter either way. “It’s not. But I drove thirty minutes in the opposite direction for your dumbass, so I’m curious why.”
You huff, looking away toward your apartment building, arms crossing tighter over yourself. “It’s nothing. Just…a shitty week.”
“Tch.” He leans back slightly, still watching you. “Shitty how?”
“Just stuff,” you mutter. “It’s not a big deal.”
He clicks his tongue, clearly not buying it. “Liar.”
You shoot him a look. “Excuse me?”
If there’s one thing that Bakugou is that people tend not to give him credit for, it’s that he’s perceptive. Observant. They make the mistake of thinking that he always rushes right in, charges head-on without an ounce of a plan or a single thought in his brain other than brute forcing his way out of everything. But that’s farther from the truth than anyone would assume. Bakugou is so smart, it just adds to the list of reasons why he’s infuriating.
He’s smart, and he notices things, and he always has a pretty fucking good idea of what he’s talking about.
So when he says, “You’ve been off all night. Quiet—and not your usual type of quiet,” you look at him funny. You never assumed he’d have a good idea of what he’s talking about when it pertains to you.
“Wow. Since when do you know me so well?”
“I know all of you freaks—have to if I’m gonna beat you all and be number one,” he shoots back immediately. Then, after a moment, “You still seein’ that guy Dunce-face was talking about?”
You still. Just for a second. How did…how did he know that’s what was wrong? (And why is Kaminari airing your business out like that? From now on, you’re going to stick to the girls, and that’s it—Kaminari has lost his gossip privileges.) And of course, Bakugou catches the way you stiffen almost immediately, so he catches on that he was right. “Hah. Knew it,” he mutters. “Sparky says the guy’s lame as shit.”
“It’s not—” you start, then exhale sharply. “It’s nothing.”
“That means you’re not seein’ him anymore, I take it,” he says. “So was he a jerk?”
You groan, dropping your head back against the seat. “Can you not?”
“No,” he says, without hesitation. “You’re sitting here acting like shit over some guy?”
“I’m not acting like shit,” you snap, even though you know you are. “And he’s not just some guy, either.”
“You are acting like shit,” he says flatly. “What, you love him or something?”
“No,” you sputter, “we didn’t even know each other like that for it to be love.”
“So then what’s the big deal?”
You look away again, jaw tight. “I don’t know! It’s like…it’s just…” You trail off and sigh. “It’s stupid.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou shrugs. “Probably.”
Your head snaps back toward him in disbelief. (At least now you know there is at least one thing he’s not good at—he can’t comfort people for shit.) “Wow. Thanks, asshole.”
“But you’re clearly stuck on it,” he continues, unfazed. “So it’s not stupid to you. Are you gonna be fine, or are you gonna go up there and spiral all night?”
“Still don’t see how it’s your business,” you grumble.
It’s only silent for a moment before Bakugou grabs his keys and turns the ignition off on his (very fancy) car. His door opens and closes, and before you can even get an idea of what’s happening, he pulls your door open and gestures for you to get out.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“W-what?” you stutter.
“I said, let’s go,” he rolls his eyes, “We’re goin’ up to your place, and you’re gonna give me a bottle of water and somethin’ to snack on. Least you can do for making me drive all this way.”
It’s his way of keeping you company for a bit longer. This much, you know.
Bakugou is a complicated guy. He’s mean and rude and crass and loads of other unpleasant things that people could use to describe him in order to convey that he’s…not easy to get along with. Not even a little.
But he’s a good person at heart. It’s undeniable. People are always safe around Bakugou, even if it costs him his life (though really, it hardly ever does because he’s just that good), and even if it takes every ounce of his blood, sweat, and tears. He does it because it’s in his nature to do so—ingrained in him since the day his quirk was manifested. He’s the best at winning against bad things, and it helps people—imperfectly, sure, and not always in a very heartfelt manner, but as sincerely as it comes.
If he decides to come up and spend time with you for a bit to keep your mind off of your broken heart, it’s not because he pities you or feels this self-righteous sense of justice. He never does what he doesn’t want to do. So he wants to do this—and it’s because in his own, weirdly unexpected way, he cares.
Perhaps it’s not entirely unexpected, though, you suppose—after all, Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life. All of you.
—
When you let him into your apartment, he takes a quick glance around. Lingers over the small trinkets and items you keep as decor, and then marches his way over to the kitchen as he mumbles, “What sorta snacks you got?”
You pull out one of the bags of red, hot, spicy chips from the convenience store that you keep stashed away—they can’t be good for you, but you figure you only live once—and hand them to him. He perks up minimally.
Bakugou likes spicy things. It’s one of the first things you ever learned about him, actually about him as a person and not just him pertaining to the nature of the hero course, and for some reason, it’s a detail you seem to remember.
He grabs the bag and slinks off to your couch while you grab your long-awaited ice cream and slump onto the opposite end of it right after, which isn’t too far, considering your couch is not that large. His feet are thrown over your coffee table, and you don’t care enough to bother with scolding him about how ill-mannered it is.
“So,” he grunts, popping a chip into his mouth. “Why the pity party? He dump you or somethin’?”
“We weren’t together,” you mutter, digging your spoon roughly into your frozen treat. You’re long past the point of wondering if it’s a wise idea to tell Bakugou all your woes—he’s already here, so you figure, why the hell not? “I don’t think it qualifies as a dump.”
“Ah,” he huffs, chewing as he seems to get whatever clarity he was searching for. “So he ran off before things got official, and now you’re sulkin’.”
“I’m not sulking,” you click your teeth—all of which is said through a rather sulky tone, so he only snorts and raises an eyebrow at you. You just respond by glumly taking a spoonful of your ice cream as you add, “And it’s not even like I fell for him that hard, okay? It’s just…the principle of things—he shouldn’t have strung me along like that, and he could’ve just told me instead of disappointing me when things seemed to be going great. And, he definitely never implied that he was seeing other people, so it’s particularly low of him to do all that just so he could see another girl who is clearly so opposite of me, so I’m not even sure I was his type, rather than an easy situationship. Except I didn’t give him what he wanted easily, so I bet that’s why he lost interest so suddenly when he realized he wasn’t going to get what he—”
“Holy fuck,” Bakugou groans, “you sound like the damn nerd with all that mumbling. Okay, so some guy wanted to get in your pants, you didn’t let him, and he got bored. Big deal—just means you picked a fucking loser. So don’t do that next time.”
He says it like it’s so simple. It’s never that simple. Men are so naive.
“Thanks for the stellar advice,” you say sarcastically, shooting him a flat look.
He only smirks, shrugging as he hums, “Yeah, don’t mention it. Don’t get used to it though—I’m not a fuckin’ therapist who solves your shit for you.”
“I’ll try not to depend on you too much,” you roll your eyes. You take another spoonful of your ice cream and sigh tiredly as you slump back against your cushions, and he sighs heavily and throws his head back exasperatedly.
“Look, I know I’m not always the most…fuck, I don’t know the word—”
“Kind? Compassionate? Empathetic? Understanding—”
He shoots you a withering glare, and you huff as you trail off. “Anyway,” he fixes you with a pointed look, “even though I don’t get all bent up outta shape over nonsense like this, I’d get it if you were head over heels for this bastard. But it sounds like you didn’t even like the loser that much, so I’m failing to understand why it matters that bad.”
“Because,” you sigh in exasperation, “I just…I don’t know…I wanted someone to choose me and like what they see, okay? No one ever cares to even bother getting to know me, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason why.”
“You just haven’t set your sights on the right guy yet,” he shrugs, “big fuckin’ deal. You’ll stop being dumb and choose a good one eventually—I’m willing to believe you’re capable of at least that much.”
“They really ought to give you your therapy license,” you say dryly, your face as unimpressed as your tone. “I bet people would pay good money to hear this.”
“I’ll consider it if my agency is a bust,” he snorts, shooting you a sly smirk as he leans back into the couch, one arm slung over the backrest. “Seriously though,” he adds after a second, side-eyeing you, “you’re makin’ this deeper than it is. Some shallow guy bein’ shallow is a stupid reason to get all in your head about shit or whatever.”
You press your lips together, staring down into your melting ice cream. “Well, that’s easy for you to say,” you mutter.
“Hah?” he grunts.
It is easy for someone like Bakugou. Someone who’s always good at everything and knows it. Has enough confidence for two people and then some. You’re certain that if Bakugou actually let women come near him long enough to entertain the idea of a romantic relationship with him, they’d be at his feet the way they are for Todoroki. Women have a thing for men they feel like they can change, can make soften up just for them. He’d be a magnet for the fix-it type of girls if he were actually interested someday, and it only frustrates you further when he talks like your problems are so simple.
“This is how it’s always been for me—even back in high school, it was the same thing.”
Bakugou’s brows knit slightly. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
You stare intently into your pint of ice cream, stabbing the spoon in and out. “Like…with guys. It’s always been like this.”
“That’s bullshit.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“I was there, in case you forgot,” he says, as if that alone settles the matter. “Don’t rewrite shit. You got asked out once by that extra.”
You frown. “That’s not—okay, first of all, that was just so he could try and show off his support gadgets to the agency I did my work study with. It doesn’t count. And second, that’s not my point.”
“Then what is?” he shoots back.
You hesitate, then sigh, dragging your spoon through your ice cream again. “Like…I don’t know!” You gesture with your hand vaguely, “I’m never memorable…or the sort of person that stands out enough for people to be interested, you know? Even Mineta made a list once when we were in school—did you know that? Ranking all the girls. And I was last. Like, dead last for whose tits he’d want to see in order. And I know it’s stupid—it’s Mineta. But some part of me wondered why I was last, and…I just figured maybe when I got older, got more confident, and figured myself out, then it’d be different. But it’s not. It’s just the same thing again—and now I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason why I was last on that list.”
Silence settles heavily between you. Bakugou stares at you incredulously, like you’ve just said something that’s genuinely incomprehensible. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me, right?” He scoffs.
You don’t meet his eyes as you bring your legs up to your chest and hug your arms tightly around your knees. “What?” You frown, sulky and self-conscious.
“You’re tellin’ me you’re still hung up a decade later over that small fry not wantin’ ta take a peek at your tits? Why the fuck would you even want him to see them?”
“I don’t want him to see them,” you defend, huffing. “But like…fuck, c’mon! If the perveiest, creepiest guy you know doesn’t get excited at the thought of seeing you naked, who in their right mind will?”
He looks at you in pure distaste. “I knew you were an idiot, but I thought you weren’t this much of a fucking idiot, Stretchy. Sitting here wanting people to see you naked. Fuckin’ absurd.”
“Don’t be purposely dense,” you snap. You don’t know why it matters so much that Bakugou understands where you’re coming from, but it does. It’s important that he understands. “I’m not…I just…all my life, I’ve never been the one people want. There’s always someone better. Hotter, or smarter, or funnier. Nobody wants me—not even for the wrong reasons. How can I expect anyone to want me for the right ones?”
Bakugou is silent. For a moment, you think he finally understands. Think he’ll finally have an odd moment where he’s compassionate and gentle and you see eye to eye and have a heart-to-heart about your lifelong insecurities and your raging sense of inferiority when it comes to anything outside of your job. (Because at least you can give yourself that much—you’re good at your job.)
But then he says, “You’re so dumb, it physically hurts to watch you sometimes.”
And you bury your face into your knees and just sigh. Why did you have any hope for anything else? Why did you expect Bakugou Katsuki of all people to have empathy for your lack of confidence? The walking epitome of confidence is sitting on your couch, and you had the gall to think he’d even try to understand you.
But then he takes you by surprise.
“You see the shit people say on the internet about you, don’t you? You got fans. They think you’re hot.”
You blink as you lift your head back up. “Well, sure, but—”
Bakugou cuts you off. He looks at you like you’re dumb as he speaks, and you almost wonder if you are with the way he holds so much conviction in that gaze of his. Like he believes wholeheartedly you’re a stupid fucking idiot with stupid fucking thoughts.
“But fucking what? That means you’re clearly not the ugliest girl on the planet. You’re sociable enough that you got plenty of friends, too, and you have talents. You’re half decent enough at hero stuff. You’re tellin’ me you think no one wants you? You have to be pretty air-headed to think no one’s gonna desire you or whatever.”
All things aside regarding the…well, delivery of his statement, it’s a pretty nice statement. Something about the idea that Bakugou believes someone could definitely want you makes your chest feel rather light. It’s kind and comforting in an odd way, despite the rough and borderline mean way of saying it. That’s Bakugou for you, though, you suppose. Always doing good in the least seemingly good way possible.
“You’re being weirdly thoughtful,” you fix him with a look as you stir your ice cream around. You fight back a small smile.
He huffs, throwing another chip in his mouth before he mumbles, “I’m always thoughtful, you loser. I’m fuckin’ awesome, you’re just blind as shit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you smile.
“Just eat your ice cream before it turns into soup,” he grumbles.
You take his advice for once, scooping up another bite just to give your hands something to do. The cold bites at your tongue as you think on his words. You have to be pretty air-headed to think no one’s gonna desire you or whatever. Are you? Are you air-headed to think that? No one has given you a reason to think they do want you—but he seems to say it like he knows it’s true. Like he knows someone wants you exactly in the way you want to be wanted. It eats away at you in your head. Does he know who? Is it someone from your old class? A friend of his? Kirishima, or Sero, or hell…even Todoroki? (You rule out Kaminari rather quickly—you almost pity the guy for how long he’s pined after Jirou.)
You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s already looking at you. You freeze for half a second, catching him eyeing you down, and he doesn’t even bother pretending otherwise. Just watches you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure something out, trying to search for something that he can only find in you.
“What?” you mutter, a little defensive.
“Tch.” He looks away first, shoving another chip into his mouth. “Nothin’.”
You don’t buy that for a second. “You’re staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You literally were.”
“Eat your damn ice cream,” he snaps back, but there’s no real heat in it.
“Why’re you being all weird all of a sudden?” you mutter.
He scoffs. “You’re the one who’s weird. Don’t start projecting.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You roll your eyes as you go back and forth with him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips again, uninvited and almost second nature somehow. It lingers longer than you expect. Who knew it could be so easy to smile in Bakugou’s company? You wonder if the you from high school would be shocked to see this now—hell, you think the you of last week would be shocked to see this, too.
You look back at him, and he’s still staring—softer this time, less like he’s searching for whatever it is he was searching for a moment ago, and more like he’s staring just to stare.
“What?” you ask again, furrowing your brows.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you—looks at you hard and good and…and so full of certainty and conviction like earlier. Certainty for what, you wonder. You have no idea, but it almost feels like something is shifting in your relationship with Bakugou—or perhaps, something that was always there that you never knew of is revealing itself. It makes your stomach twist.
What relationship do you even have with him? Outside of being semi-friendly? You shared a class with him for three years and fought through a dark, heavy disaster side by side. It’s unfair to say you don’t know him that well—he was your friend. That much, you think, is fair to say. Perhaps not your closest friend, nor a lifelong one. But a friend all the same.
So what is it? Why does it feel like there’s something that’s making itself noticeable now, all these years later? What is it exactly? Your head spins as you try to figure it all out, all while he just keeps on fucking staring.
“Nothing,” he mutters finally, but it sounds distracted. It sounds like his mind is elsewhere, and his body is here.
“You’re still staring,” you whisper.
His jaw tightens slightly. “Stop sayin’ that,” he mutters.
“Then stop staring.”
“I was making eye contact, you fucking idiot.”
“I think you were staring.”
“No, the fuck I wasn’t.”
“You’re looking right at me as you say that.”
“'Cause it’s called fucking eye contact—are you dumb or something?”
You stare at him. He stares right back. And then, because you’re you, you break it first—huffing out a quiet laugh and shaking your head. “I see. Are you just now realizing I’m super gorgeous or something?”
“Tch. Weren’t you just going on about how no one seems wowed by you?”
You glare at him. “Low blow. And I said that’s how it seems to be for some reason—I never said I agreed with it. Personally, I think I’m rather delightful, and people should notice it more.”
“Yeah, real charmer,” he mutters.
You bump your knee lightly against his without thinking. “Shut up.”
It’s small. A casual touch, if anything. You didn’t think much of it—in fact, it almost came to you naturally. But sitting on your couch and spilling your heart out and sharing snacks with Bakugou feels so oddly familiar, though, that perhaps your judgment is a little clouded.
He stills at the small touch. Your smile fades a little when you realize it—when you realize he didn’t just brush it off like it’s casual. His gaze drops again, slower this time, to where your knee is pressed against his. And then back up. Did you cross a boundary? Did he find that weird? Is he uncomfortable? Was that a more intimate gesture than you thought it was?
You’re sitting there spiralling in your head as you just watch him, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
He doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward slightly—just enough that the space between you closes so that only a few bare inches remain. Your breath hitches.
“Bakugou—”
“You’ve always been pretty dumb,” he mutters, voice low.
You blink. “What?”
“Exactly what I said,” he closes his eyes and sighs, like he’s tired and conflicted and…and something else. Something else you just can’t decipher, no matter how much you try. “I don’t get how you don’t fucking see it.”
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer. But he does open his eyes—deep and sharp vermillion eyes that are looking at you, and he seems to have made a decision that he’s almost a little hesitant with. Like he’s reluctant to fully go through with it, but still. He’s determined. That much you can tell—you know what a determined Bakugou looks like, and this is it. This is it if you know it, and you know that you know it.
And then he leans in.
He leans right in, pressing his lips to your and kisses you softly. It’s so soft—softer than any touch you’ve ever felt. So careful and considerate, as if you’re a fragile petal that’s on the verge of falling off the stamen, and he’s taking every ounce of willpower to keep you tethered to where you are. Keep you from falling away. Keep you there and whole and pieced together so that even the most delicate of touches doesn’t ruin you.
You almost wonder if he thinks he would—ruin you, that is. You wonder if all that careful consideration is because Bakugou believes you’re a fragile petal that could blow away, and he’s nothing but a harsh, cold wind that would blow you off your balance and carry on like it’s just his nature to do so.
And then he pulls back just as fast as it happened to look at you, brows furrowed slightly like he’s bracing for you to shove him off or yell at him.
Your brain is still catching up. He just kissed you. Bakugou Katsuki just kissed you. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and for once, he actually looks uncertain. Nervous, even—almost disappointed. And it does something weird to your chest.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done th—”
“You just kissed—”
You both speak at the same time. You pause, he does too, and then his jaw tightens. “Yeah. I…that was stupid. Sorry—I…fuck, I don’t know what I was think—”
You don’t know why you do it, but you lean forward and kiss him again. It just happens before you can process it—some invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable force that makes you just do it.
And instantly, without even questioning it, his hand comes up, quick and certain, as it grips lightly at your jaw to steady you so he can kiss you properly.
It’s slower this time. More deliberate. Less like he’s being careful and more like he’s trying to savor it now that he knows that he can. His lips press into yours as if they fit like puzzle pieces, and his tongue slides past your parted mouth to press against your own. Your breath catches, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt without you meaning to.
It’s weird, but it’s not—kissing Bakugou. He’s the last person you ever expected to kiss tonight, maybe even ever, but fuck does it feel like it’s the rightest thing you’ll ever do.
“How the fuck do you think no one wants you?” he grumbles between kisses, like he’s personally insulted by the idea. It’s starting to occur to you that perhaps he is just a little insulted by the idea. “You’re so…so fuckin’ dense.”
“No one has ever made it clear,” you snap, bringing your hands around his neck and tugging on his hair as he kisses you deeper.
He hisses, but it only eggs him on to kiss you harder, more fervently. “You want it clear? Then here the fuck you go.”
He kisses along your jaw. Down your neck. Across your collarbone. When your shirt slips off, you don’t even have the clarity to stop and think about what it is you’re doing—it just feels that natural and right to let him do it. He takes in the sight of your tits in your bra, grabbing a handful of them with large, warm hands as he scoffs.
“These the tits that small fry didn’t wanna see? I’m fuckin’ glad—I’d be pissed as hell if he got to see these.”
He pulls off your bra. Rips it right off your back and makes you gasp as you feel the claps fly clean off somewhere in the distance.
“Hey—”
“Oh, shut up,” he huffs, “it’s a fuckin’ bra. I’ll buy you some more if you’re that pressed over replacing one.”
Before you can even scold him for tearing your undergarments and being so nonchalant about it, his mouth latches onto a nipple, sucking and rolling his tongue over the nub as it hardens under his touch. You gasp, arching into his touch, whining when one of his hands moves to cup your other breast and use his fingers on the neglected nipple.
“Oh my—fuck,” you breathe, your heart rate getting faster as your breaths come out more labored.
Bakugou grins against your tit, still sucking and licking—and when you feel the faintest pressure of teeth around your nipple while his fingers pinch around the other, you let out a sound that you’d be mortified about if your mind wasn’t so stuck in the clouds, hazy and unclear.
He kisses down the valley of your breasts when he finally pulls away—right down your belly and right above the waistband that’s sitting against your skin before he looks up at you for permission. “This okay?” he grunts.
You nod quickly as you breathe heavily.
He gives you an unimpressed look as he raises a brow. “Use your words,” he says firmly, “I know you can—can’t you?”
“Yes,” you whine, “yes, this is okay. J-just…get on with it.”
That satisfies him enough, it seems, because he’s pulling all the cloth that separates your core from him down, revealing your dripping cunt as he lets you kick off the cloth that pools at your ankles.
“Look at you,” he coos, grinning smugly at the sight of your arousal smeared along your folds and your skin. He leans closer to get a better look, and you whine in shame. “Fuck,” he grunts, parting your legs with strong hands along your inner thighs as you try to close them from embarrassment. “Quit that,” he hisses. For whatever reason, you obey. “Fuck, you are so wet.”
“Bakugou,” you whine again, horrified, “what is wrong with you?”
He gives you a deeply bothered look. “Katsuki,” he snaps.
“What?” You furrow your brows. Why is he introducing himself to you as if you’ve never met him before—does this man forget that he and you not only shared a class for three fucking years straight, but you fought a war side by side? Of course, you know his first name is Katsuki—
“For fuck’s sake, Stretchy,” he says in pure exasperation, “you’re so dense, you make rocks seem weightless. Say Katsuki, not Bakugou—s’weird to hear that during sex. That’s my fuckin’ mother’s name, too, y’know.”
“Thank you for that mental image,” you fix him with a glare, “and I’m not denser than a rock—”
He licks a stripe along your pussy to shut you up, and fuck does it work. Bakugou—or…well, Katsuki, you correct in your head—is so good at everything he does, it’s almost infuriating. But you aren’t a liar, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for him being so good at eating you out. It’s like his life depends on it, the way he laps away at your folds, pressing his tongue into your cunt and pulling back away to roll over your clit. It’s so…so fucking good.
It feels good. Feels right. Somehow, it feels like this is natural and like he’s supposed to be there between your thighs. You’d expected yourself to be a bit more self-conscious about him seeing you like this, doing things to you like this, for a bit longer. But you’re not.
Instead, you’re throwing your head back into the couch as you moan, “Katsuki—mmhhh.”
“Yeah?” he grins, so smug and handsome at the same time. Just unfair. “You like that, huh?”
“B-be quiet,” you huff, whimpering when a finger sinks past your folds and stretches you open, “you always talked too much.”
“And you always talked too little,” he counters, “tell me how good you feel and say my name like that again while you do it,” comes his blunt demand.
And he earns what he asks for, of course, because a second finger follows that first, and it makes you whine out his name in response like it’s an inevitable chain of events. He’s pumping his digits into your wet cunt and pressing into your sweet spot like it’s that simple. His mouth closes around your clit, and he sucks, his tongue working some sort of unearthly magic along the bundle of nerves as you practically sob in pleasure.
Good, good, good—everything that Katsuki does is so good. He’s so good at everything, it blows your mind. Literally. You can hardly think as he fucks his fingers into you and builds that familiar pressure up in your lower belly. They’re longer and thicker than your own—and all those years of explosives at his fingertips have really roughened up the skin. They’re calloused and scarred. And they feel amazing when they glide along your walls. The friction is so different when it’s his fingers and not yours—they hit angles and stretch places you never hoped to do so yourself.
Like he can read your mind, he asks, “Feels nice?” with a low voice.
You can barely think, let alone form a proper response. Everything feels too sharp, too overwhelming—your breath catching, your body reacting before your brain can keep up. You roll your hips into his fingers as they thrust into you, grinding down onto his mouth so his tongue can lap away at your clit.
“Yeah—” you manage, voice uneven, “so…so good, Katsuki—”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs. Baby—he just called you baby. And it’s…sweet. He says it oddly sweet and oddly gentle as he kisses your clit and smiles into your thigh when the kisses trail along the insides of them. His fingers are still pressing into that soft, sensitive spot in the back of your walls, still applying pressure exactly where you see white every time, and all the while, he seems to be so unexpectedly happy to be doing it.
You stare down at him, watching him between your legs, and when vermillion eyes intensely stare right back, piercing and calculating and yet so…so soft, you can’t look anymore. Just close your eyes and let it happen as your body starts to creep towards that familiar sensation of euphoria.
“Katsuki,” you whine, voice cracking.
“Jus’ let it happen, sweetheart,” he hums, “gonna cum for me?”
“Yeah,” you whine some more, “yeah—fuck. M’gonna cum.”
“Then do it, baby.”
You do. Katsuki is there to work you through it. Your walls spasm as you fall—no, plummet—off the edge, and he doesn’t hold back for an instant. His fingers are fucking into your tightness, the squelching sound of them gliding against your wet folds invading your very good hearing. His tongue is rolling back and forth against your swollen clit—so unforgiving and ruthless in his pace.
You can feel your back arch off the cushions of your couch, your hips working on their own accord as they move and grind down into his touch. Katsuki devours it all—laps away at your juices and groans at the taste of you. Groans right into your pussy and leaves you shuddering at the vibrations his gruff voice leaves against where you’re most sensitive.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, “driving me crazy here, y’know—sucking my fingers right in, I don’t even have to do much myself.”
When you’re done chasing your high, chest heaving as you catch your breath and slump back against your couch, his mouth doesn’t stop. He just stays there, pressing his lips where he can along your thighs, kissing and sucking into your skin, leaving blossoming marks in his wake while you try to gather some coherence in your mind.
“Fuck,” you say breathlessly. “I…just…yeah. Fuck.”
He snorts. “You’re too easily impressed,” he mutters.
“Yeah, well,” you glare, not meeting his gaze, “it’s not like I’ve ever done…this—” you vaguely gesture at him between your legs, “—to have a proper assessment of your skills.”
He looks at you. Bewildered. “Wait—you’ve never been fucked?”
“I’m not a virgin!” you sputter quickly, “not…not that there’s no reason why I can’t be a virgin—but I’m not, okay? I’ve been fucked.”
“So what is it then?” he raises a brow.
“I’ve never had someone do…this,” you gesture again.
“Eat you out?”
“Why do you have to go and say it like that?” you whine, covering your face with your hands—you’re sure said face is bright red and flushed.
He’s always been so vulgar. Even when you were kids. At least then, he was just vulgar with his language and not the connotations, but right now, he’s being vulgar about everything. And it’s seriously fucking with you right now—in more ways than one, evidently.
Katsuki only snorts, looking at you in mild amusement. “If you can’t say it, you got no business doing it. And you gotta have better standards, too—the fuck do you mean you never been eaten out before?”
“Men are not so giving,” you glare at him, “they’re in it for themselves. You’d know that if you weren’t a man.”
“Well, I am a man,” he shoots back, “and as a man, I know I’m pretty fucking giving. Cause I got standards and shit for my performance, and you should fuck people who have standards. And while you’re at it, you should get some god damn standards yourself, too.”
“I think you should take off your clothes instead of sitting there and lecturing me,” you huff.
To your mild surprise, he stands up and pulls you into his arms, lifting you up easily—seriously, what is he built from?—before mumbling, “Where the fuck is your room?”
You mumble out, “Hall to your left—s’the door on the right at the end.”
In what feels like record time, he’s there, tossing you onto the mattress softly enough that you don’t feel the recoil of impact harshly, but hard enough that you do a little bounce. He chuckles as you glare, easily lifting the black t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. It reveals his bare torso and…shit.
It’s not as though you’ve never seen Katsuki shirtless. Of course, you have. You’ve trained with him and battled alongside him, and more than once has he been shirtless, or even had his shirt burned clean off. It’s nothing new to you that he’s muscular and well-built and so fucking broad—but fuck. He’s really bulked up since you last saw him shirtless. The biceps you can see from his short-sleeved shirt were already proof of that, but seeing him now without it, seeing his pecs and the clear indents of every ab while the broadness of his body is on full display, is just something else, entirely.
And you’re staring. Because how could you not? Of course, you’re staring. You’re only human, no matter how superhuman this society is—you can’t help it that you’re simply in awe as you look at him.
And he seems to notice it instantly, because he gives you a teasing grin as he murmurs, “Likin’ what you’re looking at, huh? Makes sense.”
“Would you be quiet?” you huff. You sit up as he unbuckles his belt, watching as he strips himself of his pants and boxers in one go, easily revealing his erection as if there are no second thoughts.
It must be nice being so easily sure of yourself, you think. Everything about Katsuki’s life seems like it must be so nice. Good quirk. Good intuition. Good looks and an equally good body. Good everything—he must never overthink things. He must never overthink if the person in front of him likes what he has to offer and if it’s good enough to like for longer than one short instance. Of course, it’s good—it’s him.
It must be nice being Bakugou Katsuki, born to be so confident and so great at everything.
At least that’s what you think until he mutters, “Quit starin’, you freak,” with a huff. His ears are pink at the tips, and he doesn’t meet your eyes, and…it’s weirdly adorable that he’s shy.
You smile, endeared as you reach over, grabbing his hand, pulling him down to hover over you in bed, his arms caging you while his nose bumps against yours. You can see his eyes better from here. Closer than you’ve ever seen them. His lashes are darker than the rest of his hair—almost a light brown that flutter so beautifully when he blinks.
You hum, kissing his mouth with a soft peck, there one second and gone the next. He frowns, almost pouts, at how quickly it’s over.
“Don’t get all shy on me now, Blasty,” you murmur.
“I’m never shy, Stretchy,” he shoots back.
Your hand moves between your bodies, hesitantly reaching for his hard, swollen length. There’s a blonde patch of hair between his thighs that is neatly trimmed, and he’s got a small birthmark at his hip bone. As for his cock—it’s…well, it’s big. Thicker than it is long, but no less impressive. You figured it would be. Of course, just like everything else he’s got, he’s blessed to be impressive.
You wrap a hand around his cock, stroking slowly as he shudders and lets out a soft, breathy groan. Your hand barely wraps around the girth of it, fingers just shy of meeting, and you look down to watch your fist slide up and down the length of him. He’s slick with pre cum that dribbles from his tip, twitching a little when you squeeze at the base experimentally as you stroke him.
“S’that even gonna fit?” you gape at the sheer size of him, and that’s all it takes for that minimal shred of shyness to leave him. He has the nerve to look at you smugly—so wholly amused.
“Course it is,” he snorts, smirking slyly. “Got you all nice and prepped, didn’t I? B’sides—isn’t bein’ stretched out and all kinda your thing?”
You give him a dirty look. Your quirk doesn’t work that way, and he knows it, but you suppose it’s naive to expect anything less from Bakugou. Of course, he’d throw in a cheeky, asshole-kind of poke at your meta abilities when he sees fit.
“Be quiet,” you warn.
“If that’s what you want,” he hums, “then you should fuckin’ do something about it.”
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in, kissing him hard and rough, earning a deep, satisfied rumble from his chest as you do. His cock nudges against your inner thigh, grinding against you for a short moment before he stills, jaw gritting tightly as he forces himself to be patient and mutters, “You got a condom?”
“On the pill,” you peck the corner of his lips, “so just fuck me—fuck me, Katsuki.”
That’s all he needs to hear. His tip is nudging against your entrance, sliding along your folds, and gathering the slick that’s practically dripping so he can coat himself in your mess. It’s filthy, and it makes you shudder as you feel the hot, heavy weight of him simply brush against you.
“Fuck,” he groans, “gotta feel you—m’gonna go insane.”
He’s pushing past your folds, sinking inch after agonizing inch so slowly, so carefully, you almost want to hiss that you won’t break. But something stops you—the way he stares between your bodies, that dazed look in his eyes with wide pupils as he watches himself sink into you is enough to force you into submission and be patient.
For him—just for him, you’ll be patient.
“Baby,” he drawls, his voice a low, rough purr, “baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight—god.”
“Fuck, Katsuki,” you whimper. He stretches you out good—fills you up and then some as he presses into all the right spots. “S’so deep—need more, please.”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he presses a soft kiss between your brows before his hips are moving.
It’s slow at first, like he’s testing the waters, and when your head throws back into your pillow as you whine in pleasure, it’s like every worry in his head about hurting you flies out the window. His hips snap faster into you, his thrusts go a little deeper, his movement a little more frenzied. By the time he sets a fluid pace, it’s quick and rough and so fucking good.
“Wanted this for so long,” he grits his teeth, letting out a long moan as you clench around him. “Shit, wanted this for so fuckin’ long you wouldn’t believe—wanted you for so fuckin’ long.”
“More,” you whine, “p-please—give it to me, Kats.”
Oh. Oh, he likes the sound of that—there’s a deep, almost animalistic groan in the back of his throat that erupts before he goes impossibly faster, bullying his cock into your walls and slamming into that soft, sensitive spot he did so easily with his fingers, too. Something in his brain is almost rewired, you think, when he hears the nickname fall from your lips.
Something that makes him bury his face into your neck and nip and bite at the skin hungrily.
“Say that again,” he demands. “Say it.”
“Kats,” you sob, “mmhh—s’good, baby. Feels so good.”
“Yeah? Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this, huh? Like you mean something?”
“No,” you shake your head, “no one.”
“Only me, huh?”
“Only you,” you whimper, nodding along as your hips roll as much as they can into his own, trying to match his movements so he can press even deeper into you.
Katsuki does fuck you like you mean something. No one’s ever really done that. You’ve always had sex just for the sake of sex. It’s never been anything more outside of that—sure, you’ve had your eye on a guy, or two that you wished maybe would look at you as something more than a good fuck. But they don’t make a lasting impression to keep you wanting more. Keep you craving more. Keep you hoping that maybe, just maybe, there could be more.
Somehow, Katsuki makes that possible. He grabs your hips softly, rubs his thumb back and forth like he’s worshipping the skin when he angles you down on his cock for deeper access to your cunt. He kisses your jaw and cheeks with soft, wet pecks instead of just shoving his tongue down your throat. He bites his lips and looks at you with soft, dazed eyes and not the usual dark, lust-filled ones you’re used to.
You never really minded being used. Never minded being more than an easy fuck if it meant you could get something out of it, too. But he makes you feel wanted—and you like being wanted. You like being something worth coming and staying for.
“Fuck, m’close, sweetheart,” he rasps, sweat collecting on his forehead as his pace gets sloppier. The thick head of his cock slams roughly against your walls, and a thumb finds your clit to bring you closer to your peak with harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You can feel it—can feel the slow build of pressure in your belly, that familiarly delicious ache between your thighs as the friction of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy accumulates in every nerve. You’re close too, and Katsuki can tell—it’s so fucking easy for him to read your body. Like he was made to understand it.
“Close too, huh?” he pants, “you almost there?”
“Yes,” you wail, “yes—fuck, yes! Wanna cum.”
“Then do it,” he hums, “cum with me, baby.”
He rolls his hips into you once—then twice, and you feel it snap. That coil in your belly that was tight and waiting to burst. It makes your mind go blank and your lips part, and a cry of his name rings in your own ears loudly. You can feel the way you contract around him, spasming and squeezing and pulling him in as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.
It makes his cock twitch before he tenses and stills—his own orgasm hits him just as hard. Hot, white ropes of his release fill you up, the messy, sloppy pace of his thrusts fucking his load into you as he works you both through your highs.
It’s good—not just because it’s pleasurable, but because you feel important. You feel like only you could give him this, and only you could be the one he wants it from. He leans down and kisses you, slow and messy, drinking in your moans as he pours his own into your mouth. He says your name so pretty when he’s like this—so breathless and soft, you feel like your ears are ringing just listening to the sound of him.
“You’re so good, baby,” he mumbles, “so good for me.”
“K-kats,” you whimper—it’s all you can even say.
“I know,” he moans, “I know, sweetheart.”
And then it’s over. You finish, and so does he, and then it’s just the two of you tangled like that while you both pant and catch your breath. Sweaty skin on sweaty skin, lingering touch on lingering touch. Your fingers weave through his blonde locks, tracing along his scalp and fiddling with the small baby hairs at the nape of his neck. His fingers are wrapped around your hips, digging softly into the plush skin and making home in the warmth of it.
“People want you, dumbass,” he mutters, leaning and kissing your cheek. “You’re just an idiot who doesn’t know how to look.”
“Be in my line of sight next time, and maybe I will,” you mumble.
He laughs as he slumps down next to you, pulling your body into his as he wraps you up with his body and the sheets on your bed—it’s the softest sound you’ve ever heard from him, and fuck, do you want to hear it more.
You wonder, as sleep creeps up on you, if this will all be an odd, weird, crazy dream when you wake up.
—
When you wake up, it is not an odd, weird, crazy dream.
Well, it’s definitely odd and weird and crazy. But it’s not a dream, that’s for sure. A sleeping, clearly bare Katsuki is in your bed, right beside you, and you’re in his arms. He’s holding you close and tight, and there would be no chance of escape if you wanted to leave his embrace (which you don’t really think that you do).
One minute turns into two. Two turns into three. And eventually, after a few agonizing minutes of trying to slowly inch away just enough to get a closer look at his sleeping face, Katsuki says without opening his eyes, “Quit squirming.”
You still. And then, you huff, squirming around just to annoy him.
“Oi!” he glares, opening two sharp, yet sleep-hazed red eyes. “I just said stop.”
“Well, I don’t answer to you,” you scowl. “How long have you been awake?”
“Since you decided to stare at me like a creep.”
“I was not staring,” you say, giving him a scandalized look.
He only grins, giving you a sly look as he yawns and mumbles, “Yeah. Whatever you say, dumbass.” Then he pulls you closer, bringing your cheek to lie on his chest while his chin props itself over the crown of your head. “You okay? From last night, I mean?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “M’fine.”
“Not hurt? Wasn’t too rough?”
“Nope,” you answer easily.
You realize this position might have less to do with the fact that he wants to hold you rather sweetly, and more to do with the fact that he might not really want you to look at his face when he asks his next question.
“You uh…you regret it? Or some shit?”
You pause, taking in the odd, rare moment of…vulnerability in his voice. Like he’s scared to hear your answer but needs to know desperately. You find yourself answering rather honestly when you say, “No. I don’t. Last night was really nice—I liked it.”
“Yeah?” he breathes.
“Yeah,” you mumble.
“Great. Go out with me, then.”
You do a double-take as you pull away and look at him in equal parts disbelief and equal parts irritation. He has the nerve to look rather expectant. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” he huffs. “Go out with me—exactly what I said.”
“You can’t just throw that out there randomly!”
“Randomly?” It’s his turn to be shocked and irritated. “The fuck do you mean? I was balls deep in you last night, and this is random?”
“Yeah b-but…” You sputter, smacking his chest. “First of all, don't say it like that! And second, I had no idea until last night that you even thought I was attractive, let alone likable. Now you want to date me out of the blue?”
“I don’t ask shit for no reason out of the blue,” he grumbles, “of course I think you’re attractive and likable if I’m asking you out. You think I’d waste my time with just anyone?”
“Usually,” you give him a flat look, “when you ask someone out, some sort of confession comes first. You know? Like, hey—I think you’re pretty cool. Or you’re really beautiful. Or even, hey, I think we get along nicely, don’t you? Do you wanna go out sometime?”
Katsuki closes his eyes and sighs exasperatedly. “Hey, loser,” he smiles tightly. It’s rather petty, honestly. “I think you’re cool and beautiful—thought it since we were fuckin’ brats in school. We get along nicely for the most part, too, when you’re not a pain in the ass. Let’s go out.”
“That was a demand, not a question.”
“You are so fuckin’ difficult for no reason,” he groans, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes tiredly. “Holy fuck—you’d say no, or somethin’? That why you need it to be a question?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t…but it’s the principle of things—”
“Fuck your principles,” he mutters, pulling you close and planting his lips onto yours. You melt rather instantly, kissing him right back without hesitation. He grins against your mouth and pulls away, leaving you breathless. “The only damn principle you need to know is that you and I are good for each other. And that means we should go out.”
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing. You think it’s a good thing that you are, because it leads you straight to Bakugou Katsuki.
—
One new message from: ♡ PLUS ULTRA GIRLIES ♡
Mina: sooo can we talk about last night? SOMEONE was def giving us the cold shoulder
Toru: ^^
Kyoka: ^^
Momo: Come on, guys. I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation. We should be ready to listen whenever she’s ready
Ochaco: absolutely!
Tsu: but we do want to hear the reason asap
Mina: yeah it better be good bc that was just mean
Toru: ^^
Kyoka: ^^
You: i promise i’ll tell u everything soon ok? but guys.
You: holy fuck. guys…
You: i slept with bakugou last night
Mina: WHAT?
Toru: WHAT?
Tsu: WHAT?
Kyoka: WHAT?
Momo: WHAT?
Ochako: WHAT?
Mina: I KNEW HE HAD THE HOTS FOR YOU I KNEW IT
Mina: THIS NEEDS TO BE A GROUP CALL RIGHT NOW
You: I CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW HE’S LITERALLY IN FRONT OF ME MAKING BREAKFAST IN MY KITCHEN
Ochako: aw wait that is sooo sweet of him. he’s a great cook too
Toru: proof or it didn’t happen :P
You: [ one attachment ]
Kyoka: HOLY SHIT THAT’S DEFINITELY HIS BACK
Momo: Well…As long as you’re happy!
Mina: LMAOOOOO STOP YAOMOMO
Ochaco: bakugou can be nice when he wants to be!! don’t be so hard on him
Tsu: when has he ever wanted to though…?
Toru: never lol let’s be real
You: he has a soft side OKAY? ochako is right u guys are being way too hard on him
Mina: oh god it begins
Toru: she’s already making excuses for him
Kyoka: the sex was that good huh??
Momo: Make sure you pee so you don’t get a uti ok?
yeah i wrote this in one day. this asshole has taken over my life yet again 6 years later i feel like history always repeats itself
i miss you 2012 avengers. i miss you the avengers tower. i miss you irondad and spiderson. i miss you meme lord shuri and peter. i miss you loki lingering in the tower for no other reason than that he's the main love interest. i miss you poptart-eating thor. i miss you grumpy bucky barnes. i miss you old man, chronically offline steve rogers. i miss you clint in the vents. i miss you girls night with wanda and natasha. i miss you resurrected, shamelessly flirty pietro. i miss you clueless, socially inept vision. i miss you the rare bruce banner feature. i miss you sassy sam wilson. i miss you cheeky reader who always called fury by his first name. i miss you christmas avengers blurbs in the middle of the fanfiction written by an autistic 14 year old. i miss you 😔😔😔
Y/N: Because. I'm sick of people and I hate everyone
Chrissy ♡: Realest shit I've read all day
Chrissy ♡: Wanna come over and do nothing together?
Chrissy ♡: Wanna come over and hate everyone together?
Chrissy ♡: Maybe I'll cry with you if you behave 😉
Y/N: Omg you know my knees get all weak when you talk dirty to me, Bahng
Chrissy ♡: 😂😂😂
Chrissy ♡: Hurry up … it's boring being pissed on my own
Y/N: 🏃♀️💨
When Y/N pushed open the door to Chris's bedroom, her gaze panned around the spotless space before she frowned. Chris was nowhere to be seen. Traces of him lingered in the form of a sweet candle wafting its vanilla clouds over to her and enveloping her in a familiar cloud, his laptop shut on his desk, and a worn hoodie hanging off of the edge of his bed. Y/N blinked, looking around again, and she darted her head out of the room to make sure he wasn't in the main area - but then a set of warm fingers curled around her wrist and she was suddenly tugged into a sturdy body.
“Gotcha!” Chris's voice was playful as he squeezed her tight, and Y/N's breath hitched when his immense heat swallowed her up as soon as her face hit chest. “About time. You took ages.”
“I did not,” Y/N huffed, squeezing him back, arms tightening around his strong torso. “I left so fast that I forgot my phone and then I had to go back to get it.”
Chris chuckled, kicking the door shut. “Ah … so that's what took you so long.”
Y/N looked up at him indignantly. It just made him laugh more, and his face crumpled as a sudden wave of affection flooded over him for her. His arms tightened around her before Y/N found herself being picked up off of the floor, her legs automatically tangling around the man's waist as he held her close to him.
“You should have just left your phone,” Chris grinned, kissing her nose.
Y/N cocked her head to the side in question. “Why?”
“Well, I just thought … we're both sick of everyone so maybe we should just turn our phones off for the night. Just me and you. Whaddya say?”
“You're gonna turn your phone off for the whole night?”
Chris nodded. “Yep.”
“You?”
“Yep.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“What if the kids need you?”
Chris smiled. “No doubt they'll barge in here and attack us both.”
Giggling, Y/N pressed a kiss to Chris's forehead. “Wow. You really do hate everyone right now.”
“Mhm,” Chris wrinkled his nose. “They don't deserve me.”
He was joking, yet Y/N grinned. “Confidence looks sexy on you.”
“Dunno what you mean,” Chris flushed, just as he dropped Y/N softly onto his bed. He crawled down beside her until they were laying side by side, the ceiling warping with shadows from the lamplight above them. It almost looked like little galaxies swirling around and around, and they were both quiet for a moment, hands tangled between them both.
“You okay?” Chris hummed after a while, squeezing Y/N's fingers. “i mean … you said you were crying."
Y/N turned her face to the side. He was already watching her, and their noses bumped from the movement. Y/N's eyelashes fluttered as her eyes fell shut - she could still feel Chris's gaze on her, intense, but comforting, like a ray of sunshine.
“Just tired,” Y/N whispered. “Of breaking my back for people yet still always being the last choice.”
Simple words, yet they were words that Chris felt deep to the core of his bones. He too often felt the same - as much as he tried not to think about it, as much as he tried to distract himself by immersing himself further into his work and giving more to the people around him, he still couldn't shake the heaviness from his head sometimes. The thoughts were like cobwebs, fine, delicate, but somehow completely unshakeable.
Wordlessly, Chris's hand cupped the back of Y/N's head. He brought her towards his body, and Y/N let her face fall into the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of her hair. His touch was gentle in the way he caressed her neck, cascading down slowly before moving to the top of her head again in a soothing, repetitive, motion.
“I feel like you're the only one I can actually say is my best friend,” Y/N breathed into Chris's skin. “I can be myself with you … everyone else makes me feel like I have to hide.”
She felt the curve of Chris's throat bob against her temple as he swallowed thickly, his hand gripping her head just a touch more in a protective manner.
“I'm kinda relieved,” Chris murmured. “It would have been really awkward if you were my best friend and I wasn't yours.”
Y/N giggled. She buried her face deeper into the hollow of his neck, her fingers gripping onto the sides of his top with such a ferocity that it made Chris's heart twinge.
“I love you,” Chris brushed against the crown of her head. “All of you. You know that right?”
“I know,” Y/n nodded. “You know I love you too, don't you?”
Smiling at that, Chris hummed in agreement. He was prone to double guessing himself and overthinking his self worth, more than he ever wanted to admit … but despite all of that, he did always know in the bottom of his heart that he was loved by her. Like her love for him was as steady and sure as the sun rising day after day, and as calm as the moon illuminating even the darkest of nooks in the depth of night.
Just as his love always flowed freely for her too.
“I know,” Chris brushed a kiss to the corner of Y/N's mouth. Their foreheads were pressed together now, fingers intertwined, and just by laying there in each other's bubble, the couple felt their agitation and sadness for the world begin to seep out of them, leaving their bodies all melty on Chris's sheets.
“We're so pathetic,” Y/N joked under her breath.
It made Chris chuckle against her lips, the soft lines at the corners of his eyes deepening as wriggled closer to her. “Hey, I mean … at least we're pathetic together. Better being pathetic together is better than being pathetic on our own.”
Y/N grinned. “I like being pathetic with you.”
“Yeah?” Chris hummed. “Wanna eat some pathetic ramen with me?”
“Pathetic ramen? How can ramen be pathetic?”
“Well, if it's made by two pathetic people who are hiding from the world and eating ramen because they're sad, then I guess the vibes just … turn it pathetic.”
Y/N's laughter was warm. “What?”
Chris shrugged. He pulled her closer, his long limbs encasing her in his addictive embrace. “Dunno. Maybe I'm going crazy.”
Cross legged on Chris's bed, Y/N and Chris gently blew on their piping hot noodles, their noses and cheeks already pink from the rising steam. True to Chris's earlier words, he had switched his phone off, and Y/N followed suit - then they both tossed both devices into the back of Chris's wardrobe for good measure with a string of slightly delirious giggles. Perhaps it was just a placebo effect, but both of them had instantly felt a wave of calm wash over them as soon as they had shut the doors of the wardrobe. Like nothing was tethering them to the chaos of the world outside anymore. No half-hearted messages, no unnecessary rude comments floating around, no negative opinions in sight that always had a way of needling through the both of them and lodging inside their minds with a dull sort of ache that neither of them could quite ignore.
It was just the two of them in Chris's room (which, to Y/N, was one of her most favourite places on earth) with enough food to feed a dozen people, a marathon of movies lined up, and of course, so many blankets that they couldn't exactly tell whose limb was whose anymore.
“We should do this more often,” Chris said before shovelling an overestimated mouthful of ramen into his mouth. He instantly regretted it when the heat sizzled his tongue, and the amplified low level spice kissed his lips.
Y/N shook with silent laughter as she watched him inhale lungfuls of air like a dying fish. She reached for the water beside her and unscrewed the cap, holding it to him before she gently patted his back as he began to choke.
“Idiot,” Y/N giggled. “You do that every single time.”
“Accident,” Chris wheezed. His tongue hung out of his mouth now, and he panted quickly, eyes round and making Y/N's laughter grow. “But yeah … we really should do this more often.”
“Do what? Burn your tongue?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “No … this. Turning our phones off. Who needs ‘em, eh?”
Y/N slurped on her own noodles. “Christopher … it's been ten minutes.”
“Best ten minutes of my life,” Chris said happily, swirling his chopsticks back into his ramen. “No stupid people, no disrespectful people, no fucking idiots with thick fucking skulls - “
“There, there,” Y/N patted Chris's back again before steam could start shooting out of the man's ears like an enraged cartoon character. “Eat first … yap later.”
Chris grinned. “You're just trying to get me to shut up.”
“No,” Y/N smirked. “I just think you'll feel a lot better after you've eaten something.”
She was right, of course. So right that once Chris had finished his third extra large cup of ramen, he had flopped back down onto his bed, eyelids already drooping with sleepiness.
“Cuddles … “ Chris mumbled, arms outstretched lazily towards Y/N as she moved away to drop the cups into the bin. He clenched and unclenched his fingers in her direction, a pout on his soft lips until she moved back towards him, dropping into her space on the bed.
“So when you said you wanted to do nothing, what you really meant was go to sleep?” Y/N smiled as Chris immediately draped himself over her like a koala.
Chris giggled against her collarbone. “No. I meant … do nothing. We are doing nothing.”
“Were actually cuddling,” Y/N corrected as she slipped her fingers into his curls. “That's not nothing.”
“Nuh uh … ‘s nothin’. ‘M not letting you move now … you're all mine.”
Grinning at the soft state the man was drifting into, Y/N hooked her legs over his and held him to her as tight as she could under the fuzzy blankets layered on top of them. It was stifling, to say the least, but it was safe, and comforting, and neither of them wanted to vacate the bubble. If anything, they gravitated even closer to one another until their faces were almost smushed together, every inch of their bodies somehow touching the other in the biggest hug they could manage.
Hands tender on either side of Chris's sleepy face, Y/N landed a series of fluttery kisses to his lips, one after the other. Her kisses spilled over his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his forehead, his jaw, anywhere she could reach, until Chris was a mass of bashful giggles and weak protests with a smile that made Y/N's insides ache.
“I love doing nothing with you,” Chris mumbled, breaking the soft silence that had started to grow between them both. “Wanna do nothing with you forever.”
Y/N bit her lip, her mouth curving up into an affectionate smile. Chris's eyes were shut, and she shut hers too as she leaned her forehead against his, her fingers still tracing the impossibly smooth grain of skin at the side of his neck. But then she heard the quietest of sniffles and her eyes snapped open again just in time to see a shining tear slipping down the flushed skin of Chris's cheek.
“Baby?” Y/N blinked in surprise as she kissed the tear away. “What's wrong?”
She didn't need to ask, though she did anyway - she already knew that the vulnerability he had kept locked inside of him from the past few weeks was spilling out of him now that he was feeling safe beside her. But Chris smiled as another tear glistened against his lashes, and Y/N leaned closer to hear the whisper of his words.
“I told you I'd cry if you behaved.”
Spluttering with quiet laughter, Y/N smoothed her fingers over his tears. “Well in that case … keep crying. It's hot.”
Chris laughed at that, his breath hot on Y/N's cheek, and he tightened his hold on her waist, fingers tracing abstract shapes into the heated lower skin of her back, almost as though he was self soothing himself. Y/N kissed his temple as her other hand continued to lightly scratch at his scalp, her smile mirroring his.
it absolutely wrecks him like a freight train hitting a wall when you cry in front of him for the first time.
chan, who was so sure he knew his happy-go-lucky girl inside and out. who was so sure that his girl, his girl, lived in a bubble of security he'd so delicately formulated for her. thick and warm sheets in the morning, woken up with his smiling lips on your skin. he let you lie on the studio couch late nights when he refused to leave. he'd find you on the living room sofa when he came home late after studio sessions, kissing the little furrow out of your lax but tense expression. he'd buy you anything at the drop of a hat. support you through anything. you wanted to open a clothing shop for cats? chan would ask to be your cashier.
so when he sees you there, in your shared kitchen, neck bent low and shoulders shaking, quiet hiccups of cries like you didn't want him to hear it? he feels the floor pull out from underneath him.
he crosses the cold tile in an instant. doesn't even think you'd push him away. you often knew the safest place was in his arms. chan gathers you quickly but gently, as if he could shatter you further if he wasn't careful. and he crumbles at the foreign feeling of your body wracking out meek sobs. he's never heard those shallow little breaths and sniffles. he doesn't say anything, doesn't try to offer solutions or press on. he holds you steady against his chest, quick little firm kisses onto your weary head. he mentally curses himself. was there something he hadn't noticed? he should've been there...
only when chan is sure you're tuckered out from crying, he pulls back, running a vascular hand over the back of your head. tilting his head, eyes crinkling at the corners when he gives you a halfhearted smile while you dry your eyes in closed fists.
beautiful, he thinks to himself, before mentally facepalming. he shouldn't think like that, but he can't help it. your puffy cheeks and eyes, eyelashes sticking together with salty tears. and what makes you even more beautiful is your sense of trust you have in him. trust, looking up at him like he can fix the world.
"there you are, sweetheart..." he hummed as his thumb swept under your eyes, wiping away the remnant sadness. he adored how you leaned into his touch, but it made his chest tighten painfully at the same time. "what's got my girl so down? you should be asleep..."
a smile fought at your lips, he was always telling you to never wait up for him. tucking your head under his chin, you let out a heavy sigh. like you could dispense the tension out of you. he reciprocated by holding the back of your head and scratching your scalp gently. he wanted to show you he wasn't afraid. this is safety, here in my arms. my brave girl. sleepy girl.
"just... i dunno, it's... it comes and goes in waves... wasn't even feeling particularly sad..."
your words made his bones ache, and his heart did a funny little thing. but he hummed in reply, closing his eyes, and pressing his plush lips to your forehead. he breathed your name thrice like a prayer into your hairline. he didn't force you to talk any more than you were already willing. he was grateful you shared anything at all. he pulled back with his hands sliding to the sides of your face, cradling your jaw.
"you know i'm always here, yeah? 'm always here to listen... even if you have nothing to say, and we just... sit in silence... i'm your literal and figurative shoulder to cry on, mm?"
his words were met with silence for a moment or two as he swept his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. and then, the achy croak of your voice cut through.
"i don't like... showing that part of me, all the... sad and the... gosh, it's so difficult..."
a little huff left chan's nostrils. not angry, just a bit frustrated at the situation. he wished he could go into your head and kick out all those bad thoughts. he closed his eyes and opened them, lips smiling into a toothless grin with softened eyes.
"i want to see all of you... every bit that you hide, give it to me... i'll deal with the rest. i... i should've payed more attention and... saw you were hurting—"
"you couldn't have known... i've hid this stuff for so long, it isn't you..."
chan opens his mouth to say something, already trying to put the weight on himself. but even with red-rimmed eyes, you hold love there. love, and adoration and that tooth-achingly sweet trust. so he just... softens. doesn't argue. rationalizes with the aftermath and...
"come to me when you feel like that, okay? when you wanna hide it away and your head tells you to deal with it alone? i want to hold you... 's just me... 's just your channie."
he tilts his head to meet your shy eyes, and smiles when you flush from all the attention. he can't help it, making a soft "muah" sound when he kisses your cheek. gives the other side one to match. you sniff away the last bit of phlegm and stand in his warmth a moment longer. looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he cherishes so much.
"i really, really love you."
your voice is breathless and awestruck. and chan's cheeky, boxy smile purses into a kiss on the corner of your mouth. he'd felt hopeless, but this feels like the start of a new chapter in your relatively early relationship. an open door, seeing into the girl he loves so much. his girl, even when the weight of the world feels like too much. he says your name with no preamble, something he loved doing.
like a lyric to a song. his favorite line from a book.
contains: poly skz, skz x reader, fluff, suggestiveness
summary: by this point, seungmin is far too accustomed to homoeroticism. a lingering hand? normal. draping himself into someone's arms? ordinary. stomping down the feelings blooming dangerously in his chest? par for the course. or: seungmin wouldn't recognize a sign if a billboard body-slammed him. 7.1k words.
☆ note: inspired by this tweet [guy who's in a polycule but not dating anyone, he's just there]
my masterlist
Seungmin would like to remind everyone he is not unobservant. He observes just fine. The issue lies within his interpretation of those observations, which tend to lean towards what a strange coincidence at best and ugly, curdling envy at worst.
There’s been too many coincidences lately. Something… weird is happening.
Weirder than usual, which is honestly a feat in and of itself.
He needs time alone to analyze, so after vocal practice he pushes and pushes (and pushes) his manager’s patience. Eventually, she snaps and agrees to let him walk back to the dorms by himself, on a couple conditions. He promises to keep his location on. He swears to call the millisecond someone looks at him the wrong way. He compromises and agrees to let himself be picked up if he’s not back within an hour.
And then he is free.
Carving out time for himself is a skill he’s mastered over the years. It’s difficult when his members’ nosiness rivals Pinocchio’s, but he manages. His dedication to pestering until he gets his way works out surprisingly well for him more often than not.
He loves all of them, he does. He would gladly find scissors if fate’s string ever tries to pull them apart. Sometimes, though, being around anyone at all frays him in a way that’s unpleasant for everyone, especially himself, only reset back to normal through peace and quiet.
Peace and quiet could not have come at a better time. He’s more of a grand gesture person when it comes to expressing his emotions. Talking things out inherently requires someone else, listening and remembering and potentially bringing up again. That’s too much. He just needs to identify his jumbled emotions, put a label on them, and neatly pack them away to shove deep into his mind’s junk drawer.
All of that is without even considering how you fit into everything – which, for the record, Seungmin is always considering how you fit into everything. It’s a mess, but he’s confident he can sort it out in the next hour or so.
Setting off in the direction of home, he pops in his earbuds (don’t tell his manager), zones out (especially don’t tell his manager), and ruminates on some of the stranger happenings.
He supposes the best place to begin is the beginning.
THE JEONGIN SUBVERSION
Hindsight is a bitch, isn’t it?
Looking back, the too peaceful drive should have been a sign of what was to come. But it was 2:30 in the morning, and Seungmin was barely conscious after Felix – the bastard – yanked his blanket off him while declaring “Get up we’re going to be late!” thirty minutes beforehand.
They were not late. They were the first ones to arrive at the SUVs idling at the curb for them. Seungmin felt entirely justified waiting until Felix made his choice to climb into the opposite car, where he practically melted into a window seat in the back row and would try to catch a few more minutes of rest.
Shortly after, Chan, Changbin, and Han created the world’s sleepiest single-file line to settle into the remaining seats. Changbin and Han opted for the back row with him. Han draped his legs over Changbin’s lap, let his head fall onto Seungmin’s thigh, muttered “Wakem’upwhenwegetthere,” and promptly fell back asleep, like he was never even awake in the first place.
Instinctually, Seungmin began carding his hand through Han’s soft hair. He felt an odd sense of pride when Han emitted a satisfied noise and snuggled further into him.
Chan greeted him with a tired smile and took the seat in front of Seungmin, immediately opening his laptop and getting back to work. His screen glowed brightly in the dim lighting. Seungmin’s willing to bet the oldest does not even register the eye strain anymore, and resolved to hunt down some painkillers during their first break.
With Chan’s keyboard clacking and Han drooling on his leg, Seungmin should have been more annoyed, but try as he might, he couldn’t muster up that feeling. Mostly, he just felt nearly complete – like the majority, but not all, pieces of himself were finally sliding into place.
Speaking of.
You appeared in the open doorway after Chan, looking entirely too composed for the hour. Seungmin wasn’t necessarily surprised to see you – it’s more of a surprise when you’re not around – but he didn’t expect you would come over this early. Another one of his members must have let you sleep on their couch.
He wasn’t jealous. Even if he was, nobody knew, so it remained fine.
Your gaze settled over Chan, resolute. Seungmin has been on the receiving end of that look, and he’s not eager for a repeat experience. At least, not in public. You have a particular talent for making him feel like he’s been called to the principal’s office – which, okay, he’s not complaining, but it absolutely does not help his nervous system working overtime around you.
Chan, seemingly, did not even notice.
“Move,” you said, determined.
At that, Chan did glance upwards at you, but only for a second before he returned to his laptop. “Why?” he asked, eyes glued to the screen.
“I wanna sit by Minnie.” Your eyes flit to Seungmin, who was doing his best to school his expression into neutral. A ghost of a smile haunted your lips, for nobody but him, and Seungmin concentrated hard on being normal about that. She smiles at you every day, get it together.
“What if I want to be beside Minnie?” Chan mocked the nickname by putting extra emphasis on it, which Seungmin did not appreciate. Seungmin expressed this displeasure via a kick to the back of his seat.
He resolutely ignored Changbin’s good-natured, “Real mature, Minnie.”
Luckily, that was the extent of the conversation, mainly because Han shifted on Seungmin’s lap and murmured a distinct threat detailing what would happen if everyone kept making noise. So Chan moved, and you took his place, and the staff member in charge of them drove off before Han had the opportunity to act on his threats.
They were heading to rehearse choreography. The whole group protested the ass o’clock start time, but it was the only time everyone’s schedules were free at the same time for the next week. As much as it sometimes seemed like it, you were not actually a part of Stray Kids, which meant you could have easily slept in this morning and skipped accompanying them to rehearsal.
You would definitely fall asleep on them later, but that didn’t matter. Seungmin was glad you chose to stay with them. He hoped you never stopped choosing to stay with them.
“How’s my third favorite doing?” you whispered while simultaneously reaching back to obnoxiously pinch his cheek.
“I hate you,” he said, yearning.
“Yeah, I hate you too. Here, I brought you this,” you reached into your bag and held out his favorite muffin from the good bakery down the street. “It’s a little stale, I got it yesterday. Hope it’s still good?”
Seungmin practically snatched it from your hands. “I don’t hate you anymore,” he said between bites, reveling in your laugh. Crumbs landed in Han’s hair. Seungmin left them.
Their SUV leisurely drove through familiar streets. The second car carrying everyone else followed closely behind them. Seungmin made the right choice with this one.
His gaze settled on you in front of him. He tried not to; he tried staring at the stars, or trying to peek at Chan’s laptop screen, but he always returned to you. How could he not? Bathed in low light, shadows playing with your features, you were absolutely beautiful.
You weren’t even paying attention to him, and that was perfectly fine with him. He could stare without needing an excuse.
The ride ended too soon.
Jeongin, damp hair clinging to the back of his neck, was already storming towards them when they disembarked.
“Hey!” Jeongin shouted into the chilly night air, and Seungmin – no matter how Chan retells this story – did not yelp like a scared puppy. He yelped like a brave puppy. “Don’t use my towel, asshole!”
Seungmin only saw it because he was studying for Chan’s reaction – the flicker of genuine exasperation, the gut instinct to snap back that he pushed down for the sake of being a good leader. Still, Chan took several seconds to breathe before turning to face the youngest and saying, “I didn’t use your towel.”
“Bullshit,” Jeongin said. A small crowd began to form around them – members and staff entering the building dropping their tasks to watch. “I’ve asked you not to before, and my towel was wet this morning. That was my last clean one, man.”
“Then maybe you should do your own laundry, instead of expecting me to do it for you.”
“I asked one time! You-”
“Sorry!” Your voice rang out, interrupting the insult Jeongin surely had poised on his tongue. He startled slightly; he must not have seen you behind Changbin and Han. Easy, you placed yourself between them, facing Jeongin. “I think that was me. Is it blue?”
Jeongin took a moment to collect himself before shaking his head. “No, red.” Annoyance still laced his voice, but significantly less than ten seconds beforehand. Seungmin definitely did not feel a stab of jealousy that you stayed over with Chan and Jeongin – and, apparently, had enough time to take a shower this morning.
“Ah, that was me then,” Han piped up beside him. “I’m sorry, I thought it was Chan’s.”
Seungmin watched Jeongin deflate. “Oh, that’s okay then,” he answered. If Seungmin didn’t know better, he would almost call the youngest’s tone gentle.
The small number of onlookers began to disperse, exchanging looks with each other, speechlessly regretful they didn’t get to watch a bigger fight.
Usually, on a normal day, both Jeongin and Chan forget about their one-off outbursts almost as quickly as they begin, provided nobody gets hurt or there isn’t a bigger issue. However, that day, Jeongin was irritated by virtue of not being a morning person and Chan was irritated by virtue of being yelled at before the sun rose. Neither one of them felt like kissing and making up right at that moment.
“Hey, wait, what the fuck?” Chan’s earlier calmness fractured.
Seungmin had the same question. How many people showered at their dorm?
Jeongin shrugged. “Honest mistake, it happens.”
“You were ready to kill me!”
“You’re exaggerating, it was fine.” Jeongin didn’t give Chan a chance to respond, very purposefully turning on his heels and following the dissipating trail of people into their building.
Being ignored, of course, only made Chan more upset, not that Jeongin was there to see it.
Chan’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, and Seungmin decided Jeongin had the right idea getting out of there. Seungmin, as a rule, generally becomes a target for people’s irritation (granted, he causes it most of the time, but still), and he absolutely did not want to stick around for that to happen.
As he speed walked to the entrance doors, he passed you and Chan.
You were whispering something to Chan, and he was smiling, goofy, back at you. He pulled you in closer to him, and both of you laughed like you shared a private joke. Seungmin would not have believed Chan was about to forge a warpath if he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand.
Out of nowhere, Seungmin’s mind conjured up fantasies of what it would be like if Chan smiled at him like that. If Chan held him, shared his body heat in the cold, if Seungmin could just whisper something and melt his leader’s stress. If Chan would lean on him, instead of trying to hold everything together all the time. Sure, they’re close now, but it’s not the same; it’s not the ease he seems to emanate with everyone else.
It caught him off guard, to say the least.
He didn’t have time to unpack those thoughts – it probably had something to do with the remnants of sleep tugging him down, anyway. Shoving it out of his mind, he continued to scramble to their practice room before Minho could get onto him for his lateness.
Rehearsal was tense, in the beginning. Jeongin and Chan still had frigidity, but as the day continued, the ice melted between them. By their second break, they were back to their usual selves; Jeongin annoying Chan, Chan taking every possible opportunity to drape himself over the youngest.
During that break, Seungmin went searching for you. It had been a while since you excused yourself from watching and slipped out the door. He found you curled up asleep on an out-of-the-way bench, just like he knew you would eventually. Gently, to not disturb you, he took off his hoodie and covered you with it.
If he took a picture because you looked cute, that’s his business.
Seungmin shakes his head, doing his best to rid himself of that memory. He’ll come back to that one. On to the next.
Living with Felix gives him whiplash sometimes.
It could be argued he knows Felix better than anyone. He’s seen him blossom in front of adoring fans, he’s seen him cough into his phone’s speaker to convince management he really is coincidentally sick when The Game Awards streams, he’s seen him cry himself dry after a particularly brash photographer weaseled under his skin.
Ninety percent of their last decade has been spent together. Words aren’t necessary for routine conversations at this point. Last week, Felix glanced at him for less than a second and knew Seungmin wanted strawberry jam instead of his usual grape. That one still freaks him out a little.
But every so often, Felix does something that makes him question whether or not he’s been kidnapped and replaced by an evil twin.
(They went down a conspiracy theory rabbit hole a few nights ago. Felix is convinced Avril Lavigne isn’t real.)
Take, for example:
THE HYUNLIX COLLISION
There is a certain dignity in failure. Granted, it has negative connotations, but Seungmin would genuinely prefer to first fail than to immediately succeed.
Failure precedes learning. Failure builds resilience. Failure means growth, not just in the attempt, but as a person. It’s a raw and honest reflection of the human spirit in a way nothing else can attempt.
Seungmin was blank-staring at his opponent’s fuckass long fatality sequence when their front door burst open.
Felix was first through the door, but only on a technicality. With Hyunjin pressed up against him, it was nearly impossible to tell where Felix ended and Hyunjin began. Felix’s arms wrapped around Hyunjin’s neck, leaving no other option but to remain flush against each other.
They were falling all over each other, sloppily making out as much as gravity allowed, both men giggly in the way liquor makes them.
The last thing Felix said to Seungmin before leaving hours ago was, “Be safe, love you.” He definitely would have remembered a Hey, by the way, I’m gonna need the dorm to myself tonight. And also, Hyunjin and I are hooking up.
That was probably the wrong thing to focus on, he thought, as Felix let out a particularly needy whine. The two men didn't seem to notice nor care that they are not alone.
Seungmin sat unnoticed, unmoving, under a rock the size of a large rock. He wanted to say something, don’t get him wrong, but he felt too much like he was teetering on the edge of an endless abyss. One wrong move, or one move at all, and he would freefall forever, never to be seen or heard from again.
So he remained slack-jawed, staring.
They were moving as one in the general direction of Felix’s room, however, they kept getting distracted by each other. Hyunjin angled himself to press hasty kisses onto Felix’s jawline. The image of Felix’s flushed cheeks, coupled with his fingers tugging into Hyunjin’s hair, branded itself into Seungmin’s eyelids. Hyunjin’s whispered praises reverberated around his ears.
Their living room’s temperature rose approximately one thousand degrees. It was batshit insane that Seungmin was the only one who felt it. The entire world could have turned upside down at that moment, and he would not have noticed.
Then, the world did turn upside down.
Something — rather, someone — shifted in his peripheral vision. Maybe if he noticed you sooner, he would have been more prepared. Maybe he could have stopped the strangled noise he emitted when he laid eyes on you.
Maybe, but probably not.
You had followed Hyunjin and Felix into the room, eyes also trained on the two and a large smile on your lips. However, you also noticed him almost immediately. “Seungminnie!” you exclaimed, a smidge too excitedly to be sober.
“Uh-h,” Seungmin eloquently stammered. His face was dangerously hot, approaching cause for concern. He was suffocating and overheating and not doing a single thing about it.
Over your shoulder, the two men stopped stumbling through the dorm in favor of Hyunjin subtly palming Felix through his jeans. As subtle as he could, that is, which is to say not subtle in the slightest. Felix’s resulting moan nearly caused him to choke on air.
Hyunjin finally looked over at Seungmin. “Hey, my love,” he said, and Seungmin suddenly was receiving far too much attention. He wished he could go back to when nobody knew he was there.
Not one to be outdone, you crossed the room and nearly collapsed into his side. He had to loop one arm around your waist to keep you from overshooting it and ending up facedown in his lap. He was the only one in the room who would have a problem with that, if Felix’s excited gasp and your smile were anything to go by.
You could definitely feel his racing pulse. Hell, you could probably hear his racing pulse. He was more certain of that than he’s ever been about anything.
Your perfume stuck to your skin throughout the night, and it invaded Seungmin’s senses. Sickly sweet, mixed with sweat (probably from dancing with someone else, Seungmin’s brain reminded him). It’s so familiar, so you, so unattainable, yet it was the only thing keeping air in his lungs right then. Manually breathing wasn’t far off the table.
Belatedly, Seungmin realized his game’s home screen music was still playing through their TV speakers. That moment of clarity dissipated when you glanced over your shoulder to Hyunjin and Felix, and somehow shared a silent communication with them.
Seungmin couldn’t read the glint in Hyunjin’s eyes.
You turned your attention back to Seungmin. “We’re gonna go to Lixie’s room,” you started, eyeing him hopefully. Then you leaned in, closer, closer, and Seungmin had never known anything except the warmth of your skin against his or your hair brushing against his cheek.
“Wanna come?” you purred into his ear, breath ghosting over his earlobe. Goosebumps erupted across his skin.
whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuckwhatthef-
“God, yes,” Felix growled at the same time Hyunjin found amusement in your wording.
You could ask him to do nearly anything, and he would oblige without question. This, however, felt like a cruel joke. It’s not your fault. He wants the real thing too much. You would know. Hyunjin and Felix would know. Everybody he cares about would know.
Besides, he was the only one there thinking clearly, and he was positive you would regret touching him like that in the morning. He should not have even let you get as far as you did.
He opened his mouth to tell you as such, but Hyunjin beat him to it.
“He’s not going to, you know that,” Hyunjin murmured, disconnecting from Felix long enough to talk again. He wasn’t unkind – he was nearly sympathetic, even, which crushed Seungmin further. He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact. Then, because he’s Hyunjin, he followed it up with, “And our boy here’s getting impatient, hm?”
He paired his words with some caressing, judging by the obscene noise Felix let out.
“Yeah,” you responded. “Let’s take care of him, yeah?”
With that, you stood up, leaving Seungmin alone and strangely cold, even as his skin still burned.
Seungmin didn’t stick around to see what happened once you reached them. He didn’t want to see. He couldn’t see. His imagination would be cruel enough to him.
As soon as your back was turned, Seungmin took the opportunity to dart off the couch and into the relative safety of the hallway. In reality, the whole scenario probably took no longer than five minutes, but Seungmin felt like he had aged decades by the time his front door closed behind him.
He wasn’t proud of running away, but he absolutely could not stay in that dorm with the three of you. Part of him regretted not taking you up on your offer. A larger part of him regretted being in the dorm at all.
His feet carried him to Changbin’s door.
Changbin, like he always did, opened up immediately and ushered Seungmin inside and onto his couch. Changbin, like he always did, knew when something was bothering Seungmin. He didn’t even need to tell him.
He didn’t, but he tried anyway. “Hyunjin and Felix–” he started, unsure how to finish. Changbin nodded, encouragement to keep going. “And she–” he cut himself off, not trusting himself to get through this with a straight face. Changbin wouldn’t judge him, he knew, but he still couldn’t.
“Yeah,” Changbin said softly. “How are you feeling? With that?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Seungmin murmured. Again, he thought, he was running away, but he’d deal with it later. He’d think about everything later. In that moment, he just needed to exist and be distracted with Changbin.
That’s exactly what he got. He and Changbin artfully avoided the heaviness lingering around Seungmin, and instead talked about absolutely nothing until Seungmin drifted off to sleep on his couch.
Seungmin sidesteps a crumpled, discarded bright pink flyer – it reads EVERYONE’S A STAR! – and grumbles in irritation. He’d asked you about it after that night, but you had made it into a joke every time. Either you’d wink and say he could return the favor, or you’d just extend the same offer again (“But join us this time!” “I don’t drink that much.” “Who said anything about drinking?”).
He gets it. Now that he’s had time to relive it, he feels either hauntingly inadequate or gnawing jealousy, depending on his mood.
Why not him? Bitterness. Envy. Towards which person – Felix, Hyunjin, or you – he’s not sure. The obvious answer is he envies both Felix and Hyunjin for sharing a bed with you, but that’s not entirely true.
He doesn’t wish to replace anyone. He wants to be involved, is all. And he was – you, quite literally, threw yourself at him, and that stings so much worse than anything else. He doesn’t want to be a joke; he wants to be included in a real way, not when everyone involved is simply looking for a good time with the nearest person available.
God, what a sad thought.
He needs to move on before he spirals.
THE MINSUNG CONTROL VARIABLE
Some things would be stranger if they didn’t happen.
THE CHANGBIN REACTION
It started out as a surprise for fans. As a surprise to the rest of his group. A love letter, of sorts, for their dedicated, unwavering support, from the early years where odds of success were stacked against them through their sold-out stadium tours. A love letter to his members, who never let him cave into himself and constantly remind him of his worth.
A love letter to Changbin, specifically. For holding him together. For being a pillar, for loving him extra in his low moments, for being Changbin.
The official itinerary for their Fanmeeting alloted time for a “Seungmin Solo”. Everyone, including his members, believed he would sing “As We Are” – they were under that impression because Seungmin told them that’s what he would sing. Nobody except himself and the relevant staff knew the truth. In reality, he would be performing “ULTRA” again, complete with a recreation of Changbin’s tour outfit tailored for his own proportions.
Changbin loved when Seungmin did it last, so why not do it grander this time?
Seungmin made the last-minute decision to bring Changbin on stage with him, to give him a chair and have a camera dedicated to capturing his live reaction. A mistake if he’s ever made one.
Changbin’s attention on him burned hotter and resonated louder than any screaming fans. He did not speak a word, but he didn’t need to. Every time Seungmin looked over, Changbin was looking back at him, relaxed and all too glad to keep watching. Sometimes he was grinning, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. Sometimes he leaned forward to study Seungmin closer. Every time, he was cocky, his body language screaming out desires.
Seungmin had not considered Changbin would dial up the fan service. All the more embarrassing that it affected Seungmin more than it should. At a certain point, he had to stop looking over entirely and just focus on getting through his performance without stuttering or tripping over himself.
Afterwards, he was absolutely positive that the SeungBin shippers had enough fuel for the rest of their lives. More than enough fuel. Wildfires would be envious of the kindling Changbin provided out there. Seungmin could only pray that the sunglasses and stage makeup were enough to hide his reactions.
Seungmin stared at himself in his dressing room mirror. He had two minutes to ready himself for going back out onstage, and he was absolutely nowhere near close to it.
He was still staring, trancelike, when the door to his left opened and closed. And just like that, there was another, heavy presence. The same one Seungmin couldn’t decide if he should cling to or run far away from. Finally tearing his eyes away, he turned and saw Changbin staring at him, confused.
“You can’t do that to me,” Changbin said.
The instinct to push back kicked in, and Seungmin responded, “There’s thousands of fans out there who would disagree.” He didn’t even know what Changbin was saying he couldn’t do. He needed normalcy, and that was the quickest way.
Changbin chuckles without humor. He took a step towards Seungmin, then another, and another, until he was right in front of him. Inches away. Seungmin could count his eyelashes, could trace the lines on his skin if he wanted to. He could easily lean in, if he wanted to.
Something flickered across Changbin’s face. Once again, his hyung knew what he needed. Changbin’s voice dipped low, huskier than Seungmin had ever heard it. “God, all this time…” he trailed off, eyes flitting down to Seungmin’s lips.
Seungmin didn’t want to move. He wanted the two of them to stay right there while the world passed them by. He wanted Changbin to keep talking and to keep looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
Changbin continued, “Chan made me promise, you know? He knew. He knew I’d already fallen for you a long time ago. He knew I would have the hardest time controlling myself.”
Changbin stared, his eyes drilling into Seungmin. Seungmin had to look away, for fear that Changbin would drill too deep and all of his fantasies would spill out.
“Hey, no, eyes on me, yeah? There you go.” Changbin’s praise sent a shiver up Seungmin’s spine. “But you don’t want me to control myself, do you?”
Seungmin wasn’t aware when they started moving. His back hitting the wall behind him came as a complete surprise, but he wasn’t willing to tear his eyes away again. Changbin’s arms caged him in on either side.
“You want us, yeah?” Changbin asked.
The door slammed open.
It was a bucket of ice water dumped all over the moment.
“Oh! Am I…” Jeongin trailed off, wriggling his eyebrows, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Interrupting something?”
Changbin looked at Seungmin, as if waiting for him to answer. Seungmin was bolted to the ground. Every one of his limbs was frozen.
Was he interrupting something? Does Jeongin know?
No. There’s nothing to know. Jeongin was just being a menace, as usual.
Still, Changbin stared at Seungmin, at Seungmin’s lack of a reaction, and that was all the answer he could give. Eventually, after a few seconds or a small eternity, Changbin dropped his hands. “No,” he answered. “You didn’t interrupt anything. Come on, we’ve gotta get back out there.”
So he did what he was best at. He followed Changbin, and he performed, and he ignored the persistent ache in his chest.
Seungmin has never been good at keeping up with group texts. Sue him.
His main source of updates is Chan informing him of schedules about thirty minutes in advance. Seungmin plays along – his yes, I already know, go away expression is truly a work of art – even though they both realize Seungmin would be lost without him.
That quality is part of what landed him in this mess to begin with.
That quality is entirely the reason for what he will call
THE OT8 CLUSTER(FUCK)
He almost walks right past their dorms, too wrapped up in himself to realize the familiar, hulking building that has not once moved nor changed its appearance is, in fact, where he lives.
He’s out of time with absolutely nothing to show for it. If anything, he’s even more confused, and now he has to face the very people causing this. He doesn’t think he’s ready for it – but he has to be. He can’t exactly hide from his band forever. He could barely hide from them for an hour.
Briefly, Seungmin considers taking a lap around his usual path. He discards the idea almost as soon as he has it. Their manager probably already warned Chan to be expecting Seungmin, and Chan is probably waiting with a pile of more work for them. Their leader is in one of his moods; he absolutely will not let up until he passes out with exhaustion, unless it’s for something he deems more important. Not a lot of things have ever been more important.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, he pulls open the entrance door, waves to their security guard, and gets in the elevator.
Whatever happens, he’ll be along for it. During their trainee days, when they weren’t sure if the outcome would be worth their effort and each day was harder than the last, Chan used to tell them the only way out is through. He said it so often, Seungmin and Jeongin would place over/under bets concerning how many times they would hear it any given week.
So, the only way out is through. If only trainee Seungmin knew where he’d end up.
If that means he keeps hurting, so be it. It’ll be worth it to stay around.
The elevator dings. The doors open, and his hallway sprawls unending in front of him. Starting towards his dorm, he begins to think up excuses to dodge Chan’s near-certain extra work. All he wants is a long, hot shower and to sleep forever (he’s not being dramatic, no.)
Faking sickness or an injury won’t work – everyone saw him right before he started walking home. They also have access to his schedule, so he can’t claim he has something else to go to. Well. That leaves him out of options.
Chan’s dorm is closer to the elevator than his. He’ll pop in, get an idea of what’s up next today, then sneak out again to take a shower.
Simple.
Easy.
As he approaches Chan’s door, he tells himself work will probably actually be good for him. He’s good at what he does and he enjoys doing it, he really couldn’t ask for anything better. So what if things get complicated every now and then?
Reaching for the door handle, he’s almost glad to know what he’s about to walk into. He’ll be productive. It’ll serve as a nice distraction. Besides, he thinks he hears the others inside – he won’t be alone with his thoughts any longer.
He’s made as much peace with the rest of his day as he possibly could by the time he swings the door open.
Seungmin yelps. Like a scared puppy.
The eight of you spring into action, but it’s far too late. Han bolts to hide behind a pillow. You rush to throw on the nearest shirt. It’s the last thing Seungmin sees before slamming the door closed again.
A cacophony of noise resounds from behind that same door, but it’s drowned out by the buzzing in his own head. Reality crashes into him all at once. The force of it staggers him backwards, and his back hits the drywall behind him with a thud. He leans against the wall all the way to the carpeted floor.
He should have realized sooner.
The whole time, everything was right in front him. Jeongin flipped like a switch for you and Han. Hyunjin and Felix could not have been more obvious if they tried. Changbin might as well have outright confessed. What’s so wrong with him that he couldn’t see it?
What’s so wrong with him they didn’t want him?
Seungmin stares at the ceiling as if it will provide answers. Their perpetually-dead lightbulb is now on. It’s been burned out ever since they moved in, years ago. He wonders who fixed it, and when it got replaced. He wonders when everyone started– nope. He’s not thinking about that right now.
He’s aware he’s flailing – however, being aware and stopping are two completely separate things. He’ll get up off the ground when he’s more stable, but until then, he’ll sit in denial.
He’ll leave them alone, like he’s been doing, without him.
At some point, Chan’s door opened again. Seungmin steeled himself for the inevitable, but Chan was quiet when he joined him in the hallway and sat opposite him. Both of their legs stretched out in front of them, as mirror images of one another. Chan sat there as if this was a normal day. Not rushing, not putting pressure on him. Just existing with him.
Every so often, Chan brushes his leg against Seungmin’s, but makes no mention of it. They stay in the same position for a few more minutes, which gives Seungmin time to slow his mind a miniscule amount.
He’s panicked before. Twice, he’s done this exact thing, and he keeps kicking himself for his inability to say anything. That’s not going to happen. He’s going to speak this time, and he knows this situation requires tact and grace, and he will not mess this up again.
He simply can’t help that he’s a bit dumb right now.
“You’re wearing pants,” he says.
Chan, for what it’s worth, is not jarred by Seungmin pointing out the obvious. “Yeah, I am,” he responds.
“That’s new.”
“Listen,” Chan says with a grimace. “I’m sorry you saw that. Felix was supposed to let you know to hang out at your place for a bit.” He does seem genuinely regretful Seungmin walked in.
Seungmin pulls out his phone, and sure enough, Felix did text him ten minutes ago. The notification sits at the top of his screen. “Oh, now he texts me,” he mutters.
“What? Did he just text you?”
“No – it doesn’t matter.” Seungmin puts his phone back in his pocket and braces his palms against the ground. “I’ll get out of your way, I don’t think you guys want me around right now anyways.”
He’s met with complete silence. He stops himself from standing and looks up at Chan. His leader’s expression is beside himself, stricken and confused.
“Is that what you think? That we don’t want you around?” Chan nearly whispers. Seungmin had to strain to even hear it. Chan continues, his voice faintly rising. “We thought you were still getting comfortable with us. We were – shit – we were giving you your space. Of course they like you, Min.”
“You - huh?”
“I mean, I know she, Jinnie, and Felix slipped up, they told me about that. But did you actually think we didn’t want to be with you too?” He sounds desperate now, hoping Seungmin will give him any other answer than the one he already heard.
Seungmin can’t.
They want him.
They want him in the same way he wants them. In the same way he’s spent all this time pining after each one, so convinced it would never happen for him. Forcing himself to accept the painful closeness, because at least it was better than being apart.
“Seungmin.” Chan’s voice brings him back.
“Hm?”
“Do you want to go inside?” Chan must have seen Seungmin’s hesitancy written on his face, as he adds, “I made them put on clothes, I promise. They’d just like to see you, if you’re okay with that.”
Seungmin nods, and Chan rewards him with another smile. It’s the same smile he showed you, all those nights ago.
This time, the scene on the other side of the door is drastically different. For one, Chan was right, everyone is wearing clothes. Seungmin allows himself to feel disappointed about that, because he can and because you want him.
For another, a multi-sided war is about to break out, localized entirely within Chan and Jeongin’s living room.
Minho sits on the floor with his arms around Han, who’s animatedly talking and gesturing to Changbin and Hyunjin on opposite sides of their couch. He’s going at the speed of light, but Seungmin definitely hears his name and drove him away.
You, Felix, and Jeongin aren’t faring too much better, exchanging hushed words in the relative privacy of Jeongin’s doorway.
Chan clears his throat. Everything stops.
Every head turns, as if on a synchronized swivel, to stare at Seungmin. Seungmin is eerily reminded of walking in late to his school classrooms.
Han is the one to break the silence. “Do you… You’re here,” he says, wide-eyed.
“I’m here,” Seungmin confirms.
“To stay?” Han brings his hand up to clutch Minho’s. He does it slowly, like any sudden movements will scare away Seungmin. Not a bad move, all things considered.
His eyes find yours across the crowded room. You’re watching him intently, nervous but trying to hide it. He could recognize your specific behavior anywhere. “To stay,” he confirms again.
“I need to hear you actually say it,” Hyunjin speaks up. “You’re staying with us, like, romantically? Ow! Why?” he groaned in response to Jeongin lightly pushing him.
“He got the romantically part,” Jeongin whispers, loud enough for everyone to distinctly hear him.
“He obviously didn’t!” Hyunjin protests.
Felix, luckily, takes over before they can devolve further. “What they’re trying to say–” Felix shoots a pointed look over at them, “–is that we want to be as clear as possible in telling you that we would love to have you join this with us. Obviously, we’d go as fast or as slow as you’re comfortable with.”
“And you’re sure?” Seungmin questions, about all of it. His heart never calmed down, but now it stands still and frozen, whether it will keep beating entirely contingent on the answer.
Minho barks a disbelieving laugh.
“Are we sure?” Changbin repeats, looking at him as if he said something stupid. “Yes. One-thousand percent sure. We’ve had conversations about how sure we are.”
One by one, each of you echo Changbin’s sentiments, confirming Seungmin’s long-since buried hopes in various ways. It will take a while for Seungmin to get used to the pure relief floating him through air. He feels weightless. There’s nothing to hide anymore.
He takes a deep breath. “Then yes, I want to be part of.. whatever this is. Please.” There was probably a better, more eloquent way to phrase it, but Seungmin doesn’t care. He doesn’t think anyone else does either.
The dam breaks.
Seungmin hardly gets any warning at all, just a blur of movement, before Han crashes into him, sending him stumbling backwards and directly into Chan’s chest. He’s completely engulfed in seconds. With Han wrapping himself around his chest and Chan at his back, it’s hard to find any more space, but as always, everyone finds a way.
“Aww, Minnie, you love us!” Jeongin’s teasing lilt rings out above everything else, his own smile taking up half his face.
Seungmin is unable to contain his matching grin, but he doesn’t let that stop him from rolling his eyes and muttering, “Shut up, I hate all of you.”
Everything about him immediately betrays that lie.
Before, he would have either pushed them away or slipped out, armed with an excuse to protect himself. He would have ignored it as best he could, and would have only allowed himself to feel the extent of his hurt once he was truly alone.
Now, Seungmin chooses to believe that he is desired just as much as he desires, if not more. That his strongest fantasies are real, and the reality far outweighs even the best ones. He will need time to fully convince himself of that, but he finally has unrestrained time with the people he loves. He accepts your love with open arms.
weeks later, seungmin gets home from a long walk to find everyone in a ludicrously gigantic cuddle pile. changbin and minho are both holding controllers. changbin looks overjoyed. minho, less so. mileena’s fuckass long fatality sequence is playing on screen.
☆ note: it's published!! this specific draft has been driving me absolute bananas for longer than i'd like to admit. every time i tried (and i did try) to abandon it i'd hear it calling to me like the green goblin mask. as always, ty for reading, love you <3
taglist: @emilyywhyy @velvetmoonlght @opiumfidgetspinner @bahngarang @angelwings-fly @pixie-felix @certainstarfishmiracle @luvvvivi @strhwa @ayedomino008 @breakmeoff @foppishitudinality @ilovedallywinston @cookiewookie9t @astrayapple @teffyx @geni-627 @kpopgirliez @imnotsupposedtobedoingthis @bunny-2473
lmk if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!
so these images had me thinking thoughts so this is the result of that enjoy
geon-woo and woo-jin are so big and strong and they both love to crowd into your space
Both of them love being physically close to you. Even just sitting on the couch, they’ll instinctively lean in, arms brushing, shoulders touching, chest pressed near yours. They just want to be sloe to you at all times.
Geon-woo is the “gentle giant.” He’ll press against you slowly, hand resting casually on your thigh or around your waist, but you know he could crush you if he wanted to.
Woo-jin is the “confident tease.” He’ll drape himself over the back of the couch behind you, shoulder brushing yours, leg casually hooking yours. He loves the way you squirm when both of them crowd into your space.
When the three of you are alone, they sometimes play footsie, thigh brushes, or leaning into your body deliberately, just to watch your reaction.
Even casual touches send sparks: Geon-woo pressing a warm hand against your lower back, Woo-jin’s fingers brushing your ribs.
You catch Geon-woo staring at the curve of your body with a faint flush. Woo-jin smirks knowingly, deliberately leaning closer, whispering teasing things in your ear.
Sometimes you’re trapped between them on the couch or in bed: Geon-woo on one side, Woo-jin on the other, both holding you like you’re theirs, and the heat of their bodies makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.
Even casual daily interactions — leaning down to whisper something, helping you carry something, brushing hair from your face — sends sparks through your veins.
The thought of both of them crowding you at the same time is enough to make your pulse spike and your cheeks flush, because they love the way you react and they’re absolutely not subtle about it.
Their favorite game? Subtle domination: one hand on your waist, one hand on your thigh, their bodies practically molding to yours, and watching you try to act normal while they press you from both sides.
They’re relentless: teasing kisses, soft groans, playful nips — all designed to remind you how much space you take in their minds… and how much you want them both.
The couch is definitely not big enough for three people.
You realized that about ten minutes ago.
Yet somehow Geon-woo and Woo-jin have both decided it’s the perfect place to sit.
With you.
Geon-woo settles beside you first, big frame sinking into the cushions. His thigh presses warmly against yours, solid and unmoving. One of his large hands rests casually on the back of the couch behind you… but after a moment it slides lower, stopping at your waist.
Not gripping.
Just there.
Heavy. Warm.
You can feel the strength in it even though he’s barely touching you.
Woo-jin notices immediately.
A slow smirk spreads across his face.
“Oh?” he murmurs, dropping onto the other side of you. “We’re doing this today?”
“Doing what?” you ask, already suspicious.
He doesn’t answer. Instead he stretches out along the couch, draping an arm across the backrest behind you so his shoulder brushes yours.
Now you’re trapped in the middle.
Completely surrounded by them.
Your heart immediately starts racing.
Geon-woo glances down at you, cheeks faintly pink when he realizes how close the two of you are. His hand shifts slightly on your waist, thumb brushing the side of your shirt without thinking.
“Sorry,” he mumbles softly. “Too close?”
You shake your head way too fast.
Woo-jin laughs quietly.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, leaning in closer so his leg casually hooks over yours. “She doesn’t hate it.”
Your breath catches.
Geon-woo notices.
His gaze flickers downward for a second — the curve of your body pressed between them — before he quickly looks away again, ears turning red.
Woo-jin definitely notices that too.
“Oh wow,” he says under his breath, clearly amused. “Look at him.”
“Hyung,” Geon-woo mutters.
But he doesn’t move away.
If anything, he shifts a little closer.
Now your shoulders are touching him while Woo-jin’s arm brushes along the back of your neck.
Heat builds instantly.
Woo-jin leans toward your ear, voice dropping to a teasing whisper.
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not,” you protest.
Geon-woo glances down again.
“…You kind of are.”
You groan quietly, trying to sink further into the couch — which only makes the situation worse because now their bodies follow the movement automatically.
Geon-woo’s hand steadies at your waist.
Woo-jin’s knee presses more firmly against yours.
Neither of them seem remotely bothered by how little space there is.
In fact…
They look pretty comfortable.
Woo-jin tilts his head, studying your flustered expression with obvious delight.
“You know,” he says casually, “you could move if you wanted.”
You glance at the tiny gap between them.
There is absolutely no moving happening.
“…You’re both huge,” you point out.
Woo-jin grins.
Geon-woo chuckles softly.
And instead of making room—
Woo-jin leans in closer.
Geon-woo’s arm tightens slightly around your waist.
Completely surrounding you.
Woo-jin’s voice drops again, playful and dangerous near your ear.
☆ Synopsis: Chris chases down an ice cream van for his wife
“Look at you,” Chris's laughter was sweet, tinkling in the sun as he turned his gaze to his wife. “You're like a puppy … bet you got your tongue out too, huh?”
Retracting her head from the open car window, Y/N looked to Chris; her eyes were playful, and she let her tongue hang out of her mouth, soft breaths escaping her in a dramatic fashion.
Chris's shoulders shook with laughter. He looked to his right before swirling the steering wheel in his deft hands, the car smooth as it turned down the road.
“Mental,” Chris grinned. “You're so cute.”
Giggling, Y/N leaned her head back again against the car seat. Her eyes fell shut as she inhaled happily; the weather was perfect. Warm enough that it felt as though the sun was kissing her cheek with loving pecks rather than actively melting her - and the breeze that sifted through her clothes and brushed over her skin was refreshing, cooling her down. With her head hanging out of the window, her husband's hand on her knee, Y/N felt so at ease that she was sure she could fall asleep just like that.
“Eye-spy, my little eye … “ Y/N suddenly smirked. “I can see a Mr Whippy.”
Chris ducked his head a little, following his wife's gaze. His grin brought out the dimple in his cheek, and he looked towards his wife again. “You fancy one?”
Y/N didn't reply. She just smiled at him sweetly, her eyes sparkling devilishly.
Chuckling under his breath, Chris raked a hand through his shaggy curls. He flitted his gaze up to the rearview mirror, and a moment later he turned his car, smoothly flowing into the next lane; they were now going back in the direction they had come from, and Y/N giggled when she saw him following the ice cream van down the road.
“What if it doesn't stop?” Y/N joked. “We might end up at Coles again.”
Chris groaned. “Shoulda just stayed parked there. Bet it woulda ended up there at some point.”
“Maybe it'll notice we're following and it'll lead us into a trap.”
“A trap, but with loads of ice cream. Not the worst place to end up, aye?”
Winding through wide streets and main roads, the ice cream van eventually parked near a large park. Chris parked directly behind it, and he winked at Y/N before slipping out of the car; with her arms folded on the window pane, Y/N watched with a simpering grin on her face as her husband walked down the path and to the van, where people had already begun to accumulate.
There were two people in front of him - a young boy with sandy hair peering up at the little window, and a man standing behind. Y/N could see the soft smile on her husband's face from her spot in the car as he watched the child reach up for his ice cream cone, the swirly white almost double the size of his face. Chris's smile deepened at the wonder on the boy’s face as he began to walk away, and he was so entranced by the size of his ice cream that he didn't notice the slight incline of the footpath right in front of him; the boy went flying, the ice cream cone dropping from his hand and landing with a fat splat as he fell to his knees.
The man who had been standing in front of Chris in the queue vaguely looked over his shoulder before turning back to order; Chris meanwhile was now crouched in front of the boy who was sitting back with his legs sprawled out in front of him, his lower lip wobbling.
“Hey … it's okay … “ Y/N could hear her husband saying in a light tone. “Are you hurt?”
The boy shook his head, sniffling. “My ice cream. It's dead.”
Chris's lips quirked up into a wide grin. “Better that than you, huh? Are you sure you're alright? That was a pretty big fall.”
“I'm alright,” the boy pouted. He raised his elbow, pointing to a tiny flush of colour on his tanned skin. “Just a scratch. I used the last of my pocket money on that and now it's all gone.”
Chris's eyes softened. “Come on … I'll get you another one.”
The boy stared. “Really?
“Really,” Chris grinned. His hand was gentle as he patted the top of the boy's head. “What's your name, kiddo?”
“It's Leo, Mr Sir.”
Y/N's heart was expanding so much inside her chest as she watched her husband that she felt as though it might explode out of her at any minute. Chris was laughing now, his face one of amusement from what Leo had called him; Y/N sighed wistfully, her cheek leaning against her arm as she continued to gaze at him as they both rejoined the little queue.
She couldn't help but bite her lip, a contagious smile spreading across her face. It was one thing for her husband to have the kindest soul she had ever known - it was another thing for him to be ridiculously handsome at the same time. His eyes sparkled like rich amber under the sun, his fair skin caramelised against the white cotton of his shirt that hugged the curve of his biceps, his muscle flexing easily when he moved. His hair had been hastily pushed back away from his forehead, and it coiled messily over his freckled temples, kissing the nape of his neck and the collar of his shirt - his grin was one that made Y/N want to squeal like a schoolgirl, and she slid a little in her seat, feeling her cheeks heat up the longer she continued to watch him.
“That cat is eating my ice cream,” Leo was saying now, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the melting puddle of ice cream at the side of the footpath.
Chris looked to where the boy was pointing; a little bundle of black and white was licking up the cold puddle as if her life depended on it, her nose glistening with the ice cream. Speckles of blue and pink sugar coated her paws, and despite his perplexity, Leo started to laugh.
“It likes ice cream!” He exclaimed, looking up at Chris.
“Hey, see? Maybe the universe made you drop your ice cream because that little cat is hot and needs cooling down,” Chris smiled, ruffling Leo's hair. “She's really enjoying it, huh?”
Leo's eyebrows furrowed as he mulled over Chris's words. A second later, a slow ‘woah’ left his mouth, and Chris let out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling with fondness before he finally stepped up to the van window.
Hand curled around three tall ice cream cones, Chris thanked the ice cream man with a warm smile. Y/N watched as he handed one of the cones to the boy at his side, and with another gentle pat on his head and a soft ‘be careful’, Chris began walking down the path again towards their car. His cheeks were flushed from the sun, and he wrinkled his nose at her in greeting as he stopped at her open window, extending one of the ice creams to her.
Y/N’s eyes were exploding with love hearts as she looked up at him. “You know … if I wasn't already madly in love with you, I'd definitely have fallen for you right now.”
“What?” Chris's ears turned the colour of berries, a breath of taken aback laughter floating out of him. He walked around to the other side of the car and soon slid in beside her again, his ice cream almost slamming into the steering wheel as he leaned a little too close.
“Careful,” Y/N giggled, tugging him back. “Or your ice cream'll end up like that kid's.”
“Oops,” Chris grinned. He nodded towards the spot on the floor where the ice cream had been just a mere few moments ago. “That cat was ravenous.”
Lips curving up into a loving smile, Y/N leaned over and pressed a kiss to her husband's cheek. “How does it feel being the best man in the whole entire universe?”
“Pfft … “ Chris cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. “Dunno what you're talking about.”
“Oh sure. That other guy in the line couldn't care less about that kid … but you? There aren't many people who are as soft as you, you know.”
Chris bit his lip. “Keep talking to me like that and my ice cream is gonna melt all over my fingers.”
“Yeah, because you're really damn hot.”
The man exhaled. “You'll make me drop it.”
“Oh no, we can't have that.”
Chuckling, Chris took a large lick of his ice cream to stop it from dripping. “Hold it for me? Got an idea.”
She took his ice cream just as Chris leaned to the side, reaching for his seatbelt. He turned the car on again; he began driving down the road and Y/N held his ice cream out for him to take licks of. It had barely been a few minutes before he parked once more, this time at the top of a small incline near the park. He unfastened his belt and Y/N tipped her head at him in curiosity as she followed him out of the car.
A large chunk of their city was visible from here. Sitting on the hood of their car, shoulder to shoulder, Chris and Y/N were quiet as they licked their ice creams, the breeze tickling their skin and snaking around their dangling legs. The park had been crowded but in this spot, it was just the two of them gazing down at the soft lights of the buildings and cars below them.
“Bet half the shopping's defrosted by now,” Y/N suddenly commented. She dropped her head against her husband's shoulder; it was radiating so much heat that she shivered, and Chris grinned, turning to drop a lingering kiss to her temple.
“Nah. I put the stuff in cold bags.”
Y/N lifted her head again and stared at him. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Chris chuckled. “You didn't know I put them in the trolley?”
“No,” Y/N burst into soft laughter as she settled her head back down against him. “God, Christopher … what are you gonna do if my heart explodes? You don't have to be so perfect all the time, you know.”
Chris's grin was so wide that his cheeks started to hurt. “Come on … you know I'm not perfect. Have you forgotten how bad I kicked you in my sleep last night?”
At that, Y/N let out a gasp. She sagged. “Oh. I was supposed to be mad at you.”
Their eyes meeting, Chris and Y/N suddenly erupted into a fit of slightly delirious laughter.
“See, though? You're so perfect that the only thing I can be mad about is something you did when you’re unconscious.”
Chuckling into his ice cream, Chris eyes melted when he turned to look at her again. They moved slowly as he took in the features of her face, and his lips twitched as he nodded towards her.
“You've got blue sugar on your lips,” Chris hummed.
Y/N licked her lips. “Gone?”
The man's body trembled with silent laughter. He shook his head; his fingertips were hot when they landed at the under of her jaw, and Y/N felt his smile before his tongue softly brushed over her lips, the sugar dissolving as Chris sealed his mouth over hers in a slow, tender kiss.
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OR — when chan meets his boiling point after your relationship is leaked, boundaries are crossed, and your wellbeing is on the line. nobody fucks with his baby.
idolbf!chan x girlfriend!reader
word count: 6.4k
content: fluff, fulfilling ending, mild angst (worries of forced breakup), angry leader mode chan, relationship is leaked and internet makes big deal of idols in love, reader is shoved around and touched in public, chan doubts himself A LOT, reader’s protection comes first, skinship (chan’s way of knowing reader his okay) lack of protection from security so chan takes things into his own hands, reader is hurt to the head, very very angry chan, eating food, chan kisses reader in between eating
author’s note: wrote up on this anon’s request, thank you so much for requesting! took a few creative liberties hope you don’t mind! writing this got me thinking about how chan deserves domestic life where he can do as he pleases without scrutiny :’) this was made with love and tender care as always <3
—
That feeling when you know the good streak is going to end soon. The suspicion that things are going too well. Chan felt it in his trainee days every time he got closer to success before being pushed back. He feels it when the day goes too perfectly in the studio and rehearsal, all for Chan to feel a sickness overtake him or one of the boys. He feels it in the sound of joy and the feeling that pairs with it, followed by the dread of knowing this high will wane off.
That dread followed him into sleep, and was only bated by the girl who he took into his arms each night.
Chan had once found comfort in the sound of an airplane engine from the inside seating. It meant he was doing something new, being somewhere new and exciting. Getting to see the world and explore what it had to offer was his specialty.
All that fills his stomach is that familiar dread. He finds himself wanting to hide from the world, because as of right now, you've fallen victim to his lifestyle.
Staff had informed Chan when the plane was refueling for the journey from Seoul to Milan of something out of nightmare. Of all the things that staff could've informed Chan of, he would've rather preferred that all of the luggage was lost in transit to the loading station.
They'd tried to be as calm and placating as possible, he'll give staff that. Not that Chan is easily angered so long as something can be resolved with communication. However, when he saw the look on their faces, it was all over.
You were on the plane, curled up in your seat in a cocoon of a throw blanket and his black distressed hoodie. Peaceful, an image of bliss with the hood drawn up over your face.
Staff had handed him a phone. Said phone had a simple picture. If it was a third party viewing, they'd have no idea what they were seeing. However, Chan knew better. That picture was taken from a strange angle, perverse and unbeknownst to the two subjects in the photo. A high angle from something like a building or a parking complex. Those subjects were you and Chan, a snapshot taken hours earlier when you and Chan were coming out of the company van before boarding.
It was unmistakably Chan in that photo, it couldn't be hidden. His blonde fringe was peaking out of his black Chrome Hearts beanie. There was a lack of people aside from staff and you-- sweet and innocuous to the photo as you clamber out of the van behind him. Empty handed, and Chan holding your carry on with a small Wolf-Chan keychain hanging off the zipper.
Worst of all, he's holding your hand. His eyes are forward, a small content look on his face. You look all sleepy and lax. It's such a simple action, barely anything that anyone should care for. But suddenly, your hand in his feels like the end of the world.
Not for him, but for you. Which you may never recover.
It's a dark photo. It's pixelated and rough and it still had Chan's heart sinking to stomach in such a fast decline, he'd rushed to the bathroom to dry heave over the bowl. He's thankful that Fendi had provided Chan with a private jet for Fashion Week. Chan doesn't know if he could've handled any more prying eyes than the one's on the internet who must've been dissecting that picture.
When he'd come back from the bathroom, and down the aisle to his seat, staff is already looking at him. He rubbed his clammy palms on his sweatpants and reclined in his seat. He hates the look on their faces, equal parts pity and "I knew this was a bad idea". Love was never a bad idea when it came to you.
You, who is still sleeping soundly. Who won’t wake up until Chan says so, to let you keep as much peace to yourself as possible.
You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of what is waiting after this flight.
That was hours ago. And naturally, Chan has been a ticking time bomb with his head in his hand against the armrest of his seat. He couldn’t work on his beats. Music was just a reminder of why he was in this situation in the first place. That was the cruelty of being an idol, a suffering he never thought he’d feel.
Chan yearned for love for so long, and you fell into his lap like a blessing. Would it be taken away? Would the damage be too much to mend?
The jet is landed on the private strip, but there’s a week ahead of him with interactions and paparazzi. There’s fans and detractors. News outlets and media and messages and—
“Sweetheart…? We’re landed.” Be a leader. Do it for her. Be her brave man.
Chan’s voice tries to coax you away, running a crooked finger over your cheek. That was something constant, his comfort. He’d never give that up, he felt he was doing something right in this moment of strife in his mind. He pulls the hood back of your, no, his hoodie and watches your eyes go back and forth under your eyelids before they crack open to the harsh interior lighting.
It makes his chest hurt and his throat ache. You’re too peaceful for the news he’s about to don on you.
“Hey…” you whisper, voice all tired and rasped with sleep. Chan smiles lopsided, a boyish grin that wavers at the corners of his mouth. Be brave.
“Sleeping beauty… All good?”
“All good…”
God, he feels like the biggest bastard on planet Earth. Does someone have information on you by now? Are there netizens wishing ill upon you? Do they even know who you are, maybe someone found your private socials. What if they found your family, your job—
“Channie…? Are you good?”
You’d sat more upright while Chan’s eyes turned vacant and distant, like he was looking past you. He realizes his smile is vanished, the tips of his ears feel hot and pounding with the rush of blood. And if there’s one thing Chan isn’t, it’s a liar. He can be cheeky. He can tease. But this? This isn’t something he can shield you from. And that terrifies him to his bones.
You repeat his name again, more serious as you say “Chris?” and put a hand over his. He’s shaking like he’s been left in sub-zero temperature. But his temperature feels hot and clammy.
The sound of staff unloading his and your carry ons is like white noise. He feels like his clothes are touching him funny. His knee is bouncing a bit. And you’re still looking at him with those heartbreakingly soft eyes.
Your eyes look to staff, men and women who refuse to meet eyes with you. And that speaks volumes. Something’s wrong, they just carry on as if they know this behavior of Chan’s will take a minute to recoup. Your hand finds his, remembering an off-time something similar to this happened before.
Chan had come off stage after a performance and just slumped against you. Shaking. Vacant eyes, like now. Like if he didn’t focus on breathing, he’d forget how.
So, there you go. Taking his hand into his and rubbing soothingly.
“Hey, hey… Chris, look at me… Breathe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You tell him to breathe, and Chan feels like it suddenly becomes harder. Because you can see he’s a wreck. You’re not supposed to see him like this, he’s supposed to take care of you, of everyone. He nods, hurried and childish, his eyes looking down at your hand. You said, “I’m not going anywhere”, but Chan doesn’t know if that’ll ring true in a few hours.
It’s just you and him, he ignores the sound of staff talking about him and what they should do with the situation in low voiced Korean.
“Chris… Talk to me, what happened?”
You’re such a sweetheart. Sweetheart. He knew he chose right in giving you that nickname years ago. You loved the Australian lilt in the way he said it, and he loved the way it made you permanent in his life. You’re so fucking sweet, you don’t even think for a second that something utterly terrible just happened.
Chan takes a deep breath, lungs filling and deflating in a few seconds. Rattling. How does he say this to you? How does he tell you that for the first time in his life, he might fail in protecting someone he loves? His voice comes out weaker than he expects it to, like a wince.
“There’s… they found out.”
He’s met with silence. A soft murmur from staff pretending to busy themselves with cleaning out the jet cabin. They’re really just making sure Chan doesn’t pass out on them.
You stop that sweeping motion of your thumb over his hand. He feels when you squeeze his hand for a millisecond. Such a sweetheart— you don’t need him to explain. Not when you’ve had conversations like this before. “Finding out”. It made it sound like the love that you both shared was something wrong. Illicit. Perverse.
Chan watches that fear spark in your face. He knows all your little tells, because now you’re not even looking at his own face anymore. But in a miracle from above, that little sweeping motion of your thumb starts up again. You’re comforting him.
“Alright… Okay, um… H-How did they… Walk me through it.”
He blinks twice. You’re an insane and stupidly amazing woman. He almost wants to laugh. He could’ve told you the sky was falling and you’d just… ask for the prognosis?
“Someone, um… took a, uh… a picture. At the airport, in the back lot… Staff is trying to trace the person back, um… Y-You can’t really see you very well, but I am holding your hands and luggage, which someone is totally going to research and stalk into—”
You coughed a laugh. A beautiful sound bubbling out of you that gives Chan a reprieve from his turmoil. A few heads of staff look at you warily. His eyes narrow, roving over you as a nervous, grimaced smile appears on his face.
“I’m sorry?” he says, voice cracking at the end.
“N-No, I’m… I’m sorry, even… Even when our relationship is leaked… you’re putting yourself first.”
“Don’t. Don’t start, sweetheart.”
Chan knows where you’re going with this, and you still sit upright all noble and so damn wonderful.
“You remember the first time we talked about this?”
How could he not? You’d been dating for 3 months, but Chan had already knew it was serious. Something built and crafted carefully to last. He wasn’t letting you get away. You were so insane, waking up at all sorts of odd hours to walk with him when the boys were asleep after he’d brainstormed some lyrics or instrumentals.
You’d walk side by side to the Han River. The city was quiet and lit up with city lights on the horizon that looked like stars reflected back on the water. He’d told you being with him wouldn’t be easy. Loving him wouldn’t be easy, was what he wanted to say.
You’d looked up at him like he’d said the dumbest thing ever, and said a cheesy line about “not wanting it if it’s easy”.
Chan grinned all square and dimpled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head to assuage his nerves. He’d then told you that he’d have to treat you like a secret. That he couldn’t love you as freely as he wanted, but he wanted you nonetheless. Told you he knew it wasn’t fair and he understood if you wanted a way out.
You’d flicked his nose and called him stupid. You said you knew what you got yourself into the moment that he said he was an idol. You made it clear in your little declaration that you weren’t going anywhere when you said jokingly, staring into the dark water of the river, “Someone will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands”.
Smitten. Absolutely in love with you. He knew you were serious, that’s how you loved. With pure intentions and strength.
So as he looks upon you now, and you ask him if he remembers the terms you’d both set up, the mutual understanding of how this would all go? He nods. A bit shy for even thinking you’d turn away and cower from this. You duck your head a bit to meet his gaze and smile when he averts his eyes again.
“Yes, this is scary. Believe me, Channie, I’m… I’m really scared right now—”
“Please don’t be scared, sweetheart.”
“Channie. Listen.”
That quiets him. Lips faltering for a rebuttal to quell you. He doesn’t like the thought of you being in fear. But he listens anyhow, even with the underlying discomfort.
“I’m scared right now. This very… finite moment. I told you I knew what I was getting into… It was bound to happen, okay? A-And yeah, we didn’t get to announce on our own terms, but… It feels kind of freeing, doesn’t it? Liberating.”
You truly are insane. Any other sane person would be hyperventilating at the idea of millions knowing of their relationship. Something seen as “taboo” in the industry yet here you are again. Calling the murder of your livelihood liberating.
Chan shakes his head, already tasking for the worst. “The second we get back home, I… I can’t even begin to prepare you for the shitstorm that’s on its way.”
“I know, Channie…”
“The company, I-I’ll— I’ll work this out over the week here, they’ll issue a statement, they’ll say I was just helping a staff member out of the van in the picture— We’ll be okay, you’re okay… Sweetheart, I can’t lose you.”
Chan is a rambling mess and you see his face turn a bit pink. His brain is picking through every worst scenario to prepare for it. He doesn’t even want to check his phone to see what people are saying about you. People claiming to be Stays wishing the worst for you. For him.
“You’re not losing me, I’m not going—”
“You can’t promise that. Not when… Not when they might force us apart.”
He’s not talking about distance people behind a screen. He means the company. Chan’s seen it his fair share of times before, and while Chan is more than welcome to date under his contract… This could get messy. What if the boys are dragged into this? If people started blaming his Kids for menial things, what if his relationship with you breaks their careers?
He studied your silent face. That familiar, pensive look. His clever girl, he knows it all too well. It’s the same face when you’re figuring out a board game with him, or deciphering the layers of music on his laptop when he shows you his proud work.
“No one has that power over us.”
Simple words. Chan swears his breathing stops for a moment before he releases it with a desperate whisper of your name.
“Sweetheart, I… I can barely protect myself in this situation…”
“Let me protect us for once… I-I can’t talk to masses or… your company, but let me fight for us. I’m not letting you slip away,” you whisper into his skin as your lips come down onto his cheek, pulling back to see a small determination in Chan’s eyes.
Staff alerts him that they have ten minutes of personal time left before it’s time to go to claim luggage and head to the hotel. Right, the Fashion Week event. He was allowed to invite you with him, even if you couldn’t be seen with him. Or next to him. Or talk to him.
It all felt like an even bigger slight against you. Sweetheart, darling girl, who he wants to declare his love from the rooftops.
Chan’s eyes meet yours, and you give him your signature, beautiful yet halfhearted smile. You’re trying to soothe him; and damn you, it’s working a bit. Even if it’s just a fraction. All he can do is endure. That’s what he does best.
He takes opens his backpack from under his seat, pulling out a medical grade disposable mask. His fingers ghost your skin as he places the loops around your ears securely. Even concealed like this he’d recognize you from a mile away. You say nothing as he tugs your hood back over your head, cupping the back gently with small little scratches.
“Just look forward. Don’t talk to anyone. Security should be around you, you’ll be behind me. If… If anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, say my name. I don’t care, baby, just… It’ll be fast. Customs. Bags. Van. Hotel. We’ll work it out there, yeah?”
A hastily formulated plan that is utterly him. Diagnostic.
A your lips tighten into a thin line before you exhale off nerves and exhaustion.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“I love you.”
Chan’s declaration is sudden and whispered. Like staff doesn’t deserve to hear it right now, his private tender moment. He doesn’t know why he says it other than the feeling that it fit right into the moment. You bring his knuckles up to your lips. A promise. You’ll be okay.
“I love you, Chris… I’ll be close by. Don’t worry about me.”
—
A shit show. Chan is familiar with those.
The first thing he sees through the glass after going through customs was a swarm of paparazzi, press, and fans welcoming him for the weeks ahead. Nothing out of the ordinary, just another airport arrival.
No, the problem was when you were spotted. And fuck, he’d forgotten that hoodie you were wearing was his.
Amidst the snapping of camera shutters and flashes, his heart is racing. He’s glad he too is wearing a mask on the lower half of his face, or you’d see how distraught he really was. Under the fabric of his tank top, his heart feels like it’s going to fly out of his chest.
Focus. Walk in silence. Make sure you’re safe.
The second thing Chan notices is that there’s more people than usual. Or maybe the walls of the airport in Milan are more narrow than he remembers. The provided security of four men suddenly seems like nothing. He does the math as he walks when his bags are handed to him:
You’re about 6 people away, tailing behind between staff and security. Don’t get distracted. I know you like sweets sweetheart, don’t look at the treats in the shops. God, I’ll buy you all the sweets you want when we’re at the hotel. Run you a bath and decompress to forget about this. Twenty minutes to the hotel, a ride should already be waiting.
The sound of people is louder. And the second Chan turns the corner and a guard opens the double doors of frosted glass, his heart sinks.
Cameras are naturally always on Chan. But for today especially, he wants them gone. Lenses, smartphones, all of it. Video equipment with recordings. A woman comes awfully close, to which he politely nods his head and continues walking.
More people swarm and he sees phones before he sees actual people. Security does their best to ward off these people, but he notices that with the amount of foot traffic, their entourage is moving slower. The sounds, the questions, the voices all grow more and more over time.
“Chris—”
His head is turned in a heartbeat. He doesn’t care if he makes a fool of himself, he’s stopped dead in his tracks and looking back for you with a bobbing head. His body is jostled by the movements of the tight fit, the arms of security banding away the swathes of onlookers.
Your head is down. You’re trying to move but you can’t. And someone has the audacity to grab at you by the arm? He’s cutting through his own people, ignoring how cameras are shoved into his face, ignoring how there’s so many bodies surrounding him as well. You’re being tossed around like nothing, a few phones trying to duck under your head, and Chan is with you in a millisecond.
“Don’t touch people, please,” he grits out as he forms a barrier between you and the people on your right side. Great. The crowd is held up, naturally as people wanted to convene to Chan. He has to add the formality of “please” as an afterthought. You’d want him to be polite. It’d be a meltdown if he said what he really wanted to.
What he wants to do is smack the phones out of every hand here and tuck you into his arms, walking out like a normal boyfriend would. He can’t afford that. Instead, his hand is ushered with a splayed palm between your shoulder blades. If Chan presses a bit into you to guide you further, he can feel the tension of your muscles.
The clamor of people asking him if this is staff or the “girl from the picture” irritates him to no end. Security was told by Chan himself to corral around you, not him. And for heavens sake, can someone figure out a way from this tight squeeze of a crowd?
Someone’s arm extends with a camera to catch a picture of Chan, and— SMACK! Right against the side of your head. The movement causes you to hiss in pain and fall into Chan. He watches your eyes squeeze shut and your eyebrows pinch in pain. And he’s seething.
“Absolutely not— We’re not gonna do that,” he mumbles under his breath as he gives a disapproving look to the man who is the culprit. His hand reaches out, rings on his fingers and all and shoves the camera lens away a bit roughly. It’s probably a thousand dollar camera lens, but you’re worth so much more. He can deal with the aftermath of that later.
I wanna smack that punk. Can I smack someone? Would you be okay with that? Probably not…
He’s then nodding a head to security to corral the man off. He keeps a tight arm around you, fingers itching to cradle your head to his chest. But he’s already doing so much, a display of affection would only make things descend further.
Nosy, mindless chatter about why Chan is being so protective of you. As if that should matter. He’d do that for any of the people around him. Instead, all that people care of is if this is his partner, either wanted to sneer or pry a glimpse into her.
Another hand reaches out with a phone and Chan doesn’t even think twice before wrapping an arm around your shoulder to shield you. It’s a bit forceful, and he’ll apologize profusely later, but it pulls you into his side. Chan mumbles a curse under his mask and his eyebrows turn taught together.
The motion of moving bodies in the cluster is much easier to maneuver now that they can pass through an opening directed by staff and security. He doesn’t look at you, but he keeps a steady hand on you. So much for laying low, but he could just stand by and let you get hurt.
The second the two of you get into the van that was sent outside of the airport, staff helping you in and loading luggage, he doesn’t say anything. He didn’t even stop for a photo-op. He doesn’t reply when staff asks if he wants water. White noise, an annoying pinching in the back of his ear.
And when the van is out of view, blacked out windows and all— Only then does he fuss over you, throwing off his mask.
He unbuckles his seatbelt, sliding across the back seat and hold you to him. Clammy hands cupping your face like a precious treasure. Your eyes frazzled and in shock, and it makes him whisper your name thrice into your hairline like a restoring prayer.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry— I was a total caveman back there, I had to grab you before anyone hurt you… You’re hurt aren’t you, from the cunt with the camera? Lemme see—”
Faster than the words can come out of him, Chan’s taking your mask off with gentle precision, but as fast as he can. Your hair is all mused when he draws back your hoodie, like a sleepy creature. But a few seconds ago you were just prey thrown into the den. He’s rifling his hands through your scalp, trying to see if you’ve got signs of bruising or bleeding where heavy equipment once stunned you.
“Tell me if it hurts— Fuck, fuck this shit. ‘M fucking pissed right now, sweetheart. I swear, if even a hair is missing here, I’m having words with everyone. Do you feel lightheaded… Can I get some water up here please?”
You look dazed, even with his soft touch, and Chan can’t tell if you’re going to sleep again or burst into a fit of nervous tears.
“Hey, hey, hey— Don’t do that, please— Talk to me, sweetheart.”
He brings his hands back down to cradle the sides of your face, keeping your eyes on him. That must’ve been intense and scary for you, he can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head. You eventually clasp your hands over his wrists and let your forehead fall onto his shoulder, which makes Chan sigh in relief. At least you’re willing to be touched by him.
He slides his hands slowly up under the hoodie, under your shirt, to touch your bare skin. You’re safe. You’re okay. He doesn’t know if those internal words affirm him or you.
You lean into him, pressing your forehead into his neck. “I’m tired.”
“I know, my sweet girl… I’m sorry…”
“Don’t apologize,” you whisper, lips pressed into his neck and trailing down to his shoulder as you rest your cheek flat. Chan feels your breath over his skin. Evened out and calm, though a bit stilted.
“This is on me.” So quick to blame, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, holding you tighter and smoothing his hands over your spine.
“On you…? Because someone took a picture when you couldn’t control it?”
“I wish I could.”
“But you can’t, Channie…”
And he knows that all too well. His perfectionism consumes him sometimes, it bleeds into your relationship. Never touching you, but seeping into the ways that he can shelter you from the public.
Not like a secret. But something sacred in the profane of his eclectic life.
But he can’t. Simple words from you always feel the strongest, like he’s seeing the world in a whole new light. Like you’re some wise sage.
You’re not this unattainable being who’s out of his grasp. You’re right here. In front of him, with raucous laughter in a crowd that’s as contagious as your smile. Animals come to you in the street, and you immediately bend down to coo and pet. You have a way of looking at the world that proves to Chan that good things are all around.
He can’t do it perfectly, but he’ll try. Try his damn hardest to protect you even more, starting with talking to the company once you’re both home again.
Chan pulls back with pitiful eyes, smoothing his hands carefully over your head as they slide out from your clothes.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt…? You took a hit, hm? Sweet, brave girl…” Chan says as he smacks a kiss firmly onto your hairline. You hum and nod your head, just reminding yourself that no one’s taking him from you. Not a messy breakup through a company mandated NDA. Not a public statement. Not through apologizing to upset fans for being in love.
You look up at him and see every reason why you fell in love with him in the first place. His tact and grit. The concern and worry in his eyes. His soothing touch. How he loves with his whole chest.
“I-I had a welcome dinner for the event, but… Honestly, fuck that right now… I’ll send someone to represent me. You need me more— I need you.”
The van drives over bumps and cracks in the road, and it sways you against Chan. A small noise breaks in his throat and he wraps his arms around you, chin atop your head as the ride continues to the hotel.
—
Staying in the hotel room with you meant a complete detachment from any obligation that wasn’t… well, just you.
Fendi brand representatives were more than understanding of the situation, offering a box of sweets to send up to the room as temporary remedial support. You’d thought it was silly, a third party apologizing for something that wasn’t due to them.
You still accepted the box of pastries and cake, though.
Chan ran you a nice bath, as he’d promised to himself for you, sitting on the closed toilet lid and tracing his fingers over your back. He didn’t want to take his hands off you, not without thinking of the hands that were on you prior. Chan’s index runs down the back of your arm, where someone had attempted to pull you in that crowd.
You’ve got your knees tucked up to you, a plethora of lavender scented suds in the porcelain basin. Chan’s hands rake through your scalp to check for damage one last time before helping you dry off in a fluffy robe.
When it was Chan’s turn in the shower to clear his head, all he could think of was what to do with his anger. Letting the hot spray of water hit over him while you were probably lazing on the bed no doubt. You wouldn’t want him to hold onto his anger, but he couldn’t help it. When he was stripping to take his shower he was looking through all the buzz around you and him.
Photos from the airport. Saying Chan had a “meltdown”. Deep dives into who you might be, analyzing every minuscule detail to signs that you were always lingering under their noses. A clip of you getting hit in the head with the camera makes him want to gnaw on drywall until his teeth turn to sawdust.
He saunters out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, phone in hand and wet strands of blonde hair clinging to his forehead. Just as he presumed, you’re flipping through the room service menu, splayed out like a cloud.
You smile and turn a bit sheepish when you see his appearance. That lack of clothing that never fails to disarm you. He pushes his wet hair away from his forehead, and it sticks up in wild directions. Biting your lip, you singsong a “Hey, handsome.”
The tips of his ears turn red, but he just stares at you. Eyes darkened and expression sullen. Tired. Maybe it was the hot water, but you know he’s still thinking of earlier. How could he not?
“No updates from me. They don’t get a lick of a word from me for a while.”
Bubble. It sounds silly, but you know that’s the best punishment Chan can offer. It sends a message… or in this case, a lack thereof. You snort and sit upright, musing, “You’re doing the whole “punish-the-entire-class-for-three-people’s-wrongdoings” shtick, huh?”
The corners of his lips quirk upright, a dimple craters his face. “I mean it. This was an overstep. You know how much I hate that shit, baby…”
Chan huffs as he throws himself onto the bed, purring like a cat as he feels your nails rake up and down his skin. He closes his eyes, sighing the tension out of his body. His cheek is pressed against his folded forearms as he speaks.
“Sent some messages. People need to learn… Told them off a bit, took my picture down—”
“Your profile picture?” you interrupt, a small laugh escaping you as he frowns.
“It’s the best I can do without completely losing it on everyone.”
“Okay… okay, what’d you say in your messages?”
Chan opens his eyes and looks up at you, grunting as he sits up on his elbows to give you his phone. He was already in the Bubble app when he’d come out of the bathroom:
🫧 260223
🐺: It does not matter if I am with staff, a friend, the kids, a lover, etc. You do not behave like this. These people know who they are. You should know better, and it pains me to have to write this.
🐺: On a personal level, leave the people around me alone ffs. You’re here for the kids and I, not to push around the people in our lives. Do not write editorials on the people I hold dear to my heart. Don’t say bad things about my loved ones lol. I know them and you don’t.
🐺: My choices. My decisions. Accept them or don’t bother being a fan.
🐺: Diabolical.
🐺: Don’t stick your camera right in my face
🐺: Respect boundaries please
You look up from the phone and Chan isn’t looking at you anymore. Like he’s mulling over the thought of saying more on the messages. He pinches the lobe of his ear and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
“As for you… I’ve already emailed the company. We’ll announce it properly that you’re my—”
“Christopher, are you serious—?”
“—That you’re the love of my life… You’re mine, and you’ve been mine, and this whole day has been insane, but I don’t want… I don’t want peace if it isn’t with you.”
Stunned to silence. This is a major step in his career, in his life. But it was bound to happen, even if it wasn’t on your own terms. He watches your mouth flounder for words and sits up on his elbows again, taking your hand in his.
“Sweetheart… You’re not some dirty secret, you never were… You’re not illicit, you’re mine. I’m tired of hiding the things I’m proud of. You’ve every piece of me, yeah? The ones that no one sees. They’ve just been for each other,” Chan leans against the headboard and brings your hand over his chest, your touch feeling how erratic his heart is beating. He’s just as nervous as you are, even when he’s taking the lead.
Your eyes soften, throat feeling a bit tight with emotion. “What if… What if it goes bad…?”
“Then it goes bad.”
You laugh, a bit of a wet sound now that glossy tears are starting to pool in your eyes. He smiles so delicately, closing his eyes as he gives you slow popcorn kisses on your cheek to make you feel better.
“I learned that from a girl once. She’s amazing. She taught me that sometimes things are out of my control.”
“She sounds badass.”
Chan grins, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he watches you wipe salty tears from your eyes in closed fists. “She is. And I’m gonna tell the whole world about her. But… there’s a few things I’m keeping private.”
His nose brushes yours as he chases your eyes for contact. You feel your face heats with his intensity. How does he still manage to look at you like you’re the only woman on planet Earth?
“What would that be, Christopher…?”
“Oh, it’s Christopher again now, is it?”
He playfully kisses under your jaw and brings you down to play with him on the bed, keeping his arms tethered around you as you writhe from the tickling of his wet hair on your face.
“Keeping these moments private. When I have you to myself… Just like this," he mumbles against your skin, breathing in the smell of your skin and expelling warm breath against it. You always smell like something fresh to him. Something cozy and intimate that he can't put into words. "They'll know you as my girlfriend. It'll be official. And Stay can get off my ass about me being lonely... Let's order some food, yeah? Think I finally built up an appetite."
The remainder of the night is spent with the hotel curtains drawn at the balcony. Ordering whatever sounds most appetizing on the room service menu, and cozying up next to each other while trying to figure out how the TV channels work.
All he's ever wanted is for your ultimate happiness. Sometimes factors of life get in the way of that, but you're a constant. His Kids are a constant.
Chan watches you happily munch on a burger on the bed, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pets your head a little before puckering his plush lips to kiss you on yours mid chew, much to your chagrin as you groan and pull away. He takes a bite of a pizza slice.
"Channie, 'm eating..."
"Okay? Swallow and kiss me."
"That's what she said."
"Minx..."
You finish your bite and turn your head properly, looking up at him with expectant wide eyes. It makes Chan want to squish your face until your eyes pop out. Cuteness aggression.
Instead he leans in a bit, closes his eyes, and brings a hand under your chin to direct your lips onto his. In his mind, he thinks there's nothing more perfect than this, and that's coming from the master perfectionist. He trusts that you enjoy this longing kiss as much as he does when your lips move against his.
A small sound escapes him, like pure want. He pulls back before it goes any further and he swipes all this food away so he can satiate his other hunger.
“You’re incredible,” he breathes out, shaking his head as if he can’t believe you’re his. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even realize it. You just cozy back into his side and continue to eat, watching stupid infomercials and snuggling against him.
Chan’s arm comes over your shoulder and stays. Pulling you closer, like he can fuse into you.
This is the best he can do. Chan’s nervous for the future, as he often is. But with you feeling like this against him, it’s an exciting kind of nervous. What was that word you’d said— liberating. You’re always right, aren’t you?
New terrain is exciting. Even if it terrifies him. Because you’re not going anywhere, even if he’s haunted by the prospect of seeing people come and go from his life. He knows you’re the one that locked him down.
No obligations for the week ahead. He’ll go through his ambassador work. Take some interviews and pictures, an editorial video. And at night, in the late hour of Milan, that’s when he’ll come alive. He’s going to take you to that small restaurant you wanted to go to so bad. To see architecture and cobbled streets in golden lamppost light.
Chan burrows his nose into your damp hair, whispers a sweet nothing, and closes his eyes. You’re the peace he strived for. Even when it comes with a storm, he’ll chase it away.
OR — how chan’s heart is a moment away from bursting after seeing how his boys appreciate you as much as he does.
boyfriend!chan x girlfriend!reader
word count: 2.4k
content: very fluffy, established relationship, chan admiring reader, alcohol, a little dinner party with mentions of food, our chaotic stray kids messing around, reader and chan compliment each other so well, the kids absolutely think reader is chan's true soulmate, reader drinks some wine and eats some meat, a LOT of chan worshipping the reader.
author’s note: chan and his boys… ough my heart :’) a lovely anon requested this one, i hope you enjoy!
—
Oh, how Chan loves how you love. And he loves how love tends to gravitate around you and settle like fog. More specifically— he loves how his boys love you.
If you’d thought Chan was the coolest person when you met him, his rambling about how he was a producer and singer (“of sorts”, he’d added, to test you)? You were the coolest person in his eyes.
He can’t lie, he put you on a pedestal at first. All your achievements you wore with humble pride, you were a little go-getter. The whole package— intelligent in both well rounded knowledge and your emotions, a barrel of laughs, and you were drop dead gorgeous?
Chan felt honestly sorry for anyone who didn’t have you in their life.
It was natural that you’d fit into his chaotic and unique life, symbiotic. You cooled him down and he amped you up. Chan wasn’t a lone deal, though. He came equipped with the accoutrements of seven boys he called his Kids.
It’s Chan’s favorite kind of night tonight. He so affectionately calls it “family game night”.
What started as the safety net of a small world of men saw a new face. Chan eased you into his life instead of thrusting you into the deep end. The boys were special to him as well. He’d hoped you loved them, saw how each of them was special. As he’d seen you in that same soft light.
Sometimes, however, the glow just becomes one big warmth. Like the present moment he’s in, watching you with a bottle of wine in his hand that he’s trying to open as you play a drinking card game with changbin and han. A collective thrum of energy.
The room sounds like Chan’s favorite sounds that he can never quite replicate in song.
Your unashamed laughter. Changbin and Han screaming at each other as they throw down cards. Hyunjin coming back from the bathroom and quickly plugging his ears to scold them under his breath. Lee Know drapes himself on the sofa behind you and asks you how to play the game, softer tone than the rest of the room.
Seungmin, Felix, and I.N. are cackling like hyenas in the kitchen, the soft sizzle of food being cooked combined with an aroma of spice.
A shot glass slam. The holler of voices. This is how it should be all the time.
Chan finally pops the cork, bottle between his legs before he pours himself a glass. No, scratch that… not for himself. He’s a lightweight— he wants to remember this moment like the rest of his dreamscapes. Chan pours a glass and leans back in the chair at the table, downturned lips of a smile appearing as he sees you hand your cards to Lee Know and explain the rules of the card game.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d think there was a halo around you head.
Changbin tries to peak around your shoulder to see Lee Know’s cards, and you hiss, scolding Changbin who lets out a ripple of laughter as you cover his eyes.
Hyunjin points and laughs, high fiving you.
“Dinner’s ready!” Seungmin comes out of the kitchen where Felix comes out looking a bit like a mess, his hair frazzled. I.N. is grinning from ear to ear, calming his laughter down. Seungmin says your name to beckon your attention. “I made some meats without the sesame oil because you don’t like it.”
You’d said that offhandedly at last dinner. In fact, you hadn’t even spoken it directly to Seungmin. The fact that he noticed that makes a smile flourish on you.
“Aw man, you didn’t have to!” You dust your hands off on your jeans as you rise from the floor. The boys follow suit. They don’t know why, but no one ever really eats before you fix your plate up. A silent rule they just made themselves.
Chan doesn’t stand up as the boys file into the kitchen, clamoring about how good it smells and “ladies first” rules. In fact, when the boys are gone, he locks eyes with you. Soft and tender. Arms outstretched and knowing you’d come into them.
You find him like a magnet, standing between his legs, and his hand clasps around your wrist, tugging you onto his lap, where you laugh softly, arms snaking around his neck.
He hands you the wine glass he poured out prior. Claret. He knows you, and you take it as he thought. Watches your lips around the glass and how your pupils are all big and beautiful in your eyes. Like you’re drunk on love.
“What good deeds did I do in my past life to get this sight tonight…? Mm?” he whispers with a small smile, his lips coming under your jawline and drawing back. You’d think it was the rambling of a drunk man. But he’s as serious and sober as the plague.
His hand comes down to stroke your leg, the other cradling your torso against him.
“Maybe it’s cause you’re just so perfect in the present. Ever think about that?” you chide softly, tucking your head into his shoulder. The hand on your torso comes up to your hair, stroking with soft pets. Your words are wrapped in ribbon that reads, you deserve good. You are good.
“Mm… you tired of the boys? I need to straighten them out?”
You snort and shake your head. “I think they’re tired of me after teaching them that stupid card game.”
Chan hiccups a laugh out, his shoulders shaking. There’s a poignant pause before he resumes talking, His hand on your thigh sweeping softly and slow.
“They love you so much. Ask about you all the damn time… how you’re doing, when you’re coming over. Bit clingy if you ask me,” Chan grumbles that last part out, keeping his hold tight on you. You just press a placating kiss to his cheek and breathe against his skin.
You can already imagine it. Hell, sometimes if you sneak a look at Chan’s upturned phone, you can see the building up of messages from the Kids asking to see you as well. It started out with them being a little shy, almost wary of you. How did you manage to cut through all of their leader's reserves and walls? How does he manage to sleep at 1 AM instead of pulling all nighters now? Did you have ulterior motives, would you be good enough for the person who practically raised them alongside himself.
It took them meeting you once in person over a light affair of Korean barbecue and you were stamped with a mark of approval. The boys saw it in the way you talked about goals and aspirations. The way you carried yourself, your kindness and understanding. You’d only laughed when Felix accidentally burned you a bit with his tongs (though Chan had been the scolding one on your behalf).
Most of all, you talked about Chan in such a way that made them feel soft and mushy, a way they’d tease to Chan behind closed doors. You’d said your favorite thing about Chan was his smile. A bit cheesy, but it was easy to see why— their leader truly never stopped smiling in your presence.
Whether it was a teasing grin, wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes, or gazing upon you with lips so softly upturned you could almost miss it. Like he couldn’t get enough of you.
They noticed you called him “Chris” when greeting and parting from him with a kiss. “Chan” when recounting a story or laughing at his jokes. “Channie” when you felt comfortable in his presence and let him take the lead.
You made sure he ate and drank water. You let him be clingy and drop his weight against your side so you could baby him. Chan had put a cut of his meat on your plate, to which the Kids watched you both have a back and forth war of who deserved it more. Your chopsticks dropped the meat back onto his plate before he flicked your nose and set it back to you.
They saw that not only were you Chan’s priority, but Chan was also yours.
And all their worries simmered down.
The soft laughter and sounds of the boys piling food on without you and Chan is comforting. Hyunjin’s mumbled words about "still waiting for you" and Lee Know saying something about you not minding makes Chan’s dimples come through in his smile. Those Kids...
“Go get a plate. I’ll be there soon,” Chan softly utters as he takes the wine glass from your hand and places it back on the table. You shake your head and let your shoulders droop.
“You’ve been a stoic all night… Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Chan deflates a bit. Shoulders relaxing. While he’d tried to play off his reserved nature tonight as “taking a breather”, you saw right through it. He pinches the tip of your nose and you groan.
“Just wanted to watch. You handle them so well without me now. You're so adorable, you know that?”
“Duh— they’re grown-ass adults, not children.”
Chan huffs and raises a brow before shaking his head, his arms around your waist tightening.
“What I mean is that you fit right in. Not just with me, but… them. Like you were meant to be there. You fit into my life,” Chan stops his speaking for a moment and begins through his next words.
“I mean, even if they didn’t like you, which is impossible because look at you, I’d still be with you… But the Kids mean the world to me, too. And knowing that they see how special you are in the same way I do just… I can’t explain it…”
You let a moment go by, his eyes cast down to your lap as his thumb sweeps back and forth over the seam of your jeans. With a hum, you reply.
“You don’t have to explain it.”
A smile breaks out on Chan’s face. “There you go being so damn understanding. What are we going to do with you, huh?” He squeezed your sides and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek as you let out laughter.
—
“The food’ll be cold by the time they’re done. Can we just start without them?”
“Give it a minute. They haven’t seen each other in like… five days.”
“I think it’s sweet—“
“Of course you do, Hyunjin.”
The boys are sitting patiently at the dining table on the outside patio, plates and dishes of food laid out amongst them. They saved yours and Chan’s seats across from each other. Seungmin peaks his head to the drawn curtains of the sliding glass door, just barely able to see the silhouette of you and Chan together.
“They’re like a married couple,” Seungmin muses, pushing around his untouched plate. Lee Know twists the cap off of a Soju bottle and shakes his head. “They should just be married already,” he grins back, with all of the boys in agreement.
Chan would wear domesticity well. They know that’s what he needs right now.
“I know we say it all the time, but I’m… really happy for them. They’re good for each other and to each other,” I.N. says from across the table next to Changbin. “Noona was made for him, you know?”
“Maybe Chan was made for her—“
“Who made what?”
Their talking dies down as you walk through the door to the patio behind Chan, holding pinkies. Felix is visibly pouting at the sight, he can barely handle it. At Chan’s prompted question, Han speaks up first.
“We made dinner, remember? Someone’s getting old. Both of you, grab a plate!”
Chan gives Han a light smack on the backside of his head, and makes you a plate of food first. All of the boys just knew he’d do that. You smile and thank Chan, and he gives you a kiss on the top of your head. It all smells so amazing, you give your compliments to the three boys who worked primarily on it.
Finally, they all allow themselves to eat, the sound of utensils on plates, bottles and glass touching each other and on the wood surface.
And under the table? Chan’s got his hand on your leg, squeezing lightly every so often, just to ground himself. To know that what he’s seeing with your interactions is all real and that this hasn’t been some dream he’s sleeping through. Chan is a simple man. This is all he wants.
You look beside you to find Chan already looking at you. Your brows furrow and he shakes his head, tapping the tip of your nose before propping his head in his hand.
“I’m going to have the best sleep tonight,” he breathes out, eyes shimmery with joy. Changbin must’ve picked up on his words for you, as he points and loudly questions, “Sleep? You’re hanging out with us and you’re talking about sleep?!”
“She gets him to sleep all the time, Bin. She’s like a magician,” Hyunjin snorts before taking a swig of his drink.
Chan rolls his eyes and shows some teeth with a smile. You’re smiling down at your plate, unable to handle the compliments. After all, in your mind, you’re just being a regular girlfriend. Making sure he eats and sleeps, huh? If only you knew how hard it was for the Kids to get Chan to even take a minute of a break.
His hand comes around behind you, holding onto the backrest of your seat as the boys continue to talk to each other. Chan’s whispering comes close to your ear.
“My little magician, huh? That’s a new one… I think my favorite one they called you was my “miracle worker”. Has a nice ring.”
You huff a laugh and before you can turn your head to look his way? He’s planting a firm kiss on your lips that makes Seungmin gag as he fell witness to it. The rest of the boys dramatically follow suit. Chan pulls from your skin and feigns scolding to them all as you burst into laughter.
The Kids don’t mind at all, on the contrary. This look of love is good on Chan. Like there’d been something missing from their leader. They can see it clear as day when he kisses you, that this is where he’s meant to be. Where you’re meant to be.
They won’t let anything come between you and Chan. Not only do they love Chan, but you as well. And they love you two together.
“isn’t it crazy that we were once strangers and now we’re cuddling in bed, with each other’s rings on our fingers?”
you exhale, heavy, tired. “go to sleep, satoru,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. and he automatically moves his hand to thread his fingers through your hair.
“like, we had our own lives, had no idea who we’d end up with or where we’d end up,” he continues, awe laced into his voice. “and one day, bam! every second of my day was suddenly consumed by you or thoughts of you. or dreams about you.”
satoru’s mind is way too busy for 2 a.m.
“if you don’t let me sleep, you won’t live to see another day.”
“ohhh, so that was your plan all along, huh? seduce me, make me fall in love, then kill me in my sleep?” he says, theatrically woeful and pained. “after all i’ve done for you. am i still just a stranger to you?”
you can’t help but snort, a quiet sound muffled by his chest. “why would i wait four years to kill you? i probably could’ve done it after one year. you were already whipped.”
“probably after one month, baby. you’ve always had me whipped, let’s be honest,” he says, completely proud and unabashed. he gently massages your scalp with his fingertips before drifting them back down through your hair. it’s a mindless action, soothing for both you and him. “but you’d never kill me.”
“mm, i don’t know. depends on how much the job is. i could be a multimillionaire.”
he gasps, his hand moving down to tickle your side. “you traitor. besides, you’re already a millionaire, silly. you have me. everything i own is yours.”
you squirm, letting out a giggle when he tickles you and he does it again just to hear that sweet sound. and also just to be a little bit of a menace. you try to wiggle away but he uses his other arm to keep you tethered to him.
“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” you laugh breathlessly, trying to swat his hand away. “just stop tickling me.”
“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your nose playfully. he’s pouting a little, staring down at you as you catch your breath, and his expression softens. it’s one of his favourite views - your faint smile, the sparkle in your eyes, your flushed cheeks.
he groans, defeated, forehead falling to press against yours.
he could never stay upset, or even faux-upset, around you.
“what?” you ask softly, curious about his sudden groan. you feel his hand at your side squeeze. not teasing. more like he's holding himself back from something.
“i’m so in love with you, it’s insane,” he murmurs, almost sounding pained, like his heart physically hurts. “i'd let you kill me, y'know. let you torture me, drag it out, whatever the hell you want.”
you giggle, your nose brushing against his. his smile ghosts your lips.
“you’re insane.”
“incredibly, for you.”
you hum, thoughtful, closing your eyes. feeling his breath on your face, warm, alive.
“it is pretty crazy. that we were once strangers and now you'd let me kill you for money.”
he breathes out a chuckle, lips brushing yours but never fully kissing. he's soaking up your touch, your closeness. satoru never seems to understand personal space. not that you'd ever mind.
“anything to make you happy, princess.” he begins to draw circles on your side with his thumb. small, light circles.
and you reach up, placing your palm on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your touch and the way it begins to quicken.
“this makes me happy. knowing it’s beating for me.”
he pauses, breath catching in his throat and fingers halting in their circles for a brief moment before he brushes it off casually, “… you love me sooo much.”
if your eyes were open, you’d roll them. you know that he's deflecting. that he's masking the vulnerability with humour. and that he knows you know. no one knows him better than you do, after all.
“says you, mr i’d let you kill me,” you tease, though your index finger traces an ‘i love you’ on his chest, right above his heart.
he grins, dimples adorning his cheeks. he draws hearts on your side over and over again. engraving his love into you, wishing to carve himself into your soul.
“and i stand by those words.”
“well, if you keep me up too late, your wish will be granted.”
"well, then... i was also thinking about how crazy it is that male seahorses can get pregnant. like, sign me up heh."
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