She strokes his hair, and he grips her waist. Anchoring her. Trying to stretch this moment forever, because if she flees right now, he doesn’t think he could survive. So maybe, it’s really about anchoring himself.
All that’s between them is a tiny, tiny amount of space where their breaths are becoming one.
And her rule.
Her fucking rule that haunts him every single day.
Do not kiss me. Ever. Her voice rings inside his head on late nights when he can’t sleep.
“What the fuck are we doing?” He finds himself whispering.
—Chapter 16: Confit Byaldi
every interracial ship never beating the "they're like brother and sister" allegations meanwhile the tens of claire fans on earth will use the fact that people call her claire "bear" (short for berzatto) to argue that she and carmy are good for each other because she's like family to him
and i do think the bear purposely borders the line between platonic and romantic but the cultural pearl clutching and gaslighting around the IDEA of sydney and carmy specifically is so wild when literally any other show they would've been very obvious endgame based on the conventions of the genre. like if sydney was played by molly gordon and claire was played by ayo edebiri, claire would've been a one-season role in the manner of karen filippelli, paul genzlinger, hot priest, and mark brendanawicz. there simply would not even be debate about whether sydcarmy is platonic or romantic. it would just be viewed as any other romantic subplot inevitably hurtling toward realization
a late night google and a blurted question take you further than you’ve ever been before.
chan x 9th member!reader
part of my february festival
join my taglist
warnings: virginity loss, sort of innocent reader, reader is described as small, soft but kind of mean dom!chan, like he’s being so tender and loving but he has a filthy mouth, sub!reader obviously, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding, pregnancy mention, younger members being annoying (not during smut). chan is kind of an old head (literally uses the word ‘deflowering’ like it’s 1884 or something) and he definitely has a virginity/corruption kink. he cums very fast i do apologise but you’re so tight can u blame him? etc etc and hate is blocked.
—
“Have you guys ever fucked someone?”
The moment the words leave your mouth a few things happen simultaneously—Chan, halfway through a Diet Coke, chokes on his drink, coughing violently to try and catch his breath; Changbin yells, a horrified, scandalised sound, but his reddened face is telling enough. Minho just stares at you like he can’t believe the words that have just come out of your mouth. Like he can’t believe those are words you’d even know.
Jisung, trying not to laugh, is the first to respond. “Are you high?”
“Huh?” You ask. “Why would I be high?”
“Because it’s a weird ass fucking question to ask randomly.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s just sudden,” Chan says, chiming in as he usually does when Jisung gets the look on his face that he has now. “And it’s not really appropriate. What’s brought it on, though?”
You shrug sheepishly, embarrassed at their extreme reactions and Chan’s curious but scrutinising stare. You didn’t think it would go like this. “Just wondering,” you mumble. “People talk.”
“Which people?” Minho asks. “Where?”
“People. Online.”
“They say we fuck?” Jisung snickers.
“Not each other,” you say quickly, feeling the need to clarify, and he snorts. You shoot him a glare which he playfully returns. “But I saw it a couple times. When I was trying to see what people say about us.”
“And what were they saying, exactly?” Chan asks. He sounds slightly amused too, but you can tell he’s worried about what exactly you’ve been exposed to. He’s not wrong to; you know all too well how weird people can get about idols, but you wish he’d ease up a bit sometimes. He doesn’t seem to realise that you’re not that same wide eyed kid that showed up all those years ago. You’re an adult, and you think about adult things just like he does.
You clear your throat, face burning. This was a bad idea. “They were talking about, like, what we like,” you mumble. “Or what they think we like. Sexually.”
“So what do I like?” Hyunjin asks. He seems genuinely curious but Minho smacks him all the same.
“Yeah, I wanna know too,” Seungmin grins.
“That’s enough.” Chan’s voice is stern and it forces the room into silence. His eyes are narrowed and fixed on you but his voice softens a little when he speaks again. “You shouldn’t read about that stuff, it’s not real. Just gonna confuse you.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before standing up and wandering off the kitchen, muttering about needing some coffee. Jisung waits for him to leave before reaching over to slap the back of your head. “Pervert,” he grins.
—
You’re settled into bed, cozied up in your blanket and clutching the reindeer plushie Felix bought you on your first Christmas in Korea, when there’s a soft knock at the door. You make a noise of acknowledgement and it eases open enough to allow Chan to shuffle in quietly.
“Ah, are you all ready for bed?” He asks. You pull your blankets down slightly to show him your fluffy pyjamas. His smile is fond as he perches down next to you.
“I wanted to talk to you about our conversation today,” he says. “Is that okay?”
You flush, remembering how uncomfortable he’d looked; the stern gaze he’d fixed firmly on you—it’s the same way he looks at you when you really are in trouble, and it makes you feel small and scolded and childish every time he uses it on you. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, Channie. I really was just wondering.”
His head tilts in confusion. “Why would you apologise for that? I always said you can tell me anything, didn’t I?”
You shrug, noncommittal. “You didn’t say I could ask you anything,” you mumble. “Or ask about… that.”
He just laughs. “Semantics, love. You can ask me whatever you like.” He squeezes your calf, rubbing it soothingly. He figured out a long time ago that touch—his touch, specifically—calms you down; soothes your perpetually anxious mind when nothing else can. He’s never asked about it and you’ve never discussed it; it’s just a silent understanding between the two of you. He looks at you almost apologetically. “I was just caught off guard earlier and I knew it wasn’t a good time with Jisung there to make it all into a stupid joke. It’s a serious thing, sweetheart. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“If you have questions, I really do want you to ask me. But it’s better to do it in private, yeah?”
“Yeah. Well.” You trail off, hesitant and he says nothing; just waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts and string them into a sentence. “You never answered the question.”
“What question?”
“That question.”
“Ah.” He nods. “That question.”
You groan, nodding embarrassedly and he laughs again. “I have. Have you?”
“Come on,” you whine. “You’re just making fun of me now.”
He grins, caught; it’s a well-known secret among them that you tend to shy away from relationships, or really any contact with the opposite sex outside of them and work. And even if it wasn’t; the embarrassment with which you speak about these things, as if the words are foreign and uncomfortable on your tongue, says it all.
You cross your legs, staring at him curiously. “So you really have fucked someone.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Oh.”
“Is that something you’ve been thinking about?” His voice is soft but his gaze is dark and fixed on you. “Having sex?”
“I mean,” you mumble, shrugging slightly. “I’m old enough, aren’t I? Everyone else is doing it.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to,” he frowns. “It’s not something you should do just to fit in or anything. You do it because you want to, no other reason.”
“Oh. And… if I do want it?”
“Find someone you like and trust who wants to do it with you, talk about what it is you want, and let it happen naturally.”
“Right.”
There’s only one problem—there’s no one you like and trust who you’d actually want to do that with. All the men you’re decently close to are trainees or other idols who can’t afford to be seen slipping in and out of another dorm, and you’re not particularly attracted to them, anyway. You’ve never really been attracted to anyone.
Well. Almost.
Chan’s gaze is heavy on you and you can’t help but squirm uncomfortably beneath it; when he looks at you like that you feel exposed and seen on a level you’re not sure even you have access to. He affects you now just as much as he did the day you met him—when you’d shuffled into their practice room shaking and stuttering with nerves, certain they hated the idea of a new female member and resented you for being it; when he’d taken your hands in his and told you how happy they all were to have you here.
He’s been a guiding force for you since that day—a firm hand when you were out of control and a safe haven when everything was too much to bear; resolute in his determination to care for and nurture you and his assurance that he would never, ever allow you to face it all alone.
He’s the only person you could even picture yourself trusting with this. He’s the only person you want to trust.
You wonder if he knows he’s the only one you fantasise about; if he’s heard the way you squeaked his name in the small hours while you explored yourself with your fingers and tried not to wake the others. You wonder if he’s seen the way your eyes linger on his hands, his arms, the vein in his neck. If he’s seen the way you stare at him like he’s all you’ve ever wanted.
You let the words fall from you before you can change your mind and swallow them forever.
“What if… I wanted it to be you?”
The silence that descends is the longest and heaviest of your entire life. Every possibility, from him laughing at you to hitting you to kicking you out of the group entirely crosses your mind—what you didn’t anticipate is the way his eyes darken, jaw tensing the way it does when something is pulling at his strings and he’s trying desperately not to let them snap.
“You want it with me?” His voice is level and controlled as always but there’s another, deeper layer to it that you’ve never heard before. His fists curl into your soft sheets like he’s holding on for dear life and you can’t pull your gaze away from the way the veins in his forearms bulge under the pressure.
“Yes,” you whisper. “I… there’s no one else I trust like that.”
“Jesus.” He closes his eyes and you see his chest rise and fall with deep, staggered breaths. He’s… well, you don’t quite know what. But he’s not got up and left yet, which is a good sign. “You really want me to do that? You won’t… you can’t get your virginity back once it’s gone. You should save it for someone… someone that’s not me.”
“I don’t want to,” you say, half pleading by now. “Chan. I want you. I want you to do it. I want…I want you to be the first.”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.” You try to sound confident but your nerves are seeping into your voice from the pit in your stomach. “I swear.”
“I shouldn’t even be considering this,” he mutters. “What you’re asking me—to deflower you. To take your innocence from you. You shouldn’t give me that power.”
“Why not?”
He says nothing for a moment, like he’s looking for an escape and then you catch his gaze, your face hopeful and desperate and it’s like something clicks. His expression shifts into something understanding and… “Fucking hell,” he grunts. “How long have you wanted this?”
“A long time.”
“I’m a bad person,” he says quietly, disgustedly. “I’m a terrible person for even entertaining this.”
You’re not, you think. But that won’t convince him. You both know this is crossing a line. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I don’t care at all.”
“Me neither.”
Before you can blink the blanket is pulled away and he’s hovering above you, face inches from yours. His breathing is heavy, laboured and you’ve never seen his eyes so focused or intense or… dark.
“Tell me you want this,” he says. “In words.”
“Chan,” you whine, squirming beneath him with increasing frustration. “Please.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Use your words, baby. I. Want. This. Sound it out.”
“I want this,” you repeat it with wide eyes, clinging to the words as they fall from your mouth. “I really want this, Chan. Take me. Please.”
And his lips are on yours; wet and desperate and messy and you kiss him with urgency as though his attention is in short supply. He cups your face in his hands as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and inches it further and further upwards. “You don’t know,” he gasps between kisses, “what you do to me. What your fucking, shit, what your words do to me.”
“Show me,” you whisper. “I can… I can take whatever you give me, Chan.”
He pauses for a moment, movements ceasing and the smile of his face is safe and threatening and warning all at once. He just chuckles. “Not tonight,” he whispers. “Tonight I‘m gonna be gentle. Gonna take such good care of you.”
Your stomach twists at the implication and the image it conjures of what Chan might be like at other times—rougher and harder than what you’ll see tonight; concealed for now but still simmering beneath the surface. Could you bring that out of him today? Do you want to?
“Chan.” You shift underneath him again, lifting your hips desperately and he grins, pushing them back down with one hand. “Easy,” he mumbles. “Easy, baby, I got you. You’re gonna get this dick, don’t you worry.”
“Now,” you groan. “Chan, now.”
Something flashes in his eyes but it’s gone before you can decipher it and he smiles pleasantly at you. “What do we say when we want something?” He asks.
“Please.”
“Good. I’m gonna take those panties off, yeah?”
You lie limp while he manoeuvres you, getting you ready for him; your panties slide off with your sleep shorts, places carefully by his side; his hands are warm and steady where they brush against your thighs and he makes a deep, strangled sound at the sight of your pussy. “Fuck,” he says. “You’re soaked.”
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“All for me?” He smiles. “It is, isn’t it? Could only ever be for me.”
He pushes the first finger in slowly; gently and subtly so you scarcely notice the intrusion until he’s all the way in and pumping it in and out of you slowly. You squeak, thighs clamping together on instinct and he tuts, pushing them apart with his other hand. He slots his leg in the gap to keep them where he wants them. “Don’t run from me, pretty girl,” he grumbles. “Gotta be good f’me if you want this dick.”
“I wi—hngh—” The word dies in your throat when he pushes another finger inside and you cry out, throwing your head back against the pillow. He curses under his breath, eyes blazing.
“Forgot how fuckin’ sensitive virgins are,” he says. “Never been stretched like this before, have you?”
“N-no,” you gasp. “Of…of course not, Channie.”
He hums, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he grins. “That’s good. God, you’re gonna feel fucking fantastic around my cock.”
Just the mention of it has you mewling and reaching for him, for the sweatpants that hang from his hips and he laughs, nudging closer so you can finally feel his growing bulge. You gasp, mouth open and your eyes flicker between your hand and his face. “Oh.”
He tilts an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You…” You swallow, trying to clear the nerves gathering in your chest. “Are they usually… um. How does it fit? In there.”
His eyes soften briefly, and the look on his face is the same one of fondness and care you’d seen the very first time you met him. “It’ll fit, bunny,” he mumbles. “M’gonna make sure of it.”
You’re not sure if you believe him; you’ve never felt a dick before but you don’t think they’re usually as big as him. Just the thought is painful, and you wonder how you’re meant to handle it, how you could possibly take it without breaking—
Oh. You remember now. Your face is crimson when you call for him softly. “Channie?”
“Hm?”
“I— um. I have lube. In my drawer.”
He seems to go through a few different cycles of emotions at once before he settles on a cool, curious smile. If he wasn’t knuckle-deep in your pussy right now he’d be teasing you like he normally does. “Lube, huh?” He muses. “Why’d you buy that, honey?”
“I didn’t,” you say. “It was, um, my birthday—”
“Your birthday?”
“Yeah, um. They thought it would— that it would be funny. To give me that. Because I don’t… I’m not into that stuff. Or I wasn’t.”
He can’t help but roll his eyes. “They being Jisung and Seungmin, I’m going to hazard a guess”
“Yeah.” You giggle slightly and he chuckles too; it eases the tension slightly, reminds you of who you’re with and how little you have to fear in his hands. “And they, um. Jeongin got me something too.”
“Go on.”
You bite your lip, nearly chewing through it as you reach for your desk drawer and pull it open with shaking hands and you see the moment it registers with him exactly what’s lying there, still in the plastic wrapping—a dark red and obnoxiously large dildo. Probably bigger than Chan and definitely unused.
“Dickheads,” he mumbles. He grabs the lube that sits next to the unopened box and slams it shut almost petulantly. It makes you laugh again and he fixes a firm but mostly joking glare on you. “You keep encouraging them and I’ll fuck you with that dildo instead.”
Oh, no. No, you don’t want that. You want Chan. You mumble an apology and he chuckles, pumping his fingers in and out of you a few times before pulling them out. The snap of the bottle flicking open makes it jump and he bites back a smile.
He doesn’t waste time building tension before pulling his dick out, just yanks down his sweatpants and underwear and practically empties the bottle onto his dick. “Can’t have you hurting, baby,” he says. “You’re too pretty for that. Tight, too, I bet.”
His hands come down to rest on each of your plush thighs, holding you down as much as comforting you as he slowly pushes in. The stretch is still noticeable even with the lube but it’s not painful, and you take it all with a brave face. He’s cooing at you as he pushes further and further inside until he finally buries himself in you with a grunt. “Fuck, good girl,” he whispers. “Tighter than I dreamed of. Shit.”
He waits a moment, letting you adjust to him before he slowly starts to move; rocking back and forth and getting harder and firmer with each thrust. You whine and mewl and groan with his movements, unable to think of anything but him and all the different ways he could take you apart.
His composure breaks quicker than he’d have liked and soon he’s fucking into you desperately, like his hips are moving of their own accord and unable to stop. You cry out, sobbing his name but it feels so fucking good. So fucking perfect and you both know it.
His sweat is falling onto you, landing on your face and chest and his breathing is heavy and erratic; jaw clenched in focus and frustration. “You’re so fucking fragile, baby,” he grunts. “So little. I could break you.”
“Please,” you cry. “Chan, pl—”
“Next time,” he says. “We don’t have time now. You need to be bred.”
Your breath hitches, stomach twisting. “Bred?”
“Yeah, baby. Need to be knocked the fuck up, don’t you? Clench around me, c’mon, I got you.”
You do your best to obey, squeezing you walls as best as you can around his dick and it’s all it takes to push him over the edge, shouting and spluttering through his orgasm until he practically collapses on top of you. He removes himself quickly, not wanting to crush you. He rolls off of you to lie at your side but he makes no move to remove his dick, still sitting stuffed inside your hole while drops of cum leak out around it.
“Channie,” you mumble.
“You did so good, my baby.” He strokes your face, gentle and tender and you’ve never seen him look so content. “Fuck. Thank you for— for letting me do that. Letting me be your first. I’m so glad.”
“Will you do it again?” You ask softly. “Fuck me, I mean.”
He looks at you like you’ve asked something obvious but his gaze hardens as it flickers up and down your flushed, sweat-soaked body. “Of course I will,” he grins. “Every fucking day, princess. You’re mine now.”
being a figure skater and dating ilya rozanov would include: {aesthetic}
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊
him showing up to every competition that doesn’t interfere with his nhl schedule.
the cameras immediately turning to your famous boyfriend cheering you on when you take the ice.
bringing you a bouquet of pink peonies after every skate because you once offhandedly mentioned that red roses were cliché and impersonal.
the cameras also turning to you when you attend his nhl games - and he loves that everyone knows you’re his.
him insisting on tying your laces when you go skating together even though you insist that you know how and have done so a million times.
him loving to feel you up in your figure skating outfits. “what is this, is this lace? it’s nice”
but his favourite thing to pull off of you is his jersey…
managing busy schedules so when you both do get to see each other, you basically attack each other.
him trying to teach you basic russian on your days off.
you trying to teach him figure skating lifts and pair moves even though you’re an individual skater which results in him almost dropping you on your head multiple times.
you bullying him every time he turns soft around you which results in him becoming extremely defensive while you laugh.
him cooking for you and you baking for him on the rare nights you have off together.
The ST Twitter account put out the video of the table read for that scene of Sorcerer and in it, the Duffers say for this moment:
“He is now in control. He is a sorcerer.”
The fact that Will has had his autonomy taken away from him time and time again makes this SO powerful. Because he has taken his power back. He has control over the monsters that haunt him. He is not the monster he was invaded by; he is this beautiful and magical being that Mike saw in him before he did.
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
