[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything! art by: @/hong_nock
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
The dam broke.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
ex bf! leon kennedy who calls you drunk, slurring his words and tripping over how he wants to fix things, drinking himself into a stupor and misses his alarm the next morning.
ex bf! leon kennedy who searches for you when the breakout occurs in raccoon city, eyes always searching the dead, hoping to never find you among the corpses.
ex bf! leon kennedy who spends the first few months of the breakout searching every town he comes across, the single polaroid of you in his wallet pushing him onward, asking locals if they had seen your face and scanning every person who even slightly resembled you.
ex bf! leon kennedy who hardens as the years pass, hope to ever see you again dull and nearly faded as he finds no leads to you or your whereabouts, dead ends at every turn.
ex bf! leon kennedy who stumbles upon the only lead he’s had in years when searching for ada wong after she stole from him, promising himself at the first chance he would resume his search once again.
ex bf! leon kennedy finds traces of you, traces of your life, entangled with pieces of him he’d long forgotten, telling him that you had been searching for him too, after all this time.
ex bf! leon kennedy who finally catches sight of you, eyes shadowed and cast warily, a small pistol attached to a band on your thigh, and though he’s sure you’ve suffered like he has, thinks you’re the most beautiful you had ever been.
ex bf! leon kennedy who wastes no time in striding over to you, sleeves rolled above his elbow and breathing slightly labored at his pace, who doesn’t let you get a single word out before he takes your face in the palms of his hands and kisses you.
ex bf! leon kennedy who embraces you, sighing in relief just slightly once he feels your heart beating, confirming you’re alive, that you had been alive and his search was over.
ex bf! leon kennedy who swears to never let you out of his grasp again, fighting tooth and nail to survive and make it home to you.
Synopsis✨ You were never meant to fall for the boy in the band. But when he starts trying to show you that he isn't the typical rockstar, can you trust that this isn't all just a tour romance?
Genre✨ rock band au, mild angst, fluff, smut
Warnings✨ lots of making out, lots of drunken making out, multiple smut scenes, dry humping, finger sucking, nipple play, she's had a drink but everything is totally consensual/ she's not totally drunk, he fingers her in front of a mirror, spanking (ass and pussy), edging, possessive Chan, possessive OC, oral f recieving, p in v sex, protected sex, switch Chan, switch reader, marking, Chan has his tongue pierced
Plot warnings✨ Chan is literally the cutest person but also the biggest menace when it comes to the bedroom, he is YEARNING, Wonwoo and Vernon might be the most unhelpful people on the planet, Seungcheol and Soonyoung are only there to play in the band and party, it's inferred that Soonyoung is bi but it doesn't really feature in the story, mentions of subby Mingyu but it's nothing to do with the plot (I just have a problem), OC is in her down bad era but very much keeping her head in the sand, they're the biggest pair of idiots in love
Word count✨19k
a/n✨ This was going to be a drabble about a one night stand after a show but then rock star Chan started living in my mind rent free and here we are. Thank you for reading 🖤
“Fuck we went into the wrong side of this industry _____,”
You glance at Vernon but ignore him, the boom of the base making the stadium shake as you lean against a pillar watching the second to last song of the set.
You know what he’s referring to. Vernon didn’t just happen to regret his life choices as yet another thong lands on Soonyoung’s guitar headstock.
“Fuck, every night they get their pick of groupies. Dude, imagine that!”
“You literally fuck a different girl every night, you’re not suffering on that front Vernon.”
“Yeah, but none of them throw their panties at me.”
“Just their drinks,” you smirk, knowing he’s still sensitive about the “love of his life” he met in Osaka. Who threw a drink over him when she found him flirting with another “love of his life”.
Vernon meets a lot of women who he proclaims are the love of his life. It isn’t even necessarily a bad thing. In that moment, they’re the only thing in his world, they hold his undivided attention and he wants nothing more than to please them.
But the second that’s over? He’s onto the next one.
This whole tour you’ve both been working with Shadow, the world’s biggest rock band, helping them write and produce their new album whilst they finish up their world tour. It’s been an incredible experience, you’ve travelled to every city in the world you could’ve dreamed of.
You saw the Taj Mahal in India, walked across the Sydney Harbour Bridge on a rest day on the Australian leg of the tour and even went to a rodeo during the US concerts. It was incredible, but one thing that wasn’t? The fact that the lead singer of the biggest rock band in the world, had slowly stolen a little of your heart in every city you visited.
It was silly. He flirted with everyone but it didn’t stop you thinking that you might be special to him. He certainly made you feel that way, always holding back to ask how you thought the show went, or running a new riff by you and wanting your opinion on how it would fit in the song you were working on.
But then you’d see the tens of thousands of women screaming at him, flirting with him at meet and greets and you saw the twinkle in his eyes when they did that. You never saw him take anyone back to his hotel room, but then you didn’t watch him closely enough to know that he definitely wasn’t doing that.
You’d come close to kissing a couple of times but Vernon always stumbled into the bar drunk or Mingyu would throw up in something and the moment was lost. You’re certain it’s just a convenience thing, he enjoys flirting and you’re one of the few women on the tour. It’s a needs must sort of thing. But then he does have millions of fans he could flirt with, and yet he still chooses to do so with you.
The final chord rings around the stadium, signalling that the show is done and the Asia segment of the tour is over, as the band members make their final bows. The screams and cries from the fans piercing your ear drums just like they do every night when the show ends.
Four sweaty men come running towards you, handing their instruments to the roadies as they high five everyone they come into contact with, everybody trying to dodge Mingyu’s sweaty towel as he throws it in the trash. Its long past being saved by a washing machine, how the man isn’t constantly dehydrated is a mystery to you considering how much water he loses during each show.
And just like always, as you turn to follow the triumphant musicians in the revelry from their latest show, Dino holds back to speak to you.
His smile is broad, eyes shining much like the flood lights that lit up the stadium only a few seconds ago and his sleeveless t-shirt clings to his chiselled body in a scrumptious way that you actively try to avoid.
“What did you think?” His hopeful smile sends butterflies swarming through your tummy.
“Dino, every night is incredible. You know that”
“Yeah, but I think my voice sounded a bit tired in the last quarter of the show. I think I need to ask Jeonghan to get one of those steamers, it’ll help my skin too.” He jokes.
“You’ve got perfect skin already, it’s so pretty.”
You clamp your mouth shut, eyes wide in horror. Pretty skin?! What the fuck were you thinking?! How fucking embarrassing. You try not look at him, cringing at your slip up as you walk side by side along the corridor to the changing rooms.
“You think I’ve got pretty skin?”
His smile isn’t even cocky, it’s hopeful again if anything.
“Of course. You all do.”
His smile falters a little, eyebrows scrunching in disappointment but he shakes it off, his arm brushing against yours as you dodge a rogue guitar case being flung around.
“Dino! Hurry the fuck up, there’s fans in here that want autographs!!”
“Woozi, I’m stood literally three feet away, you don’t have to shout.”
“Just,” he glances between the pair of you, “hurry up. We can’t keep the fans waiting.”
“Sorry about him,” he turns to you.
“Chan....I mean Dino,”
“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Chan, _____.” He says kindly.
“Chan,” you both grin at each other, “I’ve been on this tour long enough to know that both your managers live on their nerves. Go! Your fans will be missing you!” you shew him away.
“I’ll see you at the bar?”
“Errrr, I’m not sure I’m feeling it tonight.”
You hate how much his face slumps when you say you won’t be at the after drinks. But you just can’t face it tonight. You’ve got an important date with your own self-pity and whatever rom-com is showing on the TV when you throw yourself onto your bed.
“You good? I could get you something if you’re not feeling great?”
“Just a little tired. Go!” you shew him off again, faking your best smile, “I’m not getting shouted at by Jeonghan and Woozi when your fans are missing you!”
He looks like he doesn’t want to leave you but an irate looking Woozi storms out clutching his hair, and Chan knows he can’t avoid the meet and greet any longer.
“See you tomorrow then?”
“Sure,” you smile, watching as he runs off to their dressing room, sparing you a couple of final glances before he disappears into the room.
“Can I get you another?”
“What’s your name?” Chan asks sadly, finger running round the rim of his whiskey glass.
“Seokmin. Can I get you another?”
“Seokmin,” Chan sighs sadly, lips pouting as he looks at the bartender in front of him, “have you ever loved someone so much it hurts your heart?”
“Yes.”
“Really?!” he asks excitedly, sitting up on his bar stool, “what happened?!”
“She ate my crayons and so I never spoke to her again.”
Chan frowns at the bar man. He knows the bar is busy and he’s holding him up, but this is important life knowledge he’s trying to gather. Surely, he can spare him a few minutes without making this a joke.
“She ate your crayons?”
“We were six. Do you want another drink?”
“I guess.” He pouts, handing the sullen bar tender his glass and frowning as he walks off.
“Why don’t you just tell _____ how you feel?”
“Fuck Cheol do you have to creep up on people?!”
“I’ve been sat here the whole time, idiot. Why can’t you just tell her?”
“Because I don’t know if she feels the same. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“You’re the lead singer of the biggest band in the world. I swear you’re the only person on earth that doesn’t see you could have whoever you want.”
“I don’t want whoever. I want ____!”
“Then show her you want her! You clearly won’t tell her so try and show her that you like her.”
“How would I do that?”
He tries to keep Seungcheol’s attention but his drummer’s eyes are more preoccupied with following a dark-haired beauty that’s passing by.
“Hello?” he waves in his face, “crisis of the heart over here?”
“What?” Seungcheol glances at him but his eyes quickly move back to the woman who’s now smirking at him across the hotel bar. “I don’t know man, just be nice to her. Give her stuff, I don’t know. I’ll see you later, someone looks like she wants to see just how great a drummer’s rhythm is.”
Chan watches Cheol leave in disbelief that everyone is so fucking unhelpful when he’s suffering so much.
“He’s right, you know,” the bartender, Seokmin, says as he places a fresh drink in front of Chan, “just show her you like her.”
Chan thinks for a few moments, you did look peaky earlier. And he saw that you skipped lunch because you were helping Soonyoung with recording something. Maybe you were hungry, that’s why you didn’t want to come to drinks tonight. You’re hungry!
“How would someone acquire a room service cart?”
“You’d be a room service waiter.”
“How would I acquire a room service cart? And your finest steak and fries. And a cake?”
“You’d buy them and also be a room service waiter.”
Chan narrows his eyes at his unhelpful man.
“I’ll pay you.”
“How much?”
“However much you want. But I want a cart, two steaks, two fries and the biggest chocolate cake you’ve got.”
“Two thousand.”
“WHAT?!”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.” He sighs, standing up to get his wallet, “do you take card?”
“Bank transfer. Or it’s an extra 500.”
Wonwoo: Pretty skin?!!!! 😂😂
You: fuck off Wonwoo, it just slipped out
Wonwoo: I’m sorry but in all the bullshit things you’ve done on that tour. This is my favourite. It’s even better than when he caught you staring at his ass and you choked in front of the whole group
You: why do you hate me? Why can’t you be supportive like a normal best friend?
Wonwoo: because your life is far too entertaining
You: what do I do?
Wonwoo: the same thing I’ve been telling you to do all the time. Fuck his brains out
You: how you found a girlfriend is beyond me. You disgust me. Give her the phone, she’ll help me
Wonwoo: she’s laughing as much as me
You: fuck off. Both of you.
You throw your phone on the bed, vowing to never speak to your best friend ever again, as you walk over to door after someone knocking on it. It’s not unusual for a member of staff to drop something off or check a schedule with you before your flight in the morning, so you don’t really question it.
The door is swung open and all you find is a guy with room service that you definitely didn’t order.
“Sorry, wrong room!” you’re pleasant but not really paying attention, more interested in trying to get back to your den of embarrassment under your duvet.
But that can’t be right.
The man with the room service looked suspiciously like......
“Chan?” you peer round the door.
“Hey!” fuck his smile is so perfect, how can one man be so fucking cute?
“You know you’re a millionaire, right? Why are you picking up shifts at the hotel?”
His smile falters as he glances down at the room service cart. Maybe asking for the fancy gold cloches was overkill? Seokmin did say that silver would work perfectly well to keep the steaks warm and that the gold were just for showing off.
“I brought you food! Can I?” he looks around you, hoping you’ll let him in.
You stare at the cart, has he stolen it from someone?! You’ve heard wild stories about rock stars, but you thought the usual deal was that they threw TVs out of windows or snort lines of powder off scantily clad women. Who’ve never read anything about abducting people’s food or joyriding food service carts round hotel corridors.
“Why have you got that?”
You’re more than happy to let him in the room but you want to make sure you’re not harbouring a criminal or some heiresses’ caviar or something.
“I just said,” he frowns, fingers tightening on the cart in nerves, “I’ve brought you food.”
“Did you steal that?”
“No!”
His scandalised look makes you chuckle, his nerves finally breaking so he starts chuckling along with you.
“Come in,” you smile, opening the door wider for him and his cart, “you know, I think it’s customary to order the food and they bring it to you. I’ve never known a hotel make the guests do all the work, perhaps we should complain.”
“Oh no!” he spins around, almost bumping into you. “Please don’t complain to them! This was my idea!”
Fuck he’s so cute.
“I know Chan, I was joking.” You touch his arm to comfort him but that turns out to be a mistake.
His eyes follow the movement, your fingers suddenly burning when you realise, you’re more or less caressing his bicep.
“Sorry!” your eyes broaden when you panic a little and walk away from him further into the room.
Chan doesn’t care that you touched him, in fact his skin tingles where your fingers had just lay. He only wishes you’d kept it there longer, having you close to him is something he’s been craving your weeks. If not months.
He wheels his cart into the room, and you try to ignore the way he has a precious little pout when he concentrates on not banging into things. Or the way it makes your heart swell more by the second.
“Why have you brought me food?”
“Well. You didn’t come to drinks, and I saw you didn’t eat lunch.... You know you really should set boundaries with Soonyoung, he thinks because his creative juices are flowing, it means everyone’s are,” he rambles on and you don’t even care, you could listen to him all day if he’d let you, “and so I thought I’d bring you this!”
“But why didn’t you just order it?”
He stares at you, mouth hanging open, glancing at the cart.
“Er.... Well because.... Because I er, I always wanted to try out one of these!” He wiggles the handle a little, “It’s just an excuse to live out a childhood dream!”
Your heart sinks. You love that he’s chosen you to live out this childhood dream with, no matter how odd it is. But you just wish he’d done this to make it a grand gesture to show you that all of his flirting was genuine, that he’d done it because he wanted you to be wowed by him.
But you will take literally any excuse to be near him and if this is it? Then you’ll grab it with both hands.
“What did you bring then, to fulfil this childhood dream?”
You wander over to him, resisting your sudden urge to wrap your arms around his back and peek over his shoulder.
“Ta-da!!” He whips the cloches off the two rather large plates.
Is that? It can’t be.
“You brought a whole chocolate cake?!”
“Well,” he scratches his neck, eyes looking anywhere but at you or the cake, “you did skip lunch.”
Your eyes land of the plate beside it though, stomach rumbling.
“Fuck is that steak,” Your mouth waters, you did miss lunch. And Chan is right, you do need to tell Soonyoung that life doesn’t revolve around his lyrics, which he’ll hate tomorrow anyway.
“You like steak?”
There’s that hopeful smile again and eyes that are so kind you almost wonder how he shouts down a microphone every night about “fucking this shit up”.
“I do”
“Great,” he lunges forward and takes the plate off the cart, “shall we eat on the bed? No. Not the bed, my mom always said it was rude to eat in bed. The sofa?” He spins around, trying to find the optimum eating place.
Your mind is like a broken record. All you can think of is that he’s so fucking cute.
“Sofa sounds good, us producers only get a room, not a suite like you fancy shmancy rockstars. So, I’ve no dining table.”
“I could get them to get you a suite! Do you want a suite? I’ll get you one! Let me put this down and get my phone!”
“I was joking Chan,” you hold your hand up to stop his panic, “this room is beautiful! Seriously the last band me and Vernon worked with only got us a twin room to share. He kept bringing girls back, it was fucking horrendous.”
He sits next to you, close enough that your thighs are touching.
“Has anything ever happened with you two?”
“Oh god no! He’s like my brother!”
“Great. I mean.... I get it, disgusting. Let’s eat!” he brushes off his little mistake.
The steak is perfect, just like you’d expect from a five-star hotel. And you eat so many fries that you struggle to even contemplate eating the chocolate cake.
“Just one piece, we could share! My grandma always told me that you can always fit in dessert. We have an extra compartment for it in our stomachs you know.” He nods like what he’s just told you is an anatomical fact.
You can’t eat a piece of cake. You think you might throw up if you eat anything else. But you can’t say no to him, not when he waffles on about his family with so much love in his voice. He’s even a family man? He just gets more and more like the most perfect eligible bachelor.
“Fine,” you sigh, trying to mask your smile, “we can share a piece.”
“Perfect,” he stands up rubbing his hands together like he’s planning on cutting the most perfect piece of cake that’s ever been cut. And little do you know, that’s exactly what he’s planning.
“Should we have something from the mini bar?”
“No need!” he reaches down onto the lower shelf of the cart and spins round whipping a napkin off an ice bucket, “voila!”
How did you not notice the bucket with a bottle of champagne?!
“You really went all out for this childhood dream!” you giggle, loving how excited he is about this little hotel waiter role play thing he’s got going on.
“I wanted you to like it,”
“I do! It’s great Chan, seriously I don’t know why you chose me to eat with, but I’m really pleased you did.”
“Well. Everyone else was at the after party.”
Fuck.
Of course that’s the only reason. What an idiot.
He rushes around, gathering champagne glasses and a plate for the slice of cake whilst you stare at the window, wondering if you could feasibly jump out from the second floor and still survive. Anything is better than the embarrassment of thinking you were someone more special to him than a friend/ producer.
If you could read Chan’s mind, you’d know he’s absolutely kicking himself for that comment. He just panicked. He thought he was coming on too strong but now he’s probably made you think that you were his last resort.
You brush off the awkwardness when he settles back onto the sofa. The bottle of champagne is finished, and the slice of cake is polished off, and somehow you find yourself not wanting this evening to end. The conversation flows freely, just like it always does with Chan whenever you’re with him and you end up so close that you’re sitting cross legged, facing each other on the sofa, both a little past tipsy from the champagne.
“Did that hurt?”
“What, when I fell from heaven?” he cackles drunkenly, head thrown back at his terrible joke.
“No,” you snort, swaying a little with a stupid grin on your face, “your ball in your mouth.”
“______!!”
The way he clutches his chest dramatically only makes you giggle into your glass.
“That’s not what I meant,” you shush him, finger on his lips to silence him, the champagne making you a lot more confident, “I meant your tongue piercing.”
“Wanna touch it?”
Fuck do you. You want to know exactly what it feels like all over you and what a good excuse to finally kiss him.
You lean forward a little. Excitement bubbling in your stomach at finally kissing the man of your dreams. If you’re going to feel his piercing, it’s surely not going to be a simple kiss.
Oh.
You pause, confronted with something you weren’t expecting.
Chan sticks his tongue out, it hangs down from his mouth like a dog desperate for a drink. Of course he meant with your finger! What the hell else would he mean?
“Go on then,” he tries to say, tongue still out.
Your index finger approaches him slowly, eyes fixed in concentration because your drunk ass doesn’t want to poke him in the eye or something if you go rogue. His eyes follow your movements desperately, almost going cross-eyed as he watches your finger approach his tongue.
The metal ball is cool on the pad of your finger. All you can think about is how much you want to feel it against your own tongue. Or fuck. Your nipples, which stiffen at the thought. Or maybe even your cl....
You jump when your finger suddenly feels warm. But when you realise what is happening you can’t help but bite your lip, trying to stop a moan slipping out.
Chan’s lips have wrapped around your finger, tongue running along your digit as he bobs his head a little, sucking on your finger like it’s a lollipop. How you’ve spent many a night thinking about doing to his dick. His eyes never leave yours and you make no attempt to look away from him. How does someone sucking your finger feel so good?! Your pussy tingles at how the metal ball runs along your finger, wondering you how incredible it would feel running along your pussy.
His hand wraps around your wrist to pull your finger away from him and before you can even form the words to complain, he leans forward and connects his lips to yours.
It’s by no means your best work, and if Chan was sober and honest, he’d probably say it’s not his either. It’s messy, tongues vying for supremacy, yours trying to feel the little metal ball in his mouth against your own tongue. Drool is all over your chin and when he bites down hard on your lip you whimper, the pain stinging so nicely as he leans you back on the sofa, more or less lying on top of you as his mouth moves on yours and one of his hands moves up to grope your tits.
You feel something hard against your clothed pussy and your drunken brain doesn’t even think twice, you grind up onto him and giggle into his mouth when he does the same, his hard length bumping into your pussy just right, even between both of your clothes. You hump each other like horny teenagers, tongues halfway down each other’s throats and hips moving like bunnies to try and find enough friction to make yourselves cum.
You’re perilously close to the edge just by humping him but just as quick as that high forms, your world comes crashing down.
“Chan?”
Nothing.
He’s a dead weight on top of you.
You can still feel his dick against you, but you realise nothing is going to fucking happen when he snores against your chin.
Well, you stare at the ceiling. In the long list of embarrassing things that have happened to you, this might just take first prize. The worlds biggest rock star, one of the hottest men in the world, has just fallen asleep whilst you were humping him. How do you even recover from something like this? What makes it worse is, he’s still hard in his pants and it would just be so easy for you to finish yourself off against him, but that snore took away any chance you had of cumming. In fact, you’re pretty certain this embarrassment will run so deep that your poor pussy will be as dry as the Sahara for a very long time.
What are you meant to do in this situation? He’s snoring away on top of you, face nuzzling into your neck as he subconsciously makes himself comfortable like you’re a life size pillow. His dick rubs against you again but this time it’s more annoyance than arousal that takes over you.
You can’t stay like this, his body is feeling heavier and heavier by the second and you’ve no intention of allowing him to suffocate you. What would they write down as cause of death? Embarrassment? Complete mortification that a man has fallen asleep with your tongue literally in his mouth?
No. You need to try and wake him up.
“Chan?” You try to lift him off you but there’s no chance of you managing it.
“For fucks sake get up!”
“You smell like flowers,” he mumbles into your neck, no intention of waking up or moving.
“Asshole.” You grumble.
“She’s got a great ass,” he whispers in his sleep.
You narrow your eyes at him, that had better be you he’s thinking of. You’re not sure you’d cope if all of this was happening and he’s thinking of someone else whilst he’s taking a nap on your poor body.
Ten minutes pass by, you no longer remember what it feels like to breathe freely but thankfully, in his drunken state, Chan tries to roll onto his back and ends up landing on the floor with a thud.
You look down in horror, presuming he’ll have woken himself up but amazingly, he hasn’t. His mouth is open gormlessly as he snores away happily on the floor and you wonder if you should just leave him like that. He’d deserve it. But you can’t. You’ve grown to care for him, no matter how embarrassing everything has just been, and so you quickly rush to the wardrobe to get a spare blanket and pillow.
Could you have been more delicate in the way you placed his head on the pillow? Yes, you could. But after the shit he’s just pulled you don’t see why you should. You yank his head up, shove the pillow under it and let it drop. You throw the blanket on him in a half assed manner and crawl into your own bed. Wrapping yourself in your duvet like it might shield you from the whatever awkwardness is about to come in the morning. Your cheeks are pink in embarrassment and a little anger, and you eventually drift off to sleep, vowing to never tell Wonwoo about this. He would think all his Christmases had come at once.
Rome. 11 days till tour ends.
The heat in Rome is dry. So dry that it’s even made you lose some of your nerves around Chan since that night in Hong Kong. You’re much more focussed on not burning to a crisp rather than avoiding the man who tried to become your own personal weighted blanket.
The morning after Chan’s little room service escapade, he’d woken up just as you’d finished getting dressed. You were just placing the final bits and bobs into your suitcase and zipping it up when he rose from the ground with a deep groan and a baffled look on his face.
“_____?”
“Hey!” you spin around, the biggest false smile on your face you can muster.
“Why am I on the floor?”
He doesn’t remember. You don’t know whether you feel relieved or even more insulted than you did when you heard that first snore against your chin.
“You fell asleep, rolled off the sofa.”
You don’t look at him, you can’t. You’d wanted something to happen for so long and now you’re not even sure if he meant to kiss you or if he’s just a horny drunk and you were the only one there.
“Oh.” He looks around the room, taking in the now cleaned up cart (you having cleaned up when you woke up) and the blanket that’s resting on his legs. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
You can tell he means it, his voice has that genuine gentleness to it that you always find when he’s talking to you.
“Here,” you sigh, handing him a bottle of water.
He doesn’t take it. Just narrows his eyes at your hand like he’s thinking about something. Why is he dragging this out? You’ve got a flight to catch and you’re certain he’s probably not packed.
“Chan!” he jumps, dragging his eyes away from your fingers.
“S-sorry.” He takes the water from you, your finger feeling like it’s been scolded when it brushes his. “Are you ok? Did I do something I shouldn’t?”
Your eyes scan his face, he looks genuinely worried that he’s upset you. And he has upset you. You felt like a fucking idiot when you got into bed last night. But he can’t be blamed for something that happened when he was drunk, that you were both more than willing to let happen.
“I’m fine, just a bit hungover. You should hurry, we’ve got to get to the airport.” Your smile is fake but it seems to appease him.
And you leave it at that. He rushes off to his suite to pack and you make your way down to the foyer to wait for the tour bus to get you the hell out of this hotel.
The café you’d chosen to have lunch in sits on the Piazza Navona, the sun shielded slightly by the parasols that stand over each table and you watch as the guys get swarmed by adoring fans as they take photos by the fountain.
Vernon is busy mixing a new track that Mingyu started on the flight between Hong Kong and Rome. You were thankful for it, having to work with the whole group whilst you and Vernon produced the track meant you didn’t have any time to spend with Chan one on one. But now the track was finished and Vernon was tweaking the final production, it meant you all had some free time before the concert.
You’d been on a private tour through the main attractions. You’d seen the wonders of the Pantheon, heard about the fighting pits of the Colosseum and been thoroughly freaked out by the catacombs. It was private as much as anything can be when you’re with Shadow, they tend to attract fans even when actively trying to hide themselves.
With Vernon busy, you’d decided to spend the afternoon with Jieun, Mingyu’s girlfriend and the only other woman on this tour that wasn’t always busy styling and getting them ready for appearances and shows. Since you met her, you’d always wondered one thing.
“Do you never get sick of this?”
“Of what,” she grins, placing her Aperol Sprtiz back on the table, “lounging around in the afternoon, with good company and a strong drink?”
“No,” you chuckle, “this” you gesture at the thirty or so fans that surround Chan and the others.
“Oh that. It does get tiring. Having to pretend I’m a staff member just to get close to Mingyu in public, but knowing he’s coming back to me each night makes it worth it.”
The way she smiles fondly at Mingyu in the distance would suggest she’s not lying. She’s no reason to anyway, she’s one of the most genuine people you’ve ever met. Not to mention stunningly beautiful. If Mingyu wasn’t dating her you’d probably try and date her yourself, she’s so amazing.
Your eyes travel from Mingyu to Chan. His arm is wrapped around the shoulder of a red-haired beauty that looks at him like he’s some sort of god. You watch how he tries to talk to her, wanting to be kind even though they don’t speak the same language. His smile is genuine but you find a part of you trying to figure out if that’s the same smile he gives you or if the one you’re lucky enough to admire, is reserved only for you.
“Can I ask you something, _____? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Anything” you smile, taking a sip of your drink.
“Do you like Chan?”
Your eyes widen though you hope she doesn’t notice, a slight panic setting in as you swill your drink around the glass a little.
“Of course I do! I like all of the guys!”
She narrows her eyes at you, her lips between a knowing pout and hiding a small smile.
“You know what I mean. Cheol told the guys he saw Chan coming out of your room that last morning in Hong Kong, but Chan won’t tell them anything. Which is not like him, he tells everyone all his darkest secrets no matter what they are.”
Just how many dark secrets does he have to share? Are you one of those secrets? Does he actually remember what’s happened and he’s too embarrassed to tell them? He doesn’t come out of the story well at all and, to be honest, you’re so fucking embarrassed that you’re pleased he’s not told anyone even if he does remember.
“He brought me dinner and fell asleep, that’s all.”
“When did he leave the hotel?” she worries. “They’re not meant to go out without security and all the security guards were at the after party.”
“No,” you giggle at the memory of him arriving at your door, “he brought me dinner. On a room service cart and everything!”
“What? Where the fuck did he get that from?”
“I’ve no idea, I did make sure he hadn’t stolen it. But he said he was fulfilling a childhood dream.” You look over at Chan in the distance, some woman now holding his arm, looking like she’s commenting on the size of it. You swallow down the annoyance as best you can.
“That’s what he told you?” her eyes follow yours, a knowing glint in her eye as she sees you trying to look unbothered by someone touching Chan. “He’s a rock star _____. He dreamed of being a rock star. I doubt he dreamt of being a hotel waiter.”
You drag your eyes away from the woman who’s still touching your man Chan.
“Why would he lie?”
“Has anything ever happened between you two? You spend a lot of time together normally.”
“I’m a producer for his band. I’m paid to spend time with them.”
You both know you’re purposefully dodging her questions, though why, you don’t know.
“I mean outside of the studio”
You’re silent for a moment. You’ve been itching to talk to someone about what happened for days. Vernon is useless. And you’ve no intention of providing Wonwoo with anymore entertainment. At least not at the moment.
“Can I talk to you? Like woman to woman? Without you telling any of them?”
“Of course! It’d be nice to have just a normal girly chat! Spending endless tours surrounded by sweaty men does get tiring.”
You take a deep breath, the embarrassment still lingering somewhere near the surface.
“We got a bit drunk when he came to my room, he’d brought a bottle of champagne....”
“Oh, he went all out!” she adds in proudly.
“There was steak and a whole chocolate cake too. He went over board for this dream of his,” you laugh, not noticing how she looks at you sceptically when you mention the dream again.
“But we got a bit tipsy and I asked him about his tongue piercing. And he asked did I want to feel it,”
“Damn. He’s smoother than I thought!”
“That’s what I thought,” you grumble, “but then he literally stuck his tongue out like a panting dog and wanted me to touch it.”
“Nooo!” Jieun exclaims, leaning back in her seat with her hand on her forehead.
“But this is where I don’t know if it was something more...”
Her eyes widen and she leans forward in her seat excitedly at the prospect of there being more to this.
“He sucked my finger.”
“By accident?”
“No...” you ponder, thinking back to the finger sucking in question, “like sucked my finger.”
“Well shit.” She leans back.
“And then.....”
“There’s more?!”
“There is,” you roll your eyes, “he took my finger out of his mouth and kissed me,” she gets excited but it dies down when she gets the impression this isn’t necessarily a good thing. “Things got a little, you know, intense. And then he fell asleep on me.”
Her Aperol Spritz dribbles down her chin when she chokes a little on her drink.
“He what?!”
“I was about to, you know....finish. We were still fully clothed,” you clarify, “it was nothing more than grinding really, but then he fucking snored against my chin just as I was nearly done and I couldn’t move him! He finally rolled onto the floor and off me and then slept on the floor.”
She just stares at you wide eyed.
“I don’t think he even remembers it. I thought..... I thought it might mean he likes me but I guess he just ate with me because everyone was at the party and I suppose people get horny when they’re drunk,” you shrug, “it was just because I was there. And the finger sucking isn’t sexual really.”
“Oh come on _____, that’s bullshit. Mingyu sucks my fingers all the time and it’s normally when he’s crying under me and begging me to slap his ass again. There’s nothing not sexual about someone sucking on your finger.”
Well. It’s no wonder Mingyu only stays for one drink at the bar normally, you’d be rushing off too if that was awaiting you.
“I didn’t have Mingyu pegged for that.”
“You’d be surprised what Mingyu is pegged for.”
Thank god you decided to speak to Jieun about this, the laughter helps soothe your soul more than worrying in your hotel room ever could.
“Do you think he likes me....”
Before she can answer, Chan and Mingyu appear beside you, taking the spare seats at your table and leaving Seungcheol and Soonyoung to hold court with the fans themselves.
“You managed to tear yourself away then?”
“I can’t help the adoring fans babe,” Mingyu says happily, stealing a swig of Jieun’s drink. “I’ve got a surprise. Jeonghan managed to get a private tour of the Sistine Chapel for just me and you. What do you say?”
Jieun’s face lights up at the prospect of spending quality time with her boyfriend away from the prying eyes of the fans.
“You don’t mind _____?”
“Of course not! Go! Have fun!”
They rush out of their seats, keeping a healthy distance away from each other that you know kills them to do. If it was up to them, they’d be attached at the hip.
So that leaves you with the finger sucker.
“Are you enjoying Rome?”
His smile is almost as bright as the Italian sun and you see no sense in holding anything against him.
“I am! I loved the Colosseum, it’s really great you guys let us come to those things with you. A lot of artists wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re basically part of the team _____, of course you’d come with us. Did Vernon tell you about Woozi’s proposal? You two being in house producers rather than just here for the new album?”
Vernon had mentioned that to you, both of you were stoked because it would finally mean knowing that you had security around your job. Sure, producers get paid a decent amount, you’re more than comfortable in life, but that can all change in a day. Things change, trends change and before you know it, you’re not an in-demand producer anymore.
The contract with Shadow would mean guaranteed job security, producing together when you all get back home but also still having that option to tour with them too. It was more than appealing and Vernon had left the final decision down to you.
And you really wanted to commit. But there was something holding you back that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“He did, we’re still thinking about it.”
“You don’t like working with us?” the disappointment in his voice makes you feel absolutely horrible.
“It’s not that, this has been the best job I’ve ever had. Vernon too. It’s just a big commitment, you know?”
He just nods, playing with his fingers and looking round the café pretty awkwardly.
“I er.....I got you something?”
“Is it another cake?”
“No. Do you want a cake? I could find a cake! This café must sell cakes. Fuck, I left my phone with Jeonghan, do you know how to ask for cake in Italian?”
“Chan,” you lean forward, hand resting on his forearm, “I was joking, like about the cake you brought the other night?”
“Oh!” he glances down at your hand causing you to pull it back quickly, “fuck I’m so stupid, of course you were joking. You must think I’m so annoying, never getting your jokes.”
“I think you’re incredible.”
No.
WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?! Once again, your mouth is bigger than your brain and you somehow let your inner most thoughts run wild.
You look away, pretending to take a particular interest in two pigeons fighting over a stray piece of focaccia, not noticing the wide smile on his face as he gazes at you.
His small clearing of his throat captures your attention back though.
“I got you something.” He says it quietly, like he doesn’t want the rest of the world to know your secrets.
In reality he probably just doesn’t want a nosey fan to notice and think this is something that it isn’t.
“You don’t have to keep giving me things, Chan.”
He falters slightly as he reaches into his pocket but he calms slightly when he realises your kind smile is showing you’re not annoyed by the gifts. You’re just being your usual modest self.
“So, there was this stall in one of the side streets. And I saw this. Well these. And I thought they were cute, so I got them.”
From his pocket he pulls a pair of thin woven bracelets, both matching and both with a small charm interwoven into it with a gold heart.
“I thought,” he slides one over to you, keeping the other one safely in his hands, “that I could keep one and you could have one? When I saw them, I remembered you saying that your favourite colour was red and well, mine is blue, and with these being red and blue....I just thought they’d suit us really well.”
You desperately try not to squeal like a school girl who’s just been handed a daisy by her first crush. But he is your crush and he’s just handed you something far more meaningful than a daisy. And he even remembered your favourite colour!
“Really? Chan that’s so sweet of you,” you pick up the bracelet like it’s the most priceless piece of jewellery in the world. But to you, it is. “Could you help me put it on?”
“Sure,” his hands are delicate when he takes the bracelet from you and gently wraps it round your wrist, tying the knot tight enough that it’ll never come off. Something Chan hopes is true.
“Should I?” you point to the other bracelet still in his hand.
“Oh! Please!” he holds out his arm excitedly, eyes following your movements closely as your fingers brush his wrist and you double knot the bracelet.
You both giggle to each other when you pull on the knot, making sure it’s tied tight enough to never leave his wrist.
“Perfect.”
“Yeah.”
You both gaze down out your wrists, silly smiles on your lips and hearts pounding.
“Who are you texting so frantically?” Vernon asks you as he leans against an amp, head bopping to the heavy thud of the song currently being performed.
“Wonwoo.”
“Could you remind him to go and water my plants.”
You lower your phone, eyes narrowing at an unbothered Vernon.
“We’ve been on this tour for three months. This is the first time you’ve mentioned your plants.”
“Yeah,” he dismisses you, playing air guitar along with Chan and Soonyoung, “but I told him before we left home.”
“And have you reminded him?”
“Nah, I’ve only spoken to him once, to tell him about that incredible girl in Brazil who let me fuck her ass.”
This is the problem with having male friends. They’re all men.
He isn’t even paying attention to you, he’s too busy hopping along the side stage whilst he pretends to play the guitar solo. So you go back to your important debating with your best friend.
You: Do you think it’s a friendship bracelet or a something more bracelet?
Wonwoo: I don’t know, why don’t you fly home then we can brush each other’s hair, paint our toenails and discuss this boring fucking bracelet
You: Will you please help me? I’m spiralling here
Wonwoo: 🙄 well I’ve been your best friend since we were four and I’ve never wanted to buy you a bracelet
You: You’ve never bought me anything
Wonwoo: A lie. I bought you dinner four years ago on your birthday
You: You only did that because Chae made you feel bad for never buying me a birthday present
Wonwoo: Whatever. If I was going to buy a bracelet for someone, it’d only be for Chae. And considering she’s the love of my life, I think that answers your question
You stare at your phone. For the first time in your long friendship, Wonwoo has done the impossible. He’s helped.
You: OMG so you think he likes me?!!!!!
Wonwoo: Nah, I’m not going this bullshit. I’ve given you my opinion, do what you will with it
You: Fine😒 Oh! And Vernon wants to know if you’ve watered his plants
Wonwoo: No.
Well that answers that.
Every concert is the same. They rush off stage, discard the panties that have been thrown at them, you all dodge Mingyu’s sweaty towel and then Chan hovers a little so he can walk backstage with you.
But tonight is different. He’s walking slightly ahead of you with one of the stylists, giggling at something she’s just said to him.
You adjust your face, realising you’re glaring at the back of their heads and hope nobody noticed. This is fine. He’s allowed to talk to other people. He didn’t just give her a bracelet that matches the one that he’s wearing. You hate that you make an extra effort to catch sight of his wrist, making sure he is wearing the bracelet. And thankfully, he is.
“Drinks?” Vernon puts his arm over your shoulder, strutting at the side of you.
“Vernon. Do you not get bored of all this drinking and whoring yourself about?”
“It makes me happy. Maybe if you did it a bit more then you’d be happy!”
How rude. He’s such an asshole.
“I am happy!”
“You might want to tell your face dude.”
“Fuck off Vernon. Is it the hotel bar?” you stare at Chan picking a stray hair off the stylist’s shoulder. No doubt he wouldn’t fall asleep on her. Your eyes wander down, her ass isn’t anything to write home about, surely it wasn’t her ass that he was mumbling about in his sleep.
Fuck you need to get a grip.
Maybe Wonwoo was wrong. It is a friendship bracelet. How would Wonwoo even know anything about these things, he’d still be sat at home playing games in his underwear if Chae hadn’t asked him out. Now they sit at home and play games in their underwear together and they’re annoyingly happy. Not like you. You’re going to be a spinster for the rest of your life, destined to only ever befriend men and never be loved by one.
“It is! See you there....or not, party pooper!” your eyes snap away from the stylists ass and back to Vernon.
But he doesn’t wait, he rushes off to catch up with Cheol and Soonyoung, the three them having become wingmen to each other over the tour.
You’re too busy looking anywhere other than Chan and his soon to be wife stylist so you don’t notice when you crash into something. The very somethings you were trying to ignore.
“Oh! Hey......”
“Sorry.” You don’t let him finish, you ignore his not doubt pitying smile and walk around them, marching off towards the tour bus. The band all ride in Bentleys between the venues and hotel so you know you won’t have to see him until the hotel. Hopefully they have a lovely ride together whilst you ride the bus with Vernon and the other muggles.
You’re drunk. Well not drunk. Just jolly? You’re still only seeing one of everything so you’re not drunk drunk. But it’s definitely about the right time to get some air.
The trouble is you’ve no idea where air is. So instead you decide to call it at night and head back to your room. You’d cramped Vernon’s style for long enough and to be honest you were starting to feel a little uncomfortable when his new lady friend started insinuating the three of you should head back to Vernon’s room. You’re not adverse to a threesome you don’t think, but you’d rather perform in front of a stadium naked than see Vernon naked.
You exit the elevator deciding to skip to your room, because why the hell not? You’re young, free and perpetually single, why not enjoy the little joys in life?
“Where are you skipping off to?”
Oh. Fuck why is he on this floor, shouldn’t he be where the suites are?
“Back to my room,” you spin around, feeling pretty proud that you don’t wobble. “Goodnight!”
“Wait!” he reaches for your arm, stopping you from skipping away from him. “Are we ok?” his eyes flick down to your wrist, checking you’ve got your bracelet on.
“Sure! Whose ass do you like?”
Ok, so maybe you are a little drunk considering how loose your lips are.
“Pardon?”
“The other night, when you fell asleep on me. You mumbled someone had a great ass. Whose ass is so great that you’re thinking about it when you’re literally lying on someone else?”
He looks at you in horror. Well. There’s your answer then.
You turn away, deciding you don’t much feel like skipping now. A loud stomp is probably preferable.
“I didn’t think it had happened. I thought it was a dream.”
His soft voice stops you in your tracks.
“You didn’t think you’d fallen asleep on me when we were making out?”
“I’m really sorry _____. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Wow. He doesn’t know what he was thinking making out with you?!
“It’s ok.” You pout, “we don’t have to mention it again. Do you want the friendship bracelet back?” you look down at your wrist wondering how you’re even going to take it off.
“What?! No! It’s not a..... Can we talk?” He sounds desperate and you hate that. Even now, you only want him to be happy.
“My room is somewhere along here,” you squint, trying to read the room numbers in the distance.
“You’re on the wrong floor, my room is along this corridor.”
“Oh.” You stand up straight, looking around, “is this where the royalty stays?” You whisper to him.
“They may do sometimes. At the moment it’s just us and Mingyu and Jieun watching The Notebook. I left when he started crying.”
“She’s very hot. They’re a very hot couple. So are you and the lady with the clothes. The er.......stylist! The stylist.” You nod, very proud with your extensive tipsy vocabulary.
You wander off towards his room but pretty quickly realise you’ve no idea where his room actually is. You presume he’s walking near you but when you turn around, he’s staring at you in disgust, exactly where you left him.
“What stylist?”
“The one you walked with after the concert,” you say with a pout that breaks Chan’s heart, “I had to walk on my own because Wonwoo got it wrong.”
“Who’s Wonwoo?”
“My best friend. And a stupid man. A big old stupid man with a big old stupid girlfriend because everyone has someone and I have someone who snores on my head. Who it turns out isn’t mine but the dress lady,” you ignore a baffled looking Chan, whilst you think about what you’ve just said, “OH MY GOD AM I THE OTHER WOMAN?! DID YOU KISS ME WHEN YOU’RE WITH THE DRESS LADY?! Oh my god!”
You start pacing, hand on your forehead, falling deeper and deeper into a spiral of shame.
You stop and look at him in disgust.
“You just go around sucking people’s fingers when you’re dating a lady with dresses?!”
“I’ve no idea what is currently happening here but I will say, we don’t wear dresses, she generally has leather jeans and ripped t-shirts.”
“WHAT?!”
Chan decides he doesn’t care what’s happening at the moment, he just needs to get you into his room before you start actually having a full-scale breakdown.
“Come on.” He pulls you towards his suite.
“You’re not sucking my fingers.” You say sternly as he pulls you towards his room. “I don’t care how pretty you are. I am not the other woman.”
“I don’t want to suck your fingers.” He mumbles, looking round hoping there’s no stray fans or photographers around who may have snuck into the hotel.
“Why?! What’s wrong with my fingers?!” You pull your arm from his hand.
“You’ll see what’s wrong with my fingers if you don’t stop being such a fucking brat!!!”
If you weren’t so embarrassed at how your pussy tingled at him calling you a brat, you’d notice just how much he’s trying not to smile at your wide-eyed look of horror mixed with the way your thighs rubbed together slightly.
“Move.”
He scans his key card and opens the door for you to walk through.
“Ok, Mr Rockstar,” you grumble sarcastically.
That proves to be a step too far for Chan, the door closes behind him as he follows you into his suite and his palm connects with your ass with a sharp slap.
“Wh....”
You don’t get chance to finish your sentence. He pushes you, albeit gently, against the wall and cages you in with his hands either side of your head.
This Chan is far removed from the one who shyly gave you the bracelet.
“That stylist is a friend. She’s worked with us since we first got signed.”
“You just slapped my ass.” You whisper, almost in wonder that him.
“And I’ll do it again if you don’t start fucking opening your eyes. This whole thing has been so stupid, I’ve been worried about telling you this whole time, too shy to get it wrong. I should’ve just told you.”
“Told me what?”
His eyes search yours, like he’s now wondering if this is the right time but he can’t see any point in holding this back any longer. There’s not much time left on the tour and you’re clearly upset with him because of his mixed signals and lack of clarity.
“I like you.”
Silence. Why aren’t you talking to him? You just glare at him and to be honest, he’s second guessing himself.
“But you snored on my chin.”
He smiles, he can’t help it, you’re too cute with your pretty pout and eyes that try to remain stoic.
“I did. And I was a fucking idiot for doing that, I was drunk and I’d been so worried about trying to tell you. Seungcheol told me to get you stuff to show you, so that’s why I paid that bar man for the cart.”
“You bought that cart? Why didn’t you tell me?! I just left it there, I don’t know how we’d even get it on the plane....”
“No, I paid him to rent it from him.”
“How much?”
“2000.”
“WHAT?!”
“I don’t care how much it was, you’re worth it,” you try to hide your smile at that, “but I was so fucking nervous and then you were literally under me, and my mind was spinning and I just conked out. I’m really sorry. I remembered everything on the plane, and I’ve not been able to forgive myself since.”
“So, it wasn’t a childhood dream?”
“No,” he snorts, “my dream was to play my guitar for screaming fans and then head home and fuck the perfect woman each night.”
“My dream was to marry Legolas.” You grin.
He bites his lips trying desperately not to laugh at you.
“Fuck I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want you to not remember it in the morning.”
“I’m not drunk!” you say it far too quickly, “I sobered up a bit when you spanked me. Oh! And by the way it wasn’t the snoring that pissed me off....Well it did. Do you know how fucking close I was? And you just fall asleep! So fucking annoying”
Ok maybe you are still a little drunk, but you’re definitely in the right head space to know exactly what you want.
“You’re so cute when you ramble on like that. Fuck the other day when you were excitedly telling everyone about how your new microphone is the best on the market for recording live music, I couldn’t take my eyes off you, so fucking annoying that everyone else gets to see you being so fucking cute.”
“It is a really good mic, if you do all decide to record a live album, I’ll let you borrow it if you like. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to buy one if you’re throwing money around like you did on hiring that food cart.”
“Heeey!” he whines, hands still either side of your head, “I was nervous! And Cheol told me to show you!”
You just gaze at him, admiring how his lips move when he talks and how his eyes shine brightly when he looks at you. And now you know he likes you, just how you like him, you can’t hold yourself back anymore.
“So, about that kissing?”
“What about it?” he moves so his face is dangerously close to yours.
“I’m not drunk.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh! Actually! Could I just check one more thing before the kissing?”
“Go on.” He chuckles.
“The bracelet, is it a friendship bracelet? Or is it an ‘I like you’ bracelet? Or a ‘sorry I fell asleep when you were so close to cumming for the first time in weeks’ bracelet?”
“Weeks?”
“I left my toy in Mumbai and fingers just don’t cut it.”
“Is that a challenge?” He pushes himself right up against your body and you swear you’re close to physically swooning for the rock star in front of you.
“It might be. It depends on the bracelet.” You shrug, doing your best nonchalant act.
“It’s an ‘I’m so far gone in my crush for you that I cried in the shower when I thought I’d fucked this all up’ bracelet.”
“Wow. Lucky they had such a specific bracelet in stock!”
“Do you have any other admin?”
You think about it.
“Nope. I think I’m all good for the kissing.”
“Fucking finally.”
He grabs your cheeks in his hand and pulls your lips to his, moving them against your own with so much force you’re a little taken a back. This is the complete opposite from the half assed drooly making out of a few nights ago, now you need to bring your a-game.
Your arms wrap around his neck, lips moving feverishly together, his whole body pinning you the wall as he quickly moves his hands from the wall and onto your waist. His tongue bullies its way into your mouth and finally you feel that little tongue piercing properly. It’s a weird feeling, something so hard when everything else is so soft and wet but fuck does it feel incredible as your tongue swirls around his.
He alternates between long, drawn-out kisses where you feel like you’re barely able to catch your breath and teasing little pecks. Each time he does it you chase his lips, annoyed that he’d remove his tongue from your more than willing mouth, but that only seems to egg him on even more. He chuckles every time you whine but eventually, he gives it up and trails wet, warm kisses down your neck, pulling your t-shirt to the side a little then he can mark your collar bone with a sweet stinging kiss.
Your hands travel down his torso, nails scraping along the fabric of his ripped shirt that shows his biceps so nicely but this seems to be the thing that stops him.
“Wait,” he pulls back, hands stopping yours now they’ve reached his belt buckle, “how drunk are you?”
His eyes check over your features, trying to see if you are actually drunk or just a little tipsy but all he finds are angry eyes and kiss bitten lips that he wants to feel against his for as long as you’ll let him.
“I’m not drunk! I just needed to let loose because I thought I’d read the signals wrong!”
“I just don’t want this to seem like I’m taking advantage!”
“Seriously, are you just really into edging because this is getting fucking ridiculous. Move,” you try to shove past him, “I’ll go find someone at the bar or maybe Seungcheol will take pity on me or something.”
Wrong thing to say. His eyes flash with something dangerous and he pulls you towards the bed, making you sit down on it.
“You want this?”
He stands in front of you, the perfect image of a rock n roll star, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and waits for whatever smart ass remark you have for him. But to his surprise, you’re so in awe of the man in front of you, that all you can do is nod and almost drool at the sight.
“Words _____.”
“I want this.”
“What are you doing?!”
He ignores you, just makes you stand up and starts taking your clothes off slowly, treating like you’re so delicate you might break. Your t-shirt and jeans are thrown somewhere near the bed, and he pauses for a second to look at you.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
You can’t help it, the way he was moving so slowly, so thoughtfully, you thought it would be a bit more poetic than hot and so you start laughing, which thankfully he joins in with.
“Can we take everything off?”
“We? You seem pretty overdressed.”
“And I’m staying that way. Can we take those fucking silly little panties off? They’re not covering much anyway.”
You glance down at the thong you’re wearing. You don’t normally wear a pink lace thong day to day, but this tour has been going on three months, and you’ve somehow left each city with less underwear and socks than you arrived with.
You’ve no idea what he’s planning or why he’s keeping his clothes on, but you trust him and so you quickly take your panties and bra off and throw them with your other clothes.
His hand finds yours, a kind smile playing on his lips as he sits on the edge of the bed and shuffles back a little.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see, come here.” He pats the spot between his legs, making you sit between them so you’re both facing the same way.
That’s when you see it, how you didn’t notice it when he launched you onto the bed the first time, you don’t know.
A mirror. Right at the end of the bed, floor to ceiling and reflecting a very smug looking Chan and a very shy looking you.
“You’re not so chatty now?” He ponders into your ear. “Is this all ok?”
You’re not entirely sure. You’re dripping at the prospect of whatever he’s about to do and it isn’t that you hate your body, you just never considered what it’d be like to see yourself like this. You glance at Chan in the mirror, his eyes full of that same gentleness that you’re used to but you realise you don’t want that gentleness, not right now, you want whatever glint was in his eyes when he had you pinned against the wall a few minutes ago.
“It’s ok.” You make sure you look into his eyes, you don’t want any more questioning from him about whether you truly want this. You’ve spent months dreaming about having him and now you do, you aren’t going to ignore the growing need between your legs.
He kisses your cheek and then reaches round, places a hand on either thigh and slowly opens your legs so they rest either side of his spread legs, your whole pussy presented to him.
“Fuck,” he stares at your dripping pussy. Your legs are spread so wide that he can see ever tiny detail of you, “you’re stunning _____. Such a pretty fucking pussy.” He nibbles your ear a little, making your hips twitch between his thighs.
You want to look at him, to see his handsome features and blown out pupils but you can’t drag your eyes away from your pussy, leaking just for him. His fingers dance up your right thigh, hovering over your needy core.
If you were paying any attention you’d see that he stops for a few seconds, just to make sure that you want this. But all he finds is your eyes transfixed by his fingers, licking your lips and almost struggling not to shift yourself a little closer to his fingers, to finally get some relief.
Chan stares in the mirror, his fingers spreading your open even further, your hole leaking and breathing ragged, the feel of his fingers on you making your heart hammer in your ears.
“So wet for me,” his middle and ring finger apply pressure to your clit making your head lull back onto his shoulder, a breathy moan leaving you from how that simple contact makes your world spin, “its just for me, isn’t _____? All the bullshit about Cheol was just you being dramatic effect wasn’t it?”
You might be wetter than you’ve ever been and you might want this more than anything, but you’re determined to get him back for falling asleep and so you don’t reply. You close your eyes and try to not moan at how fucking incredible his fingers feel on you.
Chan glances at you in the mirror before actually looking at you face to face. And panic sets in.
“______?”
He shakes you a little.
“_____?!”
You can’t help it, you giggle into his ear, eyes snapping open and finding his appalled ones.
“Are you serious?!”
“It isn’t nice is it Mr Rock Star.”
Your hole clenches around nothing when he glares at you, tongue in his cheek like he’s thinking of the best way to get you back.
“Look in the mirror.”
It isn’t a request, it’s an order and you hurry to obey it. You’d literally do anything for him at this point. Within reason, obviously.
He waits for a few seconds, your body shaking a little when his fingers come back down to rub light circles on your clit.
“Look at me.” Your eyes snap to his in the mirror.
SLAP.
“Fuck,” you moan loudly, hips jolting as his hand slaps your pussy, the wetness of it making it sound even harder than it was.
“Lesson learnt?” he rubs your pussy with his hand softly, soothing the stinging.
You smirk at him, his eyes flashing darkly when he realises just how into that you were.
“You like hearing me slap your pretty wet cunt? Like how pathetic it sounds when everyone can hear how wet you are from just my fingers?”
“So much,”
Slap. A pause. Another slap but this time he pinches your nipple too and you throw your head back onto him, the sting on your pussy making your leak even more for him.
This time though he doesn’t soothe the sting by rubbing you, he simply plunges his two fingers into your tight little hole and starts pummelling them in and out of you quickly.
Your wetness rings around the room, his fingers stretching you open whilst you babble away on his shoulder, head spinning too much to even form any thoughts to tell him just how incredible his fingers feel.
“Shit _____, you’re leaking all over my hand. Your pretty pussy trying to show me just how desperate you’ve been for me?”
“Mm-mm” you nod, eyes fixed on his fingers as they fuck in and out of you.
His eye catches yours and the sight of his cocky smile as your lean on him, legs spread, the back of your thighs clinging to the leather jeans makes you clench down on his fingers.
“Are you close?”
“Yeah,” you moan, hole clenching again and again as your high nears.
“What was it you accused me of?” his palm slams down on your clit as his fingers keep their frantic pace, you’re literally seconds away from cumming all over his hand, you’re not even listening to him anymore, your pussy is making enough noise for you, “That I just really like edging people?”
What?
“NO!!” his hand leaves your cunt, both of his hands instead massaging your tits and pinching your nipples as your orgasm sails away from you, your cunt aching and leaking even more, “Chan no please don’t do that please just carry on!!”
“I am, see baby look, I’m playing with your pretty tits”
Your indignant huff only makes him giggle before he nips your earlobe again.
“I’ll do it myself then.”
“I thought your fingers didn’t cut it?”
“You know for someone who was so sorry you’re being a real assh....”
SLAP.
Your whole body shakes, the slap to your clit almost pushing you over the edge.
His fingers slam back into your oozing cunt, your greedy pussy swallowing his fingers gladly as he hits your g spot again and again.
This is it, this is what you need. His nimble fingers are hammering into you, his palm back on your clit applying pressure and moving every time his fingers fuck themselves back into you.
Your orgasm is coming on quick, you swear he must have magic in those fingers. It’s not like you didn’t know, the man is a guitar god but it turns out, he plays your pussy far better than he plays any instrument.
“Fuck,” you clamp down on him when you remember you’re sitting in front of a mirror and look to find his hand literally glistening in your essence.
His other hand gropes your tit, pinching your nipple between his thumb and finger and tugging on it a little. Fuck you’re so close, just a couple more strokes and......
“NOO!! WHY?!” you’re crying at this point, why is he being so fucking mean?!
Your pussy is almost painful, you could feel yourself about to cum, that perfect high just teetering on the edge, why does he keep doing this?!
“Tell me it’s mine. Tell me you’re mine. None of that bullshit about the bar and Cheol.”
“Just do something!” You plead, you’re not even with it enough to understand what he’s saying to you. You just need to cum. Now.
“Whose.” A little slap to your cunt. “Pussy.” Another. “Is this?”
Each small slap makes your whole body jolt, the pressure edging you more and more as it stings so fucking nicely.
“It’s yours,” you sniffle, kissing his cheek hoping being kind to him might make him finally let you cum. “It’s only yours Chan, I promise.”
“Fuck,” he sighs, forehead resting on your shoulder, “I’ve waited so long to hear that.”
His fingers finally enter their new home, hitting your g-spot straight away and palm back on your clit. Your poor pussy is dribbling away, his hands and legs are wet, the bed is wet and it’s all because your cunt can’t control itself around him. His fingers just feel too good against your warm, wet walls.
“Please, fuck that f-feels so good,”
Your nails dig into his arm as you cling onto him. The pressure building is like nothing you’ve ever felt and you feel almost dizzy as you get closer and closer. If he stops again this time you will probably actually faint in his arms.
Your cunt is clenching, you’re leaking everywhere and all you can feel is your body shaking every time his finger tips greet your cervix.
“So g-good.... Fuck, g-gonna cum”
Your whole body shakes in his arms, cunt trying to keep his fingers permanently inside you you’re clenched around him so hard. Tears fall down your cheeks, electricity flowing through you and if you weren’t still digging your nails into him, you’d bet good money that you’re floating right now.
Chan’s fingers are covered in the creamy release you’ve gifted him and he doesn’t even need to keep fingering you. He just watches in the mirror as you fuck yourself on his fingers, riding your high out. It might just be one of the single most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life.
He decides there and then that you’re it for him. He already knew it. But now he really knows it. You’re a fucking goddess and he’s lucky enough to get to have you like this.
Your hips slow, your body feeling almost numb from your orgasm and Chan wraps his arms around you, keeping you close to him and making sure you know he’s there. You giggle a little when he keeps kissing your neck and cheek, he’s definitely back to sweet, caring Chan.
“You’re really mean, you know that?” You smile at him, head resting on his shoulder as you gaze at him. “I don’t think I’ve got the energy for more.”
“I don’t need more. I didn’t want more. I mean I do,” he rushes to say when he sees the hurt on your face, “but I know you’ve had a bit to drink, I don’t doubt you’re not totally drunk but I wouldn’t have felt right having you do something to me or us having sex. I wanted to make you feel good. That’s why I kept my clothes on, I didn’t want to tempt anything.”
Fuck he’s so perfect.
“But you do want to? Sometime?”
His hard dick against your ass would suggest he does. But it doesn’t hurt to clarify things.
“I do.” He smiles, kissing your lips quickly, “I really like you _____. So, so much.” He kisses you again.
“Can I stay in your room tonight?”
“Like I’d even give you an option.” He snickers, fingers running along your bracelet as you look at him through the mirror.
“I’m sorry I was grumpy with you.”
“In a weird way I’m pleased, you being jealous was the final clue I needed that you liked me too.”
His eyes stay on your bracelet, but you note he’s got a worried look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I didn’t check enough before we, you know.....started. Was it too much, the edging and everything? I didn’t hurt you?”
If you’re honest with yourself, edging has never been something you were interested in. You’re too impatient. But knowing how fucking incredible that orgasm just was, you won’t say no if he wants to do it again.
“It was perfect Chan. Really perfect.”
How can he be so cute after being the complete opposite? He might actually be the most wonderful human being you’ve ever met.
“Come on, let’s get washed and changed, I’ll lend you something to wear. We’ve got important business to get on with.”
“What?”
Why is he smiling? He can’t want to record a song right now?
“I’ve been thinking of going blonde, I need some help with how to do it and ordering some hair dye. Will we need bleach?”
What the fuck is he even talking about?
“Are you seriously thinking about your hair right now?”
“Well. You said you wanted to marry Legolas. I’m not proposing but if elves are your thing I can definitely dye it blonde and grow it out.”
What a fucking idiot.
“Bold of you to think you could compete with Legolas. You’re more of a Gimli.”
You rush off the bed before he realises what you’ve said, cackling when he chases after you, telling you that you’ll pay for that.
Paris. 6 days till tour ends
It came as no shock to anyone when you and Chan turned up to breakfast together, both in his sweats and looking very pleased with yourselves. Well. Except maybe Vernon who seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that you liked Chan. Or that he liked you. Although to be fair, Vernon is oblivious to most things unless they have strings and he can play them. Or they’re in a skirt and he can play.
Things felt exactly the same and yet entirely different. It wasn’t like you could walk around the airport holding hands or anything, there was no way Chan could be so open about even being around woman, let alone being with them. But knowing that he liked you was enough.
Little smiles were exchanged as you walked past each other when crowds were around. Lingering touches made your working day all the brighter between recordings, when you hoped no one was watching. It was all more incredible than you could’ve imagined.
Chan had spent most of the flight between Rome and Paris planning where you’d eat and when exactly to go to the Eiffel Tower so it was all lit up for your cheesy photo in front of it. He was insistent you had to have this fancy hot chocolate he’d seen online and then you’d go wandering through the less busy streets, hopefully away from over eager fans, and have crêpes by the Seine.
And you did do that. But the crêpes by the Seine were cut short when Chan hadn’t read up about certain habits of French men. And so when one such man freely wandered past the bench you were sitting on and started peeing, Chan covered both of your eyes very dramatically and your crêpes landed on the ground. But other than the peeing man, it was perfect.
Your rest days had been spent in a whirlwind of romance. Flowers were in your room, room service kept bringing you things he’d ordered for you whilst he was at interviews and other schedules and he’d even managed to skip a fashion show he didn’t want to go to so you could go and watch a film at an old retro cinema.
And now you find yourself back stage waiting for them to finish their performance in the penultimate city of the tour. The girls scream and Chan head bangs as he plays his fourth guitar solo of the night. It’s amazing. Just like it always is.
“_____!”
You jump when Jeonghan shouts you over to him but happily wander over. You like Jeonghan, he’s far more chilled about things than Woozi. Woozi had nearly had a heart attack two days ago when he found not one, but three women in Seungcheol’s bed with him and Soonyoung in the bathtub with a couple he’d picked up at one of the local clubs.
“What’s up?”
“I just need you to sign this.”
He places a couple of stapled pieces of paper onto an amp in front of you, along with a pen.
“Oh, we haven’t decided if we’re taking the in-house producer job yet.” You smile at him.
“What?” he frowns at you. “Oh! No this isn’t about the job, although I really hope you take it, the guys seem to be so much more creative with you and Vernon. But no. This is the standard NDA. It’s just basic stuff, no speaking to the press, no social media posts explicitly saying Chan’s name or what may have happened, everything you’d expect.”
That’s where Jeonghan is wrong. This is not what you’d expect. In fact you hadn’t expected this at all. NDA’s are for when you need to make sure the quick fuck you had in the bathroom doesn’t tell the press. They aren’t for relationships where you care about and trust the other person.
“Why do I need to sign this?”
“You and Chan? You’ve slept together right?” He looks confused why you’re even questioning this. “It’s pretty standard, we get through hundreds of them every tour. Normally it’s trickier to make sure they’ve all done them, apart from Mingyu obviously. Jieun would cut his balls off if he ever did anything that warranted an NDA.” He chuckles.
You don’t know why he’s chuckling. None of this is very fucking funny. Hundreds? And it’s for all three of them? You don’t expect Chan to have never been with anyone on tour but “pretty standard”? Is this just what he does? He has a woman on the tour each time to make sure he gets his rocks off. Literally.
Is that all this is? Some tour romance to stop himself getting bored and making sure he gets laid? He’s left it pretty fucking late. Maybe you were the last resort. He’s probably pissed off you haven’t fucked yet. Just having to make do with a quick blow job before he went on stage. Your whole body feels like it’s been hit by a tsunami of shame and embarrassment.
“_____?” Jeonghan looks at you hopefully, now holding the pen out for you. He needs this done, the show will be over soon and they’ve a huge meet and greet to get done.
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”
You take the pen from him, scribble what you hope looks like your signature, you wouldn’t know you’re not paying attention, and walk off towards the stadium exit.
Jeonghan doesn’t pay attention to where you go or even if you go. He needs to make sure everything is ready for the meet and greet. And Vernon is flirting with one of the make up artists so he isn’t paying attention.
You can’t face the tour bus. And you don’t care about whether Chan will look for you after the show. Hell, if they’ve got so many NDAs, he can get another one signed by some fan from the meet and greet. You just want to get out of here.
You manage to hail a cab and you’re on your way to the hotel before the last song even starts.
So much for Paris being the city of love.
Berlin. Two days till tour ends
Wonwoo: Even Vernon has messaged me saying he’s worried about you, you need to leave your room _____
You: I don’t. The album is done, we’re in the last city and tonight was the second to last show. There’s only one more show in Berlin again and then I can come home and join a conevnt
Wonwoo: You wouldn’t suit the wimple
You: True
Wonwoo: That was a joke _____. Fuck you really are depressed
You: I just thought it meant something. I thought for once I found someone who really liked me
Wonwoo: I try not to pay attention to this shit but from what you told me, he does like you
You: Yeah. Me and the other hundreds of people who have signed NDAs
Wonwoo: Didn’t you say that one of them woke up with multiple people the other day?
You: Yeah Cheol had like three women in his bed and Soonyoung had a married couple
Wonwoo: Well there you go, you’re already up to five NDAs just for one night!
You: But Jeonghan specifically said it was all of them but Mingyu
Wonwoo: Right so you expect Chan to have been a virgin?
You: What?! No!
Wonwoo: If two people are using five NDAs in a night, that doesn’t mean he is. Sure he may have gotten through a few but he’s the biggest rockstar in the world _____, he’s going to have fucked the odd person on tour
You: I guess. I don’t know, I just thought NDAs were for one night stands. I don’t want it to be that. What if that’s all he thinks this is?
Wonwoo: You’re not going to know that unless you talk to him. You need to man the fuck up
You: Says the man who sent his old internet provider a cookie selection when you decided to leave
Wonwoo: Hey!! Seungkwan in the call centre was nearly crying when I told him I wanted to cancel that contract. It’s a very deep rooted relationship between a man and his internet provider. I told him if they couldn’t offer me super fast broadband I’d have to leave and he just couldn’t provide what I needed
Wonwoo: I still think about him sometimes
Wonwoo: The sadness in his voice when we said our final goodbye
Wonwoo: He deserved those cookies
You: Are you done?
Wonwoo: With your avoidance issues? Yes
You: I don’t want to talk to him because I don’t want to hear that this was only ever for the tour. If I don’t hear it, it still means something
Wonwoo: Fucking hell. This isn’t Jane Austen. Just talk to him! And tell Vernon you’re ok. He’s currently experiencing feelings other than indifference and horniness and it’s unsettling him
You: Do you think I’m unlovable?
Wonwoo: You’re fucking dramatic
You: So that’s a yes
Wonwoo: You’re not unlovable _____. You’re my best friend which I think suggests you must be pretty incredible. I would never be friends with a loser
You: That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me
Wonwoo: And yet I’d still trade you if it meant I could make Seungkwan in the call centre happy
You: Fuck off Wonwoo
The knock on the door sounds for your room service. You hadn’t seen anyone since you made it to the hotel and you’d sat on your own on the private jet, pretending to be asleep with your headphones on. The chaos that always comes with being with Shadow at the airport meant you managed to get away from Chan and the others pretty easily without making it too obvious.
Everyone had busy schedules and Jieun had flown home early because she had work, so you’d been pretty unbothered by people trying to check in on you. That is until Vernon realised he hadn’t heard from you in two days and started to panic that he’d forgotten you in Paris. Chan had rung and text you frequently but when he realised you weren’t going to answer him, he stopped.
You know you’re probably being dramatic but you’re just so certain that you’ve got this wrong. That it was just the thrill of the chase allowing him to avoid the boredom of the tour. But then you keep looking down at the bracelet that you can’t bring yourself to take off and you heart hopes that it means something, that he does truly care for you.
You open the door to find a pretty confused looking waitress, holding your food on a tray and looking to the side in a slight panic.
You follow her eyes and almost jump out of your own skin when you see a pissed off looking Chan stood beside your door.
“Danke Schön.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he hands the perplexed looking room service waitress a wad of euros.
You watch as he takes the tray off her and she walks off looking completely baffled by what’s just happened.
“Why are you paying her when I ordered that food?”
“You didn’t. I did. I ordered it and told them I wanted to be here when it arrived. Said I’d pay them extra because what I wanted wasn’t on the menu.”
“No.” You frown at him, taking the plastic cloche off your club sandwich, “I ordered this twenty minutes ago.”
Chan stares at the tray in front of him. That’s not the steak and slice of cake he ordered. A club fucking sandwich isn’t going to make your heart flutter when you recall his room service cart from Hong Kong. They only had cheap cuts of steak, he’d asked them to specifically go and buy the fanciest steak they could.
“Well why have I just paid that woman?”
“I don’t fucking know. Can I have my sandwich please?”
“No.”
You gawk at him. He’s seriously going to hold your poor club sandwich hostage?
“I’m hungry. Give me my sandwich.”
You try to take it off him, but he just ends up yanking it away from you and spills your soda all over the sandwich and himself.
“Oh nice one dufus!”
He doesn’t answer you. Just puts the tray down near the door for someone to collect, walks past you and into your room. Throwing his wet t-shirt onto the floor as he goes.
What the hell has just happened? How have you gone from being hungry and upset? To hungry and fucking pissed off in the space of a minute?
“Get out of my room Chan!” You march up to him, desperately trying to not get distracted by his body on full display to you.
“No. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why have you locked yourself in this room?”
“Because I don’t want to see anyone!”
“Was this all just a fling for you? You finally get what you want and then ditch me?!”
Wait. Shouldn’t that be what you say to him? That’s exactly how you’ve been feeling the past few days, why the hell is he insinuating that you’re the one in the wrong here.
“No, it wasn’t just a fling for me! It clearly is for you though! By the sounds of it this is just something you do all the time!”
His hand comes up to ruffle his hair slightly in annoyance, his bicep flexing and abs glistening from where the soda hit him and you will yourself to not get side tracked by just staring at the adonis in front of you.
“What do you mean? What happened between me telling you that I liked you and you becoming a fucking horrible person to me.”
Wow. If you didn’t already feel like shit, you sure do now.
“Jeonghan.”
“YOU FUCKED JEONGHAN?!”
“No I didn’t fuck Jeonghan. He made me sign an NDA.”
You fold your arms and wait for an explanation for this obvious betrayal.
“So?”
“SO?! He said you all get through hundreds of them every tour. I don’t want this to be just another fuck for you Chan. I thought it was more than that!”
“We do get through hundreds of them. Have you met Seungcheol and Soonyoung? Soonyoung has used two today. And yeah, I’ve had to have a couple signed but I won’t apologise for fucking people before I even knew you. Just like I wouldn’t want an explanation for anyone you’ve fucked in the past.”
“But they’re for things you want to forget? For things that mean nothing, that you’d rather people never know about. I don’t want to be that Chan. I want to be something more to you than a piece of paper.”
He stares at you, like everything over the past few days is finally making sense. He shouldn’t have let Jeonghan just blind side you with that NDA, he knows fans always joke about them and the whole idea has developed this bad reputation around them. But they protect you as much as they protect him.
“_____, they’re just standard for any relationship with any of us. Even my Grandma has signed one saying she won’t talk to the press about my life and she’s one of the people I trust most in the world. It’s just the company protecting us, and themselves and the people who sign them.”
Oh. You feel your whole body drop, like regret is physically weighing you down. You just presumed it meant something bad, like he was ashamed anything had happened and wanted to forget about it.
“I didn’t know that,” you mumble, looking at the ground instead of at him, ashamed about the way you’ve behaved towards him for the past few days.
“You not being there after these past two concerts broke me _____. Not even seeing you made me feel so on edge, like I couldn’t settle without knowing you were ok. I wish you’d have told me what had upset you.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I guess it’s just you’re such a big star and all these people literally would fall on their knees and worship you, it’s just hard believing that you want just a normal person. A normal relationship. I think,” you sigh, seeing no reason not to tell him everything, “I think that’s why I’ve been holding off making the decision about the permanent producing contract. It would hurt me so much to see you so often if this was just a tour thing. I really like you Chan, I thought…or I hoped, we’d be something more.”
“Hoped?”
“Well yeah,” you smile sadly, “I’ve fucked it all up now. I’m really sorry, for what it’s worth.”
You’re still looking anywhere but at him so when his tender hands hold your hips and bring you closer to him, it makes your startle.
“You haven’t fucked anything up. I’m hurt you didn’t trust me when I said I liked you. And I’m sad you’ve been feeling that way about the job. But I still want this _____. I still want you.”
“I feel like such an idiot. You did all those nice things for me, and I let a piece of paper ruin everything.”
“Stop saying you’ve ruined everything,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead lightly, “this is a crazy world you’ve stepped into. And if I hadn’t been so nervous, I could’ve shown you more clearly that I liked you. But you’re the one piece of normal in this chaos, being with you I just feel like a normal guy who can be himself and you don’t expect anything from me other than me just being me.”
“Well,” you huff out a laugh, finally wrapping your arms around his neck and looking at him, “I do expect a new sandwich, you’ve just ruined mine.”
“There she is,” he wraps his arms around you and holds you as close as he can, “there’s my overly sarcastic, yet annoyingly hot girlfriend.”
Did he? Did you even hear that right? You pull back to look at the mischievous man who’s holding you.
“Girlfriend?”
“It’s clause 228c in the NDA, ‘____ is hereby lawfully Dino’s, or Chan’s,girlfriend forever and ever as soon as she signs this contract.’. It’s all there baby, you should’ve read the small print.”
“Forever sounds good,” you smile before your lips find his.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
“Nooooooooo,” He whines, trying to keep you with him but failing.
“It could be important!”
“Fine,” he huffs, moving past you, “I’ll get it, it could be a murderer.”
“And you’re going to fight them off?”
“I’d do anything for you.”
Damn him for knowing how to fluster you. You just awkwardly nod and go to sit on the sofa whilst he confronts whichever murderer has decided to darken your door.
A small bang makes you jump and look over at him as he enters the room again.
“Oh this can’t be happening again?!”
“Hey, they brought the cart to me this time!” He grins as he wheels a room service cart into the room with two cloches on it and a covered ice bucket on the bottom shelf.
You stand up but unlike last time where you only thought about it, this time you wrap your arms around his back and rest your chin on his shoulder, giggling when he turns his head enough to kiss your temple.
“What’ve you got?”
“Steak, fries and chocolate cake.”
Not another fucking cake.
“Chan seriously we wasted so much of that cake!”
“Hold on little miss grumpy, it’s just a slice!” He pulls the cloche off and shows you the singular piece of cake.
“Thought of everything didn’t you?” You smile, kissing his neck and revelling in the goose bumps you see spring up straight away.
“I did,” he turns in your arms and holds you close to him to again, “I even got them to put a bottle of soda in the ice bucket instead of champagne, there’s no way I’m falling asleep tonight.”
You hope Chan never decides what he’s had enough of his tongue piercing. If he does you might cry for days. Your boyfriend’s head is between your thighs, the flat of his tongue running again and again over your clit, the little nub of metal in his mouth sending vibrations all through your body. It’s like the perfect mix of softness from his tongue but that extra thrill and pleasure you get from something hard like a vibrator, it is literally the best of both worlds.
He moans every time you pull his hair, wanting him as close to your pussy as physically possible. His fingers dig into your thighs, and he gladly obliges with your need to have him closer, shoving his face so far between your thighs that you’re sure he’s more or less suffocating. His tongue leaves your clit, twirling down to your hole and you cry out when you feel his tongue prodding your seeping cunt.
“Fuck!” the little ball on his tongue adds a whole new sensation, the roughness of it against your soft, wet pussy creating the perfect juxtaposition to make your head spin.
You grind your pussy up into his mouth, his tongue fucking in and out of you. The taste of you straight from the source making him moan more and more as his tongue gets faster and faster, the little ball on his tongue entering and re-entering you, softly scratching against your entrance whilst his nose rubs your clit.
“I’m so close…. Just. Fuck that’s amazing,” you can’t help it, you throw you head back babbling. After all the bullshit you put him through the past few days, he needs to know how good he’s being, how good he’s making you feel.
And it’s not like Chan doesn’t know, he can literally taste just how much you’re loving this. Your pussy keeps drooling into his eager mouth and he could spend hours between your legs if you let him. Your cunt clenches around his tongue every time his piercing scratches against an undiscovered little spot inside you and he just wants even more of you.
You completely lose your head though when he keeps the tip of his tongue inside you, just enough that the piercing is on your entrance, and starts whirling his tongue around in a circle whilst he leans into you and makes sure his nose is applying just the right amount of pressure on your clit.
Your whole body shakes, heat rising through you as your orgasm washes over you. You still feel the piercing on your clenching hole, if anything, it’s even more noticeable when you clamp down on his tongue. It’s like an itch almost, like that feeling when you finally reach an itch that’s been there for far too. It’s like no orgasm you’ve ever had, you physically need to keep grinding down onto him just to keep scratching that itch that his piercing is soothing.
It may be the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. Once Chan feels like you’re not griding down onto him anymore, he helps you ride out the very end of your high by making sure he tastes every last drop you’ve given him. His tongue kitten licks your pussy all over, your body twitching when the same piercing that just brought you that incredible high, now hurts a little on your clit and that is Chan’s sign that you’ve finally come back down to earth.
“Fucking hell,” you stare at the ceiling, body sweaty and exhausted.
Chan crawls up your body, pausing to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Is there anything that his damn piercing doesn’t improve? The hardness of it sends a thrill through you and yet the softness of his warm mouth around your pebbled nipple is soothing at the same time. He swirls his tongue around, sucking gently on it, until eventually letting it go with a pop and quickly moving onto the next one.
Your fingers scratch his scalp soothingly as he sucks on your nipple lovingly, your body all warm and tingly from how amazing it feels.
When he finally detaches himself, leaving your nipples wet and reddened from his tongue, his eyes find yours and you decide that you think you might actually love him. His eyes hold nothing but care and his smile, you decide, is entirely different from the one he gives to fans. This one is reserved just for you. Just like you always wondered.
“You’re incredible” he smiles down at you.
“So are you,” you return his smile with a big goofy grin, making him laugh and his hard dick to rub against your thigh.
You don’t know what takes over you. You roll him onto his back, straddling his thighs and hold his arms above his head whilst you leave teasing little kisses along his neck and collar bones.
“You’re not tired then?” He asks rather smugly.
You don’t answer him, his skin tastes like his aftershave but with that salty tang of sweat and you just need more of it.
His body jolts a little when you suck on his collar bone, hell bent on leaving a mark so that he can remember this first night together as a couple, whenever he looks in the mirror for the next day or so. So he can go on stage and have a part of you there with him, claiming him as yours.
You pause. That thought at the front of your mind. He must sense what you’re thinking from the way you’re staring at his neck with a look of horny hunger in your eyes. Either that or you’re a vampire and you’ve just hidden it really well.
“Do whatever you want to me baby. I’m yours.”
Your pussy clenches around nothing, a new wave of wetness flooding you at the idea of showing the whole world that Chan is yours. That he’s let you claim and mark his body as yours and nobody else’s.
You leave little kiss up and down his neck, moving so you place your final kiss over his Adam’s apple before moving a little lower and sucking harshly on the salty skin, your tongue soothing it slightly before you suck again. His hands cling to your hips, a little airy moan leaving his lips as his body twitches under you.
When you leave not one, not two, but three more marks on his skin, scattered around his neck and collar bones, Chan is a whining mess beneath you. Dick oozing precum and head thrown back on the pillow with his lip between his teeth and eyes closed.
“Condom?”
“There’s one in my wallet,” he says, whining when you twist his nipple a little.
His jeans are right near the bed, so you lean over, making extra effort to rest your body on his throbbing length that rests against his stomach, as you locate his jeans and get the condom.
Chan has finally opened his eyes, his pupils are blown, cheeks all pink as he watches you open the condom packet and slide it down his hard length. He doesn’t miss the smug look on your face when his dick leaks even more precum just from you touching it as you put the condom on, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t ashamed to want you so much he is actually whining underneath you. And he isn’t ashamed to say that he meant what he said, you can do whatever you want to him, he is completely and utterly yours.
You lift yourself so he’s lined up with your needy pussy, already desperate for more even after your first insane orgasm.
“Please hurry up,” he mumbles, fingers digging into your hips and eyes transfixed by the little drop of wetness that falls onto his tip that’s so close to your pussy.
“Don’t be so bossy.” You tweak his nipple again and he throws his head back, showing all the marks you’ve left on his delicious neck.
You lower yourself onto him, your pussy swallowing his thick length as it drags scrumptiously against your warm, wet walls. You bob a little, mainly to adjust to him but also to annoy him just a little bit. You’ve not intention of edging him like he did to you, but you also haven’t forgotten it either.
Once you’re fully on him, your ass flush with his thighs, you pause for a second to revel in the fact that you’re on top of the man you’ve been crushing over. And that’s he’s so desperate for you, whining and all snotty, just makes you want to wreck him for everyone.
Your hips start slow, his dick gliding against your gummy walls and hitting your g spot so nicely that the slow pace doesn’t last for long. Judging by the moans and whines coming from both of you, neither of you are going to last long.
You glance down at how his abs, how they’re tightening and flexing every time you’re cunt drags along his throbbing length. They’re fucking beautiful but they’re missing one thing that would improve them.
His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, fingers bruising your hips and dick twitching inside you when you lean down to suck harsh little red marks onto his pecks and top of his stomach. Marking more and more of him as yours and pussy clenching when his hips twitch and he somehow gets even deeper inside you.
“You feel so fucking good baby, your dick feels so amazing,” you moan, finger nails scratching down his abs as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.
“Mm...” he nods, barely able to form words. He’s desperately trying to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss how gorgeous you look on top of him but the pressure building in his balls and the way your perfect cunt is wrapped around him, he’s really struggling to keep them open.
“Do you wanna cum baby?”
He doesn’t reply. Not verbally. Just nods his head as best he can whilst he clings to you.
“Then ask nicely.”
Your hips don’t slow, they ride his perfect dick, his tip nudging your g spot in way that has you perilously close to the edge too. Your finger nails dig into his stomach almost as much as his fingers dig into your hips and the sound of your wet cunt and ass smacking down onto his thighs fills the room.
“Pl....” he moans when you clench around him. “Please!” He manages to cry out.
You’ve no idea why you asked him, you’ve no way of stopping yourself even if you wanted to. Your hips keep grinding, ass still smacking his thighs and it only takes two more harsh stokes down onto him and he cries out. Body shaking, fingers bruising your hips and mouth hanging open in pure ecstasy.
You keep going, his orgasm tipping you over the edge too as your whole body feels like it’s on fire. He’s hitting your g spot, the little mound of pubes above his dick tickling your clit and the sight of all the marks on him makes it the most perfect orgasm.
His fingers loosen on your hips and they finally low until eventually, you’re just sat on top of him, gazing at him as his breathing is ragged and his body is covered in sweat. He slowly opens his eyes and you’re rewarded with what might be the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.
“Are you ok?” you ask as you lift yourself up, his now soft dick slipping out of you.
“I’m fucking amazing.”
He gets up quickly to tie the condom and throw it in the trash before he rushes back over to you and scoops you into his arms.
You’re both sweaty and in need of a shower but it doesn’t make it any less perfect. To be held by someone who cares for you as much as you care for him.
“Did you think about the producer job?” his fingers run up and down your spine, both of you quite content.
“We haven’t decided yet. I told Jeonghan I’d let him know by the last show.”
“That’s tomorrow.” he chuckles.
“I know,” you have a small smile playing on your lips that he can’t see, you want it to be a surprise. “But we live in the same city, it’s not like we won’t see each other anyway.”
“Oh you’re not getting rid of me now.” His grip tightens on you. “But we all love working with you. And I think Cheol and Soonyoung will have withdrawals if we take Vernon away from them now.”
“Would you be annoyed if we didn’t?” You lift your head to look at him.
“No” the way he says it, you can tell he’s being honest, “but I do love working with you. And Vernon, to be fair. We could make good music in the day and sweet love when we get home.”
Your nose scrunches at the cheesiness of what he’s said but it really is tempting.
“We’ll see” you hum, both of you wrapping yourself in each other and lying in content silence.
The final show wraps up, the four sweaty men running off stage and everyone dodging Mingyu’s towel like always but this time you don’t worry about whether the lead singer of the biggest rock band in the world will hold back and talk to you. Because instead he just takes your hand and pulls you along with him, no more hiding at the back or awkward conversations where neither of you know what the other is thinking. Just you two happily walking hand in hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“We might have no meet and greet but I do need to talk to you all before the end of tour party,” Jeonghan announces as you all make it to the dressing room, “First thing. Cheol, we’re capping the number of women you have in your room at any one time to three. Anymore and we’re putting you in rehab.”
“For what?!” Cheol demands, disgusted he would be limited in such a cruel way, “For being able to please so many ladies in one night?”
“I can’t keep handing out NDAs to them as they exit the room, I’m starting to feel like one of those people who hands out leaflets on the street! It’s starting to look obvious too, do you want some passer by to see them all leaving your room in an orderly line whilst I get them to sign NDAs on each other’s backs?!”
You try to hide your laughter behind Chan but seeing as how everyone in the room is laughing at the ridiculousness of the conversation, in the end you don’t see the point.
“Fucking ridiculous. I bet the Iron Maiden didn’t put up with this shit.”
Jeonghan ignores the pouty man in front of him and turns his attention to the last matter on his small, yet important agenda.
“_____ and Vernon, as of about thirty minutes ago, have officially become in-house producers for Shadow!!” He shouts happily.
The whole room erupts into cheers and Chan turns to look at you in amazement.
“Seriously?!”
“Hm-mm” you nod excitedly, smiling from ear to ear.
“Oh my god!!” He lifts you up and spins you round whilst you laugh and hold him even tighter, falling harder and harder for the man in your arms.
“That’s great news!” Soonyoung beams at you, all of them coming over to congratulate you and Vernon.
You all pause though when Vernon holds his arms out to Chan.
“What?”
“Well,” he huffs, “you’ve just spun _____ round. We’re both equals here, I’m ready for my turn.” Vernon says indignantly.
Chan doesn’t get a chance to answer.
“I’ll spin you round.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes running up and down Vernon’s body.
“Er, come on, lets head to the party.” Chan drags you away from whatever is about to happen between Vernon and Soonyoung.
“So, we’re going to the party? You’ve not managed to get yet another cart?”
“Nah I’m not in the mood to pretend to be anything tonight. I just want to be the thing I know I already am.” He takes your hand and kisses your cheek.
the life of a star can be quite lonely, except when he's around
--------------
wc: 6.2k
pairing: huening kai x reader
author’s notes: final chapter of the boyfriend on demand series! forgive me for taking so long, things have been so busy. these were so fun, hope you guys like it! can't wait for you to see whats next.
tags/warnings: body guard!huening kai x famous!reader, use of she/her and y/n, protective kai, reader is a famous actor/actress, mentions of stalking, anxiety, and mistreatment, reader has an evil co-star,
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
--------------
“Over here! Over here!” Flashes burst in rapid succession, a constellation of white light exploding across your vision. It should have been blinding, but you’d learned long ago how to keep your expression steady, your gaze focused just above the crowd.
Photographers shouted over one another, voices overlapping into a chaotic blur. “Look this way!” “One more shot!” “Turn to your left!” This was what came with being an up-and-coming star, attention that felt both electrifying and suffocating all at once.
You adjusted your posture instinctively, offering a practiced smile as cameras captured every angle. The carpet beneath your heels stretched endlessly ahead, lined with fans, reporters, and industry figures watching your every move.
“Alright, let’s move forward.” His voice cut cleanly through the noise, steady and grounding. A hand hovered just behind your back, never quite touching, but close enough that you felt its presence. Kai guided you gently down the carpet, his pace measured. Kai wasn’t just any bodyguard. He was the bodyguard.
The one your company had insisted on assigning when your popularity began to surge faster than anyone expected. At first, you thought it was excessive, another layer of control wrapped around your already structured life. But that was before you met him.
Before you noticed the way he subtly shifted crowds without force. The way he anticipated problems before they happened. The way his attention never wavered when it came to you.
“Next section’s a fan meet,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer so only you could hear. “It might get crowded.”
You nodded, still smiling for the cameras. “When is it not?” A faint hint of amusement flickered across his face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
The barricades ahead came into view, packed with fans clutching albums, signs, and phones held high. The energy there was different, less polished, more raw. Excited voices rose as they recognized you. Your name echoed through the crowd.
You stepped closer, waving, your smile softening into something more genuine. This part always felt different. More real.
Kai stayed at your side, close enough to shield, far enough not to overshadow. His eyes moved constantly scanning. Always watching. Always there. It had been months since he was assigned to you. Months of early call times, long events, crowded venues, and quiet car rides where neither of you spoke much but somehow, the silence never felt empty.
You signed a glossy photo of yourself, handed it back, and glanced briefly at him. He caught your gaze. Just a second, but he noticed you. He always did. And for reasons you hadn’t quite sorted out yet, that made your heart beat just a little faster.
The rest of the fan meeting went as expected. Fans approached one by one, their excitement barely contained as they shared how much they loved your work, how your performances comforted them, inspired them, changed them.
It always made you smile. You still hadn’t quite wrapped your head around how spending a few hours in front of a camera could mean so much to someone else. Still, you were proud of what you did, and you made sure to thank every single person who came through the line.
“Wow! You’re so much more beautiful up close!” You looked up, meeting the wide eyes of a girl whose hands trembled slightly as she nervously fiddled with her sleeves.
“Thank you,” you smiled warmly, pulling a glossy photo from the stack. “You’re absolutely gorgeous yourself.”
Her face flushed instantly. “Th-this is for you,” she said, quickly handing over a small envelope. “Thank you for being so inspirational.”
You accepted it carefully. “That really means a lot. Thank you.”
Like always, you passed it back without looking, your hand brushing lightly against Kai’s as he took it from you. He slipped it neatly into his inner pocket without a word. Some fans brought small gifts: bracelets, plushies, keychains. Most of them you weren’t allowed to keep, but letters were different. Those, you made sure never got lost.
The line slowly began to thin. Your shoulders relaxed just slightly as you greeted the last handful of fans. “We’ll head out in about ten minutes,” Kai’s voice came from just behind you.
You turned your head, offering him a small nod. “Okay, thank you.”
When you faced forward again, someone new had taken the seat across from you. At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. He looked normal. But then he smiled. And something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Your fingers paused over the pen. “Hi,” you greeted, keeping your tone polite.
“I finally get to meet you,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve been waiting for this.” There was something in the way he said it, too heavy, too personal.
You forced a small smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I go to all your events,” he continued, eyes fixed on you in a way that made your skin prickle. “You probably don’t remember me.”
Your grip tightened just slightly around the pen. “I meet a lot of people, but I’m grateful you came.”
“I’ve written to you,” he added quickly. “A lot.” Your heart skipped, not in excitement but unease. “I know you read them.”
That made you hesitate. Behind you, Kai shifted. His body language is subtle but clearly closer than he stood before..
“I see the way you look at the letters,” the man went on, his voice dropping just enough that it felt like he was trying to create a private moment in a very public space. “You understand me, don’t you?”
Your smile faltered for half a second. Too long. “I think you might be mistaken,” you said gently, trying to redirect. “But I really appreciate your support,”
“You don’t have to pretend,” he interrupted, leaning even closer now. “I know you feel it too.”
The air turned thick, anxiety creeping in on you. Before you could respond, Kai stepped in.
“That’s enough.” His arm came between you and the man in one smooth motion, a firm barrier that didn’t invite argument. “You’re done here,” he said, voice calm but unyielding.
The man frowned. “I’m just talking to her.”
“And now you’re leaving.” There was no raised voice. No aggression. Just finality. For a moment, the man didn’t move. Then, under Kai’s unwavering gaze, he let out a quiet scoff and stood, muttering something under his breath before being escorted away by nearby staff.
Silence lingered for a second. You hadn’t realized how tense your body was until it started to release. Kai didn’t look at you immediately. His eyes scanned the area first, ensuring everything was under control. Only then did he glance down. “You alright?”
You nodded, though your voice came out softer than expected. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
But your hands betrayed you slightly, stilling against the table. His gaze flickered to them. Then back to your face. “We’re leaving early.”
You couldn’t argue with that.
—
The car ride was quieter than usual. City lights blurred past the window as you leaned back into the seat, the adrenaline from earlier slowly fading into something more reflective.
Kai sat in the front, posture straight, eyes occasionally checking the mirrors. He had been alert ever since you left the venue. Always working.
“Hey,” you spoke up.
He glanced back briefly. “Yeah?”
You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Thanks. Back there.”
It’s quiet for a moment. You can see his gaze is still focused out on the road. Then he responds, simply, “It’s my job.”
You exhaled softly, turning your gaze back to the window. “I know, but still. Where would I be without you?”
That got a slightly longer pause. When he answered, his voice was quieter. “You’d be fine.”
You smiled to yourself, shaking your head just a little. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m glad I don’t have to find out.”
This time, he didn’t respond. But in the reflection of the glass, you caught it, the smallest shift in his expression. Not quite a smile. But something close to it.
—
Much later, after the schedules and cameras and noise of the day had finally faded away, you found yourself curled beneath your blankets with your phone balanced against your knee. Your apartment was quiet. A soft lamp glowed from the corner of your bedroom while rain tapped faintly against the windows. It was the kind of peaceful silence you rarely got to enjoy anymore.
With a small sigh, you opened social media. You probably shouldn’t have made a habit of checking fan posts as often as you did, but curiosity always won in the end. Besides, most of it was harmless.
“Y/N looked stunning today!” “I can’t believe I finally met her!” “She was so sweet to everyone omg 😭”
Your lips curved softly as you scrolled. Even after all this time, seeing people so excited over you still felt surreal. You’d spent years doubting yourself in auditions and exhausting yourself through endless filming schedules. Sometimes it was hard to believe anyone cared that much.
You continued absentmindedly scrolling, half focused now as sleep slowly began tugging at you until one particular photo stopped your thumb cold. It was a candid shot. You hadn’t even realized someone had taken it.
Your body was turned slightly toward Kai, your expression softer than usual as you listened to something he had leaned down to whisper in your ear earlier that evening. The lighting caught the side of his face perfectly. And unfortunately, the comments had noticed.
“OMG Y/N’S BODYGUARD??? HELLO???” “Why is he actually so fine?” “The way he looks at her???” “Wait… do I ship them?” “No, because this looks straight out of a drama.” “Bodyguard romance trope IRL.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. You clicked into the replies despite knowing you absolutely shouldn’t. That turned out to be a mistake.
“He’s always so close to her 😭” “You cannot convince me that man isn’t in love.” “The tension is INSANE.”
Heat crept slowly into your face. “That’s ridiculous,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. You stared at the photo again. Kai’s expression was calm as always, but there was something protective in the way he angled himself toward you. Like his attention naturally gravitated in your direction no matter what else was happening around him. And you looked happy. Not your practiced red carpet smile you had perfected for cameras. Just, genuinely happy.
A small smile unconsciously pulled at your lips before you realized what was happening. Your thumb hovered over the screen. Maybe the fans were being dramatic. Maybe they were reading too deeply into things.
But your gaze drifted back to Kai in the picture. The sharp jawline. The dark clothes. The way his sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms. You bit lightly at the inside of your cheek.
Okay. You thought to yourself. Maybe he is kind of cute. The realization made your eyes widen slightly. Then, before you could stop yourself, you buried your face into your pillow with a quiet groan. “This is bad,” you mumbled into the fabric.
Because suddenly all you could think about was the way his hand hovered protectively at your back and how safe you always felt when he was near.
—
This project was different. Much bigger than you could have imagined. The kind of opportunity actors spent years praying for. Even the company had shifted the moment the casting confirmation came through. Meetings became more serious, schedules tighter, managers more stressed. Everywhere you went people congratulated you with excited smiles and careful reminders not to mess this up.
You understood why. The drama already had massive anticipation surrounding it, and now you were set to play the lead role alongside one of the industry’s most well known actors.
Kai stood beside you as staff hurried around backstage preparing for the first script reading. Your fingers tightened slightly around the script in your lap curling the pages. You were nervous to say the least.
“You okay?” Kai asked quietly.
You let out a soft laugh allowing your hands to relax, loosening the grip on the script. “I’m trying to be.”
His expression softened just slightly. “You’ll do fine.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to sit across from an award-winning actor whose films you’d watched since high school. You glanced toward the entrance just as the room shifted with murmurs. He had arrived.
Tall, confident, and effortlessly charming, his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Everyone greeted him immediately, staff bowing politely as he walked further inside. You straightened slightly in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of yourself.
When his eyes landed on you, he smiled. “Ah, so you’re Y/N.”
You quickly stood, bowing politely. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’ve admired your work for a long time.”
“Is that so?” he chuckled. You don’t fail to notice the way his eyes cross over your body. “Careful. Compliments like that might make me like you too much.”
A few staff members laughed awkwardly hoping to ease the tension. You forced a polite smile, making sure the shirt you were wearing never slipped low on your chest. He was just teasing, you tell yourself. You would be able to ignore it.
At first, things seemed manageable. During rehearsals he was charismatic and professional enough to impress everyone around him. The directors loved him. The staff catered to him constantly.
But the little things started building. The comments muttered under his breath. The way his hand lingered too long during scenes that didn’t require it. The casual habit of calling you “cutie” instead of your name.
You tried brushing it off, you really did. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for others in the entertainment industry. You just didn’t expect to experience that yourself.
“Relax,” your manager had whispered once. “He’s just playful.” Maybe. But the uneasy feeling in your stomach kept growing.
And Kai noticed. He noticed everything.
One evening after filming, you stood off to the side reviewing notes while staff reset equipment. Kai remained nearby as usual, scrolling through something on his phone while keeping half his attention on you.
Your co-star approached with an easy grin. “You work too hard,” he said, stepping closer. “You still have that newbie passion. I like that about you.”
You gave a small laugh. His distance causes unease in your chest. You take a small step backward. “I’m just trying to do a good job.”
“You know, you’d do even better if you loosened up around me.” Before you could respond, his hand settled against your waist.
You froze, unable to push away. Your head darts around hoping to catch the eyes of another crew member. The shift was so fast you barely processed it. One second your co-star’s hand was on you, the next, Kai was between you both.His grip firmly removed the man’s hand from your waist. The entire set seemed to go silent.
Your co-star blinked in disbelief, dazed now that Kai was blocking him. “Whoa. What the hell?”
Kai’s expression remained calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it now. “Don’t touch her again.”
The actor scoffed immediately. “Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the person stopping this before it becomes a bigger problem.” Kai replies, voice low.
The man laughed humorlessly. “She didn’t say anything.”
Kai’s voice stayed level. “She shouldn’t have to.”
Heat rushed to your face, not embarrassment this time. Because he was right. You hadn’t said anything. You’d been uncomfortable for weeks, constantly trying to avoid conflict, worried about professionalism, worried about your image, worried about making things difficult for everyone else. And somehow Kai had noticed anyway.
The actor stepped forward slightly trying to intimidate Kai. “You’re just a bodyguard. You think you have any say in this? Do you know who I am?”
Kai didn’t move from in front of you. His body still steady, unflinching. “You’re done,” he said simply.
Before the situation could escalate further, producers and staff rushed over, having clearly noticed the tension from across the set. Questions erupted immediately.
You spent a while explaining your side to producers. And once people started talking, everything unraveled fast. Apparently you weren’t the only actress he’d made uncomfortable.
By the end of the week, the company released an official statement citing “creative differences” would be delaying production. He was removed from the project entirely. The recast actor who replaced him ended up being kind, respectful, and easy to work with, someone who actually made filming enjoyable again.
Regardless, you hadn't been able to forget that night. How scary it had been to realize someone you had looked up to for years could be so awful.
One thing that had stood out to you had been the look on Kai’s face. His anger, not explosive or reckless. It seemed protective. Like seeing someone make you uncomfortable had genuinely upset him.
You sat in the backseat beside him after filming wrapped one evening, exhaustion pulling at your body. “You know,” you started softly, “I never thanked you properly.”
Kai glanced over briefly before setting his phone down in his lap. “For what?”
You look at him, really look at him. A warmness begins to seep into your chest that you hold tight to. “You know what.”
He looked ahead again. “I was doing my job.”
You smiled faintly. There it was again. Always the same answer. But this time, you didn’t let him get away with it so easily. “No,” you said quietly. “You did more than that. You saw I needed help, you stood up for me without me even asking.” For the first time in a long while Kai didn’t have a response immediately. His head remained straight forward avoiding your gaze. “Thank you for caring for me.” you say quietly.
You turn back to face the window, resting your head back. If it wasn’t so quiet in the car you may have missed it.
Kai’s voice is quiet but clear, “Of course I care for you.”
—
A full day of interviews left you exhausted. Not physically, though your feet certainly ached from hours in heels. You felt mentally drained from today’s schedule.
Every answer had to sound thoughtful. Every smile had to look genuine. Every laugh needed to come at the right moment. Cameras captured everything, and after a while it began to feel less like speaking and more like performing a version of yourself people wanted to see. Usually, you could handle it. Most days it was manageable. But today felt heavy.
The van was quiet as it carried you across the city toward yet another event added to your schedule last minute. Rain streaked softly across the windows, blurring neon lights into hazy colors.
“Ready to go?” Kai asked from beside you.
“Hm?” Your head lifted slowly from where it rested against the seat. His voice draws you out of your daze.
Kai glanced over, eyes squinting. “You’ve been staring at the same building for three minutes.”
You blinked, realizing he was right. “Sorry,” was all you could offer.
“Everything good?” It was a simple question, but you couldn’t find the words to answer. Kai patiently waited until you spoke up.
You looked down at your hands. “Just tired, I think.”
Kai studied you quietly for a moment as if he could see past your simple answer. “You know, you don’t have to push yourself so hard.”
You let out a small laugh. “Unfortunately I kind of do.”
He didn’t answer immediately. The van slowed as it approached the venue, bright lights already visible outside. Crowds lined the entrance despite the rain, phones raised hopefully toward the tinted windows. Just seeing it made your chest tighten. Too loud, too much. The chaos made your stomach sink. You let out a shaky breath, mentally preparing to exit the van.
“Hey.” You glanced over. Kai’s eyes were gentle, concerned. His voice softened slightly. “Look at me.” You pull your full attention to Kai’s face. For a second the noise outside disappeared. “You don’t want to go in there right now,” he said quietly.
You swallowed hard before finally admitting it. “I don’t think I can.” The confession came embarrassingly small. You were a celebrity, this was your job. You couldn’t help but feel ashamed.
But instead of disappointment or a scolding, Kai simply nodded once. “Okay.”
His curt response confuses you. Your brows furrowed. “Okay?”
Kai calmly responds, “We’re leaving.”
In all your years active, you had never canceled anything. Canceling was never an option. “What about the event?”
“I’ll handle it.” Before you could protest, he leaned forward and spoke calmly to the driver. “Change of plans.” The car pulled away from the venue before anyone outside realized you’d even arrived.
You stared at him in disbelief. “Kai, my manager is going to kill me.”
“He can yell at me tomorrow.” He looks completely unbothered, willing to take the brunt of the scolding. Despite yourself, a breathy laugh escaped you. It was small, but real. And Kai seemed to notice that too.
—
About thirty minutes later, the city had quieted considerably. The car eventually stopped near a secluded overlook tucked above the river, far from crowded streets and flashing cameras. The rain had faded into a cool mist.
You stepped out slowly, wrapping your shawl tighter around yourself as the wind brushed against your skin. Below, the river shimmered beneath city lights. For the first time all day, you could breathe properly.
Kai stood beside you quietly, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat. “No one really comes here this late,” he said.
You glanced over. “You come here often?”
“Sometimes.” he glances out over the river, eyes scanning the skyline.
“When you’re stressed?”
His lips twitched faintly. “Something like that.”
You smiled softly before leaning against the railing. The silence between you felt comfortable. “You know,” you murmured after a while, “sometimes I feel guilty for struggling with this.”
Kai looked over at you. “With what?”
You gestured vaguely toward the city. “Everything. People always say I’m lucky, and I am, but,” Your voice quieted. “Sometimes it feels like I belong to everyone except myself.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Kai’s expression softened almost immediately. “You’re still your own person.”
You looked down at the river below. “Doesn’t always feel like it.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of the wind rustling the trees around you. Then quietly, Kai nearly whispers, “I see you.”
Your breath caught slightly. The sincerity in his voice made it impossible to brush off as casual reassurance. When you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. And suddenly your heart felt dangerously unsteady.
By the time Kai finally convinced you to head home, the knot in your chest had loosened considerably. The time spent in the quiet helped you organize your thoughts. Kai’s words still echoed in your head the whole way home. Knowing there was someone who sees you for you, not as a public figure made your face feel warm. It felt like the chaotic night could be saved.
That was until the car turned onto your street. Your stomach dropped instantly. At least a dozen people crowded outside your apartment building despite the late hour. Cameras flashed the second the vehicle appeared. Some shouted your name. Others rushed toward the car.
“How did they even-” You were at a loss for words. You hadn’t had problems concealing where you lived. Someone must have leaked your address. You just wanted to cry.
Kai’s expression hardened immediately. “Stay inside. Don’t open the door” The warmth from earlier vanished in seconds, replaced by sharp professionalism.
Your pulse quickened as more people surrounded the vehicle. Phones pressed against the windows. Questions shouted over one another. “Kai,”
“You can’t stay here tonight.” Kai’s voice was calm, but firm enough that you immediately knew he’d already made up his mind. He was already speaking quietly to the driver. “Keep going. Don’t stop here.”
The car pulled away from the curb once more, leaving disappointed shouts behind as the crowd realized too late you wouldn’t be getting out. You leaned back into your seat, exhaustion finally crashing over you fully. “How did they even find out where I live?” you asked quietly.
Kai’s jaw tightened slightly. “Someone probably leaked your schedule. Or they followed the car after the event.” The thought made your skin crawl.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The driver took several unnecessary turns through the city while Kai monitored the situation through his phone. Every so often he glanced behind the vehicle, making sure no one was tailing you.
Eventually, the car slipped into the underground parking garage of the company building. “We’ll switch cars here,” Kai said.
The driver nodded immediately. “Yes, sir.” the driver responds. He exits the vehicle and opens the door for you.
You blinked tiredly. “Switch cars?”
“We will take mine.” Kai answers, pointing over in the direction of his car. You followed him out of the vehicle and into the dim garage, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor. The cold air sent a slight shiver through you.
Without a word, Kai shrugged off his coat and draped it carefully over your shoulders. Your breath caught faintly at the lingering warmth. “Thanks,” you murmured.
He only nodded toward his car parked several rows down. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” You ask, pulling his coat closer around your body.
He leads you to the passenger side of the car and opens the door allowing you to slip in. “I’m taking you to my place.”
—
The drive to his apartment was quiet. Not awkward in the slightest. For once there were no schedules, no managers calling, no flashing cameras waiting outside. Just the low hum of the engine and city lights stretching endlessly beyond the windows.
You found yourself stealing glances at him occasionally. One hand rested loosely against the steering wheel while the other tapped lightly against his thigh to music playing quietly through the speakers.
He looked beautiful. The thought crosses your mind and almost makes you gasp out loud. You want to attribute it to your stressful day. You’d been through a lot today. But Kai had been right there alongside you, a steady safe presence. He didn’t look like your bodyguard anymore.
Eventually, the car pulled into a smaller apartment complex tucked away on a quiet street. Out of habit, he opens the door again for you, carefully helping you exit the car. You quietly thank him, allowing him to lead you up to his apartment.
Kai’s home was different than you imagined. It was simple, clean, warm in a way you hadn’t expected. You’d imagine a bodyguard who dresses solely in dark colors would have a place that was cold and plain. Instead his apartment was full of color, warm wooden furniture, and what looked like stuffed animals lining the couch. Dim lighting glowed from the kitchen area while rain continued softly against the windows outside.
For the first time all day in the comfort of his apartment, your shoulders relaxed completely.
“It’s late. You can take the bed,” Kai said immediately, setting his work bag down near the couch.
Your eyes widened. “Kai, absolutely not.”
He shakes his head, “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He gave you a look that made it clear arguing would be pointless. “You’ve had a rough day,” he said. “I’m not making you sleep on a couch.”
“And you are?” The couch looked comfortable. You’d have no problem falling asleep on it after the day you had. Kai was definitely too tall to lay on it comfortably.
He shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve slept in worse places.”
You let out a tired laugh despite yourself. You couldn’t argue, he was too much of a gentleman.
A few minutes later, he returned from his room holding folded clothes carefully in his hands. “They’ll probably be too big,” he admitted, avoiding your eyes slightly, “but they’re clean.”
Your heart did something embarrassing at the sight. You took them carefully. “Thank you.” You headed over to the bathroom to change. Lucky for you, your makeup bag was in your purse. You grab it before closing the bathroom door behind you.
You change, carefully folding your outfit and stacking your accessories on the counter. Kai’s clothes are soft. You can tell this must be his favorite sweatshirt, the edges are frayed and perfectly worn. The sleeves of his sweatshirt nearly swallowed your hands when you changed into it later. It smelled exactly like him.
You tried very hard not to think too much about that as you removed your makeup for the night.
—
When you stepped back out, Kai was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. His head lifted immediately the second he saw you. And then he froze. The oversized sweatshirt hung loosely off your frame, the collar slipping slightly toward one shoulder. For a second, he just stared. Then quickly looked away coughing.
“You okay?” you asked, trying not to smile watching him try and collect himself. At least you weren’t the only one who felt a certain way over wearing his clothes.
“Yeah,” he answered far too quickly.
Your smile widened anyway. You settled onto the opposite end of the couch, tucking your legs beneath yourself. Silence settled comfortably between you again. “Do you ever wish things were different?” You ask, breaking the silence.
Kai glanced over. “What do you mean?”
“With your career,” you clarified softly. “With all of this.” You motion vaguely around you. You stared down at your hands as they settled into your lap.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know. I’m incredibly thankful for this life. I just wished someone saw me for me. Sometimes I feel like people only love the version of me they see online. The polished version.” Your voice grew quieter. “Not the real me.”
Kai watched you carefully. “They don’t know how tired you get after interviews,” he said softly. You looked up meeting his eyes. “They don’t see how hard you work.” His gaze held yours steadily now. “Or how kind you are when no one’s filming.”
Something in your chest tightened painfully, his words hitting your heart. In a brief moment of courage, you speak up. “But you do.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.” The room suddenly felt very small.
You looked at him for a long moment before laughing softly under your breath. “I think you know me better than most people in my life.”
Kai’s expression shifted slightly at that. “Maybe because I get the version of you no one else does.” Your heart stumbled. “The real you? She’s beautiful.”
The real you. Not the actress. Not the celebrity. But you. And judging by the softness in his eyes he liked that version best. Your voice came out quieter than intended. “I’m glad it’s you. That you get the real me.”
Kai stared at you for a second like the words caught him off guard. Then slowly, so gently, he smiled. Not the restrained polite smiles he wore around staff but a real one. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. “I’ll always be here to support you,” he said softly. “As your bodyguard or as your friend.”
Overwhelmed with his kindness you lean over, wrapping your arms around Kai. “Thank you.” You whisper, taking in his clean scent. You pull back watching Kai’s cheeks grow red. You feel slightly nervous, you stand up leading yourself toward Kai’s room “Goodnight Kai.”
“Goodnight. Sweet dreams.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Because suddenly, you realized you were falling in love with him. And judging by the way Kai was looking at you now, you weren’t falling alone.
—
Morning came far too quickly. You barely slept. Not because the bed was uncomfortable, quite the opposite actually. His bed was warm and cozy, smelling just like him. You couldn’t sleep because every time you closed your eyes, your mind drifted back to the look on Kai’s face last night. The softness in his voice. I’ll always be here to support you. It replayed in your head endlessly.
Things between you felt different now. Something had changed between you. Your relationship was dangerously close to becoming something neither of you could pretend not to notice anymore.
Kai was kind enough to take you back to your apartment early the next morning so you could get ready for the day ahead. Thankfully, the crowds from the night before had finally disappeared from outside your complex. The relief that washed over you at the empty sidewalks was immediate.
“I’ll wait here,” Huening Kai said as you stepped out of the car.
You nodded quickly, trying not to smile too obviously at the thought of him waiting for you. Inside, you rushed through your morning routine far faster than usual. Not because you were running late, but because you didn’t want to keep Kai waiting too long. The realization alone was enough to make heat creep into your cheeks.
You had another exhausting day of schedules ahead of you. Interviews. Meetings. Public appearances. Normally the thought would’ve drained you before the day even started. But somehow it didn’t feel nearly as daunting today, not with Kai by your side.
Once you finished getting ready, the two of you made a brief stop at the company building so you could apologize to your manager for missing the event the night before. To your surprise, the lecture you expected never really came.
Your manager sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Do you have any idea how hard it was smoothing things over with the sponsors?”
You winced slightly. “I’m really sorry.”
“But,” he added quickly, glancing toward Kai, “considering the situation outside your apartment, it was probably the right call.” You blinked in surprise. Even Kai looked mildly caught off guard by the rare agreement. Your manager pointed a finger toward both of you. “Still, no more disappearing acts.”
“Yes sir,” you answered immediately.
As you turned to leave, your manager suddenly paused. Then narrowed his eyes slightly between you and Kai. “Did you two get into an argument? Why does the atmosphere feel weird today?”
Your entire body nearly short-circuited. “What?” you answered far too quickly.
Kai cleared his throat softly beside you. “No, sir.”
Your manager stared a second longer before waving dismissively. “Never mind. Go before you’re late.”
The second the office door shut behind you, you buried your face briefly into your hands. “Oh my god.” Beside you, Kai let out the quietest laugh. And just hearing it made your heart flutter embarrassingly hard.
A short while later, the two of you settled into the van once more as it headed toward your next schedule. The ride was quiet. The silence felt charged now, filled with lingering glances and unfinished thoughts.
Kai sat beside you in the van, scrolling through updates from your manager while occasionally checking to make sure the route remained clear. Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to stare at him. And failing.
“You nervous?” he asked suddenly, not looking up from his phone.
“A little.” You respond, eyes darting away from Kai afraid he'll catch you staring.
“You’ll do great.” Your lips curved softly. He always said exactly what you needed to hear.
The van finally pulled up behind the venue a short while later. Staff hurried around outside preparing for the event while security coordinated entrances. Luckily after yesterday’s mess, the entrance had been cleared. Hidden away from the public eye.
Kai slid the van door open before stepping out first. Then, as always, he turned and offered you his hand. A purely professional act. But this time when your fingers slipped into his, your chest tightened.
He helped you carefully down from the van, his hand steady against yours to keep you balanced in your heels. For a second, neither of you let go. The sounds around you faded into background noise.
Kai looked at you expectantly. “Ready to go in?”
You should’ve answered immediately. Fans and staff alike were waiting on you. Instead, your gaze dropped briefly to his lips. Then back to his eyes. He looked down at you, confusion written on his face. Before he could ask what was wrong, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and kissed him.
Your lips were soft against his, but enough to make him freeze completely. Your hand tightened slightly around the front of his jacket as your lips brushed his, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it. For one stunned second, the entire world seemed to stop.
Then you pulled back. Kai stared at you in complete disbelief. actually speechless. Which, honestly, might’ve been the most shocking thing you’d ever witnessed.
Heat rushed to your face almost instantly as realization caught up with you. “Oh my god,” you whispered, suddenly mortified. “I’m sorry, I just-”
But then you saw it. The faint pink spread across his cheeks. The way his composure had completely cracked. And suddenly you couldn’t stop smiling.
You took a small step backward toward the venue entrance, still holding his gaze. Then softly, “Come on,” you said. “Let’s do this.”
Kai blinked once, clearly still trying to recover. Then finally, he smiled. That same real smile you’d seen last night. Only this time, it was undeniably yours. He laces his fingers through yours. And as he followed after you into the venue, one thing became painfully clear to both of you.
This was no longer just a bodyguard and actress. Not anymore.
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Kai. You may now return home or choose another boy!
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ natsuo watches you day by day, month by month, carrying that fragile baby in your belly, realizing he will never escape the fact that he is his father's son
── ✶ WORD COUNT. 7.6k words ; are we even shocked lol
── ✶ BEFORE YOU READ. female reader ; established relationship + marriage ; pregnant reader + unplanned pregnancies ; natsuo is a sweet husband ; mentions of enji's canon behavior which includes domestic violence and child abuse + neglect ; small argument + making up ; natsuo is a nervous wreck about being a father ; i promise even though it has heavy parts, it does have a happy ending ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ girl idk how to write natsuo and its 2026 so idek if anyone still reads natsuo fanfic but here
Natsuo is twenty-three when you break the news of your pregnancy.
Dinner is good—it always is. You cook his favorite and serve him at the table carefully. He’s long given up on insisting you don’t have to do that for him.
(I’ve got it, he’s tried to argue before. You don’t have to serve me. Seriously.
You have no reason to serve him—Natsuo is a person, a grown one at that, just the same as you. You have no reason to put yourself beneath him, no reason to treat him like there is some invisible line between the two of you that puts him above. You’re his partner—his equal.
Just let me do it, Natsu, you’ve always argued back, smiling like it’s the simplest thing in the world. There’s nothing wrong with taking care of each other.
It takes time, but Natsuo reluctantly lets you take care of him the way you want to. Lets himself learn that it’s okay if you love him and put him above yourself as long as he does it, too. That as long as he doesn’t demand it from you, doesn’t mistake your kind-hearted doting for weakness, then he’s not becoming the kind of man he spent his whole life despising.)
There is a bag by your seat—he’s been eyeing it since he sat down for dinner. You serve yourself your own bowl slowly, like you’re working yourself up to be brave about something he can’t quite decipher yet. One small inhale, and the bowl is set down. One shaky exhale, and then it happens. It happens with a quick, shuddered breath before you give him a wobbly smile and pull something out of that bag.
A bib, he realizes—you pull it out and set down a small, tiny bib on the chair beside you and murmur, “Next year, we’ll probably need a bigger table. We barely make do with just the two of us on this tiny one, don’t you think?”
He blinks. Once, then twice, and then one more time. He eyes the bib, then your trembling fingers as they fiddle with each other while you stare at him, and he blinks. He blinks, and he blinks again and again, and there’s a small, familiar stinging in the back of his eyes as he just keeps blinking.
He’s blinking back tears—he doesn’t even realize it at first. And then, you’re wiping tears from his cheeks before he can even realize that, too.
“We…?” he asks, voice thin, words suddenly impossible to form. “We…?”
“Yeah,” you nod, laughing a watery laugh as he stares at you dumbly. “I found out this week.”
He looks back at the bib. His mouth opens, then it closes. His hand comes up to cover it, like he’s trying to physically hold in whatever is rising in his chest.
“We’re gonna need a bigger table?” he asks quietly when he finally finds the willpower to form words. (We’re having a baby? is what he means.)
You laugh through your tears, nodding again. “Yeah, we are.” (We’re having a baby, you confirm.)
You’re pregnant. You’re having a baby. And it’s his baby. It’s unexpected, and he’s never planned for this, and…and he’s scared—he’s not sure if he’s old enough, or mature enough, or experienced enough to raise a child. He’s not sure if his schedule can make more time with the limited hours in a day he already has, and all the other things he needs to do, and heaven forbid he ever give his child an ounce less of the attention they deserve, and…and he’s having a baby.
With you.
You’ll be a mother of a child that has parts of you and parts of him, and they’ll be precious and small, and they’ll be his. He’s happy. He can’t imagine not being happy, and yet, somewhere beneath the joy, there’s a quiet and ugly fear that curls in his chest. A fear so instinctive he hates himself for thinking it now, of all times. A fear so instinctive, he thinks he may have been born with it—may have been doomed with it the second he was born into the household that he was.
What if he turns into his father?
Now is not the time to be afraid. Not when you’re looking at him so overflowing with joy, so delighted and hopeful and…and yet, it’s there. Fear has always been there. Fear has always made him wonder if he’s tugged you into his world of pain and misery and some inescapable cycle of doom. But then he looks at you—he looks at the tiny bib sitting beside your plate, and all he can think is that he wants this. He wants this with you, and he wants to do it right.
He stands so suddenly it should give him whiplash, and you jump a little when he materializes at your side before you can blink. He pulls you into a long, wet kiss—it’s the only thing he can do. He doesn’t have the right words to say, so he settles for skipping them altogether. He kisses you hard and deep, and it’s nothing but sheer adrenaline and willpower that keeps him from collapsing as he continues to kiss you. You kiss him back, of course, giggling as he chokes on a small sob.
His hand lands on your waist and stays there for a second before he hesitates, looking at you like he needs permission. When you take his wrist and guide his hand to your stomach, his face crumples.
“You’re serious?” he asks, and it comes out almost like a breathless laugh.
You nod, smiling widely despite the way your lips shake. “I’m serious.”
He laughs for real this time, pressing his forehead to yours. He keeps his hand there, over your stomach, like he already has something to protect, even if he can’t see it. Even if there’s not really anything there just yet. Because Natsuo is going to be a father—a father to a child who is yours and his. And he is going to be a father who does it right.
“You crybaby,” you sniffle.
“Yeah,” he snorts, pinching your nose lightly, “I’m the crybaby, huh?”
Natsuo is twenty-three, and he is going to be a father.
————— TWO MONTHS.
You want to have a baby shower.
It’ll be small, you promise him—just some friends, your parents, and…and Natsuo’s family too, you add hopefully.
Natsuo knows Fuyumi would be hurt if he didn’t invite her. He knows Shoto would make time for something like this, too, even as number two on the hero charts. He can’t imagine leaving his mother out, either, but that almost certainly means his old man will hear the news.
He hasn’t spoken to Enji in years. Hasn’t seen him, either. He doesn’t intend to change that any time soon—or ever, for that matter. His father won’t be invited, and he knows no one will give him a hard time over that, but he still can’t help the bitterness that rises at the thought of it all. The way, even now—even after years of cutting him off—Enji still finds ways to exist in every important moment of Natsuo’s life simply by being impossible to erase.
But Natsuo intends to give you your baby shower. It’s the least you deserve, after all.
He gave you no wedding ceremony. Just a day in court where the two of you signed papers and made everything legal, and then a dinner at a restaurant he had to save up for weeks to afford. And you were happy, of course. So happy just to be his officially on the documents, so excited to share a meal with him for the first time as husband and wife. So content with everything he could give you, as long as he was okay.
You shouldn’t have been content with just that, he thinks sometimes.
You should have wanted a wedding. A guest list. A beautiful dress and flowers and a cake. A day where everything was about you, where your family cried happy tears, took too many photos, and told you how beautiful you looked.
But Natsuo couldn’t afford that then. And he’s not sure that even if he could now, he would ever want one. Because by the time he can afford a wedding, it would only make him miserable to have one. To stand there and watch your side of the room be filled with normalcy—with parents who love each other, and relatives who laugh too loudly, and old family friends with fond stories of little you. And then, when he looks at his side, he’ll watch it carry all the ruin he has spent the last few years trying to outrun.
No matter how much you love him, how much you accept him, there is nothing normal about Natsuo’s family. Your parents would see it. Your friends would too. They would see the man you married as the son of a hero who was a fraud. As the brother of a man who killed thousands and nearly tore a nation apart. It wouldn’t matter that Natsuo wants nothing to do with any of it. It wouldn’t matter that he spent his whole life trying to separate himself from it all. The name Todoroki would still follow him. His blood would still tie him to everything he hates.
A wedding ceremony would only force him to stand in front of everyone and confront everything he is not and everything he can never be for you. So he chose not to have one at all, and you accepted that without hesitation because it was what he wanted.
You’ve always accepted his petty, ridiculous needs. You settled for a single day in court and a meal he barely afforded as your wedding, and somehow you smiled through all of it like you had been given something precious. You’ve always done what he’s wanted, and if you want a baby shower, then he is going to give you a good one.
Fuck Enji if he hears about it and knows he’s having a baby. Enji will have nothing to do with this baby if Natsuo has a say in it, and he does, so—
“Natsuo,” you huff, poking his bicep.
He startles out of his thoughts. “Huh?”
“You need to wash your hair,” you frown, eyeing the bleach that’s been sitting on his scalp. “You’re going to fry your hair off. The alarm went off.”
“Oh, right,” he shakes his head and turns off the phone blaring in the distance, walking to the bathroom sink and turning the faucet on.
Natsuo remembers the first time he dyed his hair—he must have been twelve. Big brother Touya’s birthday had just passed, and he missed his older brother more than ever. The red streaks in his hair were getting harder and harder to look at—they reminded him of his father, who may as well have killed his brother. Who let Touya die, and just continued as if nothing had changed. Who just kept training and training his golden child until the boy would fall over in tears and throw up. His father, whose red hair and flames haunted him, whose face, out of all of his siblings, Natsuo resembled the most.
He realized for the first time, then, that he hated him. Hated his father’s red hair and his long nose and his wide frame. Hated how everyone told Natsuo that he was taking after his father more and more as the days passed—how he was big for his age just like Enji was, and he might have his mother’s eye color, but those eyes were undeniably Enji’s.
He hated every second of being Enji’s son, and he hated everything that reminded him of that sickening fact. So he bought the hair dye—Enji never cared to look at what his money was spent on, anyway. He dyed his hair—Enji never paid attention to what Natsuo did, and if he had, he clearly never cared to say anything. He made sure another red strand was never seen again—Enji never existed on his scalp if he believed it hard enough.
And if he believed even harder, maybe Enji never existed at all.
“You ever think about whose hair our baby will get?” you ask, setting yourself to sit on the bathroom counter beside him as he rinses the bleach out of his hair. Your legs swing, and he eyes the mismatched socks on your feet for a moment and smiles.
“Yours, I hope,” he mumbles, grabbing a towel to dry off the dripping wet strands before inspecting the mirror. White, silvery locks, just like his mother. Enji never existed. At least, not in this way.
“Yeah, but I like yours,” you murmur. “You’ll never have to worry about looking too old—your hair won’t ever change.”
He snorts, giving you an amused look. “You want our baby to have my hair so it never grays?”
“I want our baby to have the best of our combined features,” you beam. “This would be a fabulous feature to have.”
He thinks about the possibility of a child with his hair. Maybe your eyes. And then it hits him—those stupid red strands might sit on his precious baby’s head, proof that Enji existed after all. He feels bile rise at the thought. Could he hate his baby’s hair? The same hair he’s hated on himself? He doesn’t think so; he doesn’t think he could hate anything about his child.
And that makes him more nauseous. Would he learn to love something that proves of his father’s existence? Proof of his father tainting his baby and their innocence and—
“Natsu,” you hum, pulling him out of his thoughts again. You tug him to stand between your legs, still seated on the bathroom counter. He complies, hands resting on your thighs as he gives them a little squeeze. “It doesn’t matter what the baby has—but I hope they have some of you.”
He smiles. He forgets Enji ever existed. You are all that exists to him now.
“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, leaning down and kissing your jaw. “You’re a big old sap.”
“That’s so not true—”
“And it’s cute.”
“You think so?” You wriggle your brows. “Am I the cutest in the world?”
“In the universe,” he laughs, nodding in confirmation. “Our baby is gonna be one hell of a looker if they take after you.”
“Oh, stop,” you swat his chest playfully.
He laughs again—and all that exists is you.
————— FIVE MONTHS.
Your little apartment is quiet for the most part when it’s night—of course, the heater knocks every so often through the walls, and there’s the distant hum of traffic below, but it’s peaceful white noise, and it has all but lulled you to sleep as your breathing slows beside him.
Natsuo is not going to fall asleep anytime soon tonight.
He lies on his back staring at the ceiling, one hand tucked beneath his head while the other rests over you, palm spread atop your stomach. It’s become a habit lately. He doesn’t even think about it anymore, just reaches for you in the dark until his hand finds the once-smaller curve that has begun to show more and more.
His son is there. His son. He’s found out you’re having a boy—his first child is going to be a boy, just like his father’s was.
The thought of having a child still scares him enough that it constricts his chest so tightly, he thinks there’s no more room left for his lungs. It’s not because he doesn’t want this child. God, he already loves that baby more than anything he’s ever known. But wanting a child and being responsible for one are two very different things, and Natsuo has spent months realizing how little he knows about what fathers are supposed to be like. The cruelty of bringing a life into this world and not being what it needs from him is a cruelty he has always promised he’d be above.
He turns his head and looks at you. Your face is half-buried in the pillow, just barely awake as sleep starts to pull you under. You’re warm against his side, one leg thrown over his, one arm sprawled across his chest. You trust him so completely that it hurts. It hurts to think that who he is might one day be the very thing that betrays that trust. That sooner or later, he’ll find out he cannot outrun the kinds of curses that cling to people like his family.
He brings his hand to hold yours, thumb brushing back and forth over your knuckles. You hum at the gesture, eyes still shut. Before he can overthink things, or before the shame can rise and talk him out of saying anything, he hears himself speak to you in the dark.
“I don’t want him to have my last name.”
You stir immediately, rousing from your half-sleep state. “Hm?” You lift your head a little, blinking at him blearily.
Natsuo swallows. It suddenly feels stupid. You’re tired—pregnant, and exhausted, and it’s probably too late at night for a conversation like this. Too vulnerable a discussion to have at this hour. But he’s already said it, and you love him too much to let him sit with it for a whole night and leave him to wallow in his thoughts.
“The baby,” he says quietly. “I don’t want him to have my name.”
You’re silent for a moment, trying to understand where this is coming from. Then, softly:
“You’re saying…you want him to have my last name?”
He nods, swallowing thickly.
“Are you sure?” you press.
That question nearly makes him laugh—of course, that’s what you’d ask. Not why? Not what brought this on? Not what will people think? He smiles, ever so slightly, at how easily you deal with him and his nonsense, and he looks back at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” he breathes as his throat tightens. “I think I want that.”
“He’s your son, Natsu,” you murmur. It’s your name, too, is what you mean. As if he could ever be anything more than that disgusting name.
“I keep thinking about school,” he says quietly. “People heard that name and had this idea of who I was before they knew me. And my teachers acted weird, and the parents of other kids stared too long when they picked them up. It just sucked—and then they’d ask about him. What it’s like to be Endeavor’s kid. How cool it must be. Fucking pissed me off.”
You stay quiet. He grits his jaw.
“I hated it. It’s like no matter where I went, he was there first. Even when he wasn’t around. And then, even when I stopped talking to him, everyone still knew who the hell I was because of that name, and now it’s not even always a good thing to people. Not with everything that’s happened. I can’t let our kid deal with that same thing.”
Natsuo has always hated being Endeavor’s son—he doesn’t quite remember when it started. Maybe when he was a kid, maybe when he realized his father was only a father by title and nothing more.
Natsuo is five. He’s at his friend Haruto’s birthday party, and it’s the first birthday party he’s ever been invited to. His mother kneels by the front door before she leaves, straightening the little collar of his shirt, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Be on your best behavior, Natsu.
He grins so wide his face hurts. I’m always good, Mommy.
Her face softens. Of course you are. You’re my good boy, Natsu.
Then she’s gone, and Haruto grabs his wrist and drags him inside before he can even wave goodbye.
The house is much smaller than his, but…it’s somehow nicer. He likes it better here already. Of course, there’s no big brother Touya or Mommy or Fuyumi here, but still, he likes this house better. There’s laughter everywhere. The walls are filled with pictures of Haruto and his little sister. There are drawings hung on the fridge, and this house is nice and happy, and he quickly knows that he likes it better than his own house.
Natsuo doesn’t know what to do with that.
He stands in the doorway of the living room, clutching the gift his mother picked out, when Haruto’s father appears. Haruto’s father is tall. Not as tall as Natsuo’s father, but tall enough that Natsuo has to tilt his head back to look at him.
The man smiles at Natsuo, and then it grows even wider as his eyes land on Haruto.
“There you are!” he laughs, scooping Haruto up under the arms when the boy runs at him. “Birthday boys are supposed to help me carry the drinks, remember?”
Haruto squeals when he’s lifted. Kicks his legs. Laughs louder when his father blows a raspberry into his cheek. And something in Natsuo stills—he stares, good and hard and long. He tries to remember the last time his father kissed his cheek or lifted him like that. Isn’t that mommy’s job? Isn’t that what Haruto’s mother is supposed to do? Aren’t mothers supposed to be the ones who offer things like this? That’s what Natsuo has always believed for his five years of life.
Natsuo is five, and his father has never picked him up just because he wanted to. His father has never smiled like that just by seeing him. His father has never looked at him as if seeing him walk through the door made the whole room brighter.
Is there something wrong with his father? Is Haruto an extra good boy in a way that Natsuo isn’t? Is—
“Natsu?” Your hand cups his cheek, and the bedroom you both share materializes back all at once. The dark. The soft hum of the heater. The blanket tangled around his legs. Your face inches from his, brows drawn with concern. His breathing is shallow. He didn’t even notice it changing. Your thumb strokes over the tense line of his jaw. “You blanked out on me.”
—and Natsuo blinks hard before he realizes.
Natsuo is twenty-three, not five.
His father has not been in his life for four years. He has a wife now. A baby on the way. A home of his own that, despite being small, is warm and cozy and nice. And still, all it takes is one thought, and he is five years old all over again, standing in Haruto’s living room that is somehow nicer than his, and realizing that other boys his age are loved differently by their fathers than he is.
He swallows, throat painfully dry. And because the memory has left him feeling more restless than he wants to admit, he turns his face into your palm and closes his eyes. You shift closer, your hand moving to his cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone delicately.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “What were we saying?”
“You want our baby to have my name,” you say carefully.
“Well,” his voice comes out rough, “the name could be ours. You know?”
Your brow furrows. He turns to look at you again, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression that he knows makes your chest ache. Natsuo is always causing so much trouble for you. So much burden to carry and deal with, even though he’s tried cutting it all off. He doesn’t know why he can’t just carry the weight by himself and stop crushing you under it.
“Our name?” you ask, confused.
“I want to take your name too.”
He’s been thinking about it for a long time now. He never let you take on his last name and marry into the Todoroki family. He would never insult you like that. Never force the curse that seems to cling to that name onto your shoulders when you lived such a harmless, peaceful existence before he came along and selfishly took that all away. He couldn’t add more hardship to the peace he has already destroyed.
You’re so very quiet for a moment, he thinks you might have just finally hit your limit. Might have just finally decided that you are over this bullshit that he keeps bringing onto you and all the ridiculous heaviness he seems to always drag along into everything. For a second, he looks ashamed of having said it—he almost expects you to laugh or tell him he’s being dramatic. That of all his unreasonable, broken little requests that you quietly agree to because you love him too much to say no, this one is just too absurd to entertain.
Instead, you just smile.
“If you want, yeah,” you hum. “I’ve always wanted us to have the same last name. If this is what you want to do, I’m happy.”
“I know it’s stupid,” he says quickly, but you cut him off.
“It’s not stupid,” you frown. “I think you should do what you want, Natsu. If it makes you feel good, then it’s not stupid.”
He exhales shakily. “You think so?”
You smile at him, sleepy and warm and impossibly kind. So patient and adoring, he wonders how love like this could exist for someone who came from no love at all.
“Yeah,” you yawn, curling into his chest. He wraps his arms around you instinctively, the weight of you against him familiar and safe. You’re safe, and it’s because of him. That’s good. “Plus, if you have my name, I can say I’m like the man of the house, or something, huh?”
He laughs, chest lighter than air. “Yeah,” he chuckles, kissing your head. “I suppose you could.”
————— EIGHT MONTHS.
You and Natsuo argue tonight. It’s his fault, of course—and now he’s faced with the reality that he cannot even be a husband to a pregnant woman, and yet, he dares to imagine himself as a father to a child. Dares to imagine himself guiding a little human and instilling lessons, and principles, and discipline to raise a functioning member of society.
How ridiculous of him to believe he could do something like that. How ridiculous when he snapped at you over something so stupid. You’re pregnant—pregnant with his child, carrying his baby, suffering all of the things you endure just to bring his son into this world, and you ask for cake from the convenience store a few blocks away. Sure, it’s almost midnight, and it’s raining a little, but you deserve your fucking cake.
But Natsuo can hardly be a husband, let alone a soon-to-be father, so he snaps at your request.
He’s tired from a long day at work, and he’s stressed from trying to apply to a position with a higher salary now that he’s a bit more experienced, and it’s raining and cold, and it’s winter—despite having a quirk of literal ice, Natsuo’s body feels more like it’s suited for heat. Imagine that. Yet another curse he’s been inflicted by his bastard of a father.
So he snaps.
It’s almost midnight. Can it not wait until tomorrow?
It comes out louder than he intended, sharper, and the second the words leave his mouth, his stomach twists. Because Natsuo is not kind. Not like Fuyumi or Shoto or his mother, who endure and endure and endure despite being thrown to the ground and then some. He is not kind, nor is he patient, and he has the temper of his father. So he says words with the same cadence as the man who raised him on harsh yells and snarled words that he’d cower behind his sister and listen to. He yells because it is only inevitable that Natsuo cannot be a husband, let alone a father.
He can’t believe he spoke to you that way. He knows it was only a matter of time. He would never speak to you that way. It’s only in his nature to do so. He can’t fathom hurting you like this. He is only the byproduct of his upbringing, and the truth is that he is the son of a violent, abrasive man.
Natsuo remembers being little and understanding, before he could barely even form words, that the whole house bent around his father’s mood. If Enji was angry, everyone knew. His poor mother and the way she couldn’t decide whether to sit quietly and take it, if only to avoid the repercussions, or to say something for once and end his father’s boiling hatred and rage. He remembers his father’s towering figure and that terrible, booming vibration of his voice on the walls. Not even Fuyumi’s hands over his ears were enough to keep the sound from invading his eardrums.
He wonders if you felt that same vibration through your body today, when his voice bounced off the walls and came straight at you. He wonders if you saw that same hatred that exists within him, as if it were just another limb. He wonders if you see him for all he truly is—all he was ever raised on, and eventually, inevitably, undeniably meant to be.
Natsuo stands abruptly, too hot in his own skin, and storms off before you can say anything. Before the man he is doomed to be takes surface, and he hurts you the way he is cursed to hurt the people around him.
The bathroom feels small. It’s suffocating. It’s what he deserves.
He grips the sink and stares at himself in the mirror, breathing hard. He hates that he can see it—the way he has his father’s blood pumping through his veins and the way his father is half of who he is. Hates that no matter how old he gets, his face still betrays him in the worst moments and reminds him where he comes from. No matter what, his father is still there, waiting beneath his skin, so cruelly and sinisterly patient enough to come out just when Natsuo is weak and on his knees and ready to crumble.
His hands shake against the sink.
You’re pregnant. Pregnant with his baby, and he got angry over some fucking cake. Some cake that would take him all of twenty minutes to drive down and get. He could have thrown a hoodie over his head, could have endured that fractional moment of walking in the rain from his car to the store’s entrance. He could have gotten you your cake and taken care of you because you are carrying his child, and because he loves you for it. Not because he expects you to just silently do it as if it were your duty.
But Enji is his father, and Natsuo is Enji’s son. They are angry, livid men—they hold onto their grudges and stubbornly keep them in their pockets, clutching them in their fists wherever they go. Their hatred never goes away.
The door opens with a low creak. Natsuo stiffens as soon as it does, and when he turns, you’re already standing there in the doorway, dressed in one of his old shirts for bed. Your face is softer now. The hurt has faded into concern.
You are always so concerned for him—always shoving down your needs to do what he needs instead. You are so much like his mother, it makes him nauseous. Makes him taste the acrid burn of bile on his tongue. You are so much like his mother, and he is so much like his father, and this is who he was always inevitably meant to be—his father’s son, who will hurt another man’s precious daughter like it is nothing. Like she is nothing.
You frown as you look at him. “Natsu, baby,” you say quietly, reaching to touch him.
He flinches, and your hand pauses in the air. He looks away immediately, ashamed. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“I know, I know you are, so please—”
“I…I don’t know why I got so…” His voice catches. “Why was I so angry?”
You step inside, gently draping yourself against his back, cheek resting on his shoulder. “You had a long day, okay? It happens—all couples have their moments.”
“But no one gets that mad over cake, do they? You can’t sit there and tell me there’s not something seriously wrong for me to get all—”
“Natsu, come on—you’re being hard on yourself. I’m sorry too. It’s the middle of winter, and it’s cold and rainy outside. I shouldn’t have brought it up that late—”
His head snaps up. “Don’t apologize. Don’t do that. Don’t ever say sorry to me, ever.”
“Hey,” you smile gently, poking his cheek. “I know you think I’m perfect—and you should, of course. But even I make mistakes. Just the kind of mistakes that perfect people like me make.”
He loves you so much. Only you could cheer him up so easily, and he fucking loves you. So painfully bad. He loves you and loves you and loves you, and he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’ll figure it out because he wants to love you. Wants to be capable of love. Wants to have a household where laughter bounces off the walls and not cold, harsh yelling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll go get you your cake right now—”
“I would really like it if we went to bed,” you kiss his cheek. “Will you come to bed with me?”
His eyes are wet now, tears gathering despite how hard he’s trying to hold them back. “We should talk about this.”
“We just did,” you point out gently. “But if you have more to say, then I’ll listen, baby. So—”
“I’m just like him,” he blurts abruptly.
You look at him with disbelief instantly. Before he can even comprehend it, you put both hands on his face and pull him toward you.
“Natsu,” you say, firm and strict. “You were grumpy, and you snapped at me over some cake. That hurt my feelings, yeah—that was mean of you, and I’m just a girl. Don’t do that again. But I’ve snapped at you way worse for far less, okay? Mistakes happen, baby, so don’t do this to yourself.”
He tries not to do this. But he does. Every time, he does this again and again and again. And you deal with him. Deal with his baggage and his odd requests and his emotional breakdowns and the ridiculous little ways his mind spirals over nothing. It’s nothing—he should have apologized and bought you your cake. He should have fixed it and promised to be better. He should have been a good husband and not left it all up to you to come and mend and piece together.
Because it never really changes, does it? It never goes away.
Natsuo has tried—he’s tried to make it all go away. For his mother, his older sister, and his little brother. For you. For himself, even. For the sake of being happy, so he can enjoy his life, and maybe, if he does, it’ll make things easier for the people around him that he loves. He’s tried to make it go away despite all the fucked up shit he carries around with him—or maybe drags along, if anything, since it clings to him no matter how hard he works to rip it off. He’s tried to make it go away for so long, so many days and weeks and years, and it never fucking leaves him. Not really. It clings to him like a second skin, a skin that resembles his father far too closely.
He sees his old bastard of a father everywhere he sees himself. Hates his own reflection for it. Hates looking into mirrors, and back at pictures, and realizing he has the same jaw, the same nose, and that same look in Enji’s eyes when he’s deep in thought. That same awful, curled snarl they both wear when they’re angry.
Natsuo hates being angry.
He hates how easy it is for him to be angered, and how long he can hold onto it once it’s there. He hates that out of all his siblings, he is the only one who has his father’s rage. He is nothing like his loving, beautiful older sister, who gives and gives and hopes it will somehow undo the damage. He is nothing like his kind, growing little brother, who chooses every day to be better than the cards they have been dealt. They are both so much like his mother—so clearly her children in the way they share her resilience, in that quiet willingness to forgive no matter what they endure that Natsuo has never understood.
Because he is his father’s son. He always has been, no matter what he does to change it or tear it away from himself. He’s five, he’s twelve, he’s twenty-three. And Natsuo is his father’s son. He’ll die as his father’s son the same way he was born.
It never really changes. It never goes away.
But you are there—you are always there. You are the one thing that he has that hasn’t been tainted by his father or the shame that clings to his family. You are the one thing that he has that his father has not yet taken from him. That he has not fucked up by being his father’s son.
And you are wiping his tears as you cradle his face, as you kiss his forehead and his nose and his wobbly lips, as you whisper, it’s okay, Natsu. It’s okay—you aren’t like him at all.
“M’sorry,” he croaks. “I…I’m sorry I ruin everything and c-can’t be what you need a-and—”
“You’re exactly what I need,” you tell him as you shake your head, smiling and grabbing his hand.
It’s so much like his father’s. They have the same wide hands with the same long, bony fingers and the same square nail beds. It scares him so much. Scares him that his hands are capable of doing the same things as his father’s, and that your face is capable of looking as broken as his mother’s.
“I’m not,” he shakes his head. “I’m…I can’t do this. I’ll fuck it up—”
“You won’t, Natsu,” you say, still smiling. Like he is worth smiling for. “You’re good. Okay? You’re gentle and sweet, and you make sacrifices. You pay attention, and you do things without asking, and you listen. You give, and you hardly know how to take. You’re everything I’ve always wanted, and you’ve always been what I’ve needed. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.”
He’s crying.
He cries for himself and for who he always has to be for the rest of his life. He cries for who he could have been if it weren’t for the unfair cards life dealt him.
He should be calling his father. He should be asking him what it takes to be a man for his family. How to care for his pregnant wife and their growing baby. How to be a doting father to an infant, and what to do if they won’t stop crying. How to be patient with a toddler and survive the bratty, terrible twos. How to be kind to a young child and teach them right from wrong with compassion. How to be fair with a teenager and how to weather their rebellious, stubborn years. How to watch them become an adult and learn how to let go when they don’t need him anymore. How to do it all right, so his child—his baby—grows up to be his pride and joy.
But he can’t.
He’s never had those things, and he doesn’t know how to do them either. And he can’t call and ask because the person who was supposed to teach him chose instead to beat his mother, may as well have killed his brother, tore away his sister’s joy, and ingrained nothing but isolation into the only brother he has left.
So he cries. And you wipe his tears, because you are the one good thing he has, and the only thing in his life that hasn’t been touched by Enji and burned bitter.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, sniffling as he buries his head into your neck. “I’m barely figuring out how to do things with you.”
“You’re doing things perfectly with me,” you rub his back slowly. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he sniffles. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t want to hurt you and ruin our family.”
“You’d never.”
“I don’t want to make our son scared.”
“I think he’ll feel quite safe around you.”
“I don’t want to be bad,” he finally admits, voice cracking.
And you are the one good thing he’s ever had. The one good thing that keeps him together and quells his anger and teaches him to be something else outside of being his father’s son. You are the one thing that makes him good at being something else, and he is reminded when you whisper, “You’re never bad, Natsu. You’re only ever good to me.”
“I’m scared,” he says, looking at you desperately. “I don’t know how to be a father, and I’m scared. I don’t want to be selfish and…and not even realize it, or be an asshole and get angry all the time and ruin everything, and—”
“It’s okay,” you cut in gently, cradling his face before he can spiral any further. “I’m scared too.” Natsuo’s breath catches. You brush your thumb beneath his eye, wiping away the wetness there before it can fall. “I don’t know how to be a mother either. I’ve never done this before. But I didn’t know how to be a girlfriend either, remember? Or a wife. I figured those out.”
A small, shaky laugh escapes him. “You were always a good girlfriend. Maybe too good—you shouldn’t have dealt with all the things you did.”
You roll your eyes fondly. “I was young and immature sometimes—you just love me too much to say it out loud. Good thing, too. I’d send you to the couch.”
“I have no doubts,” he laughs, wet and soft.
“But I’m here because I had you, and I’ll be okay when the baby is here because I’ll still have you. And you’ll be okay because you’ll have me. We’ll have each other, and then we’ll have our son too. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
He stares at you, eyes red, breathing uneven. He can’t say anything—can’t bring himself to admit that he’s afraid he’ll never figure it out. But you’re confident in him—so scared, yet so confident, he wonders if he’d be doubting you if he doubted your conviction.
“We’ll be good parents,” you say, so easily, like it’s a fact and not a hope. “Probably embarrassing ones. I think I’ll be a little more strict than you.”
That earns the tiniest huff of air from him, a ghost of a smile. You smile at that.
“And you’ll be the one sneaking him snacks when I say no. You’ll pretend you’re not, but you’re terrible at lying, so he’ll absolutely know which parent to ask when he wants something.”
His mouth twitches wider despite himself. You lean your forehead against his, returning his smile. And he loves you so much, so, so much, he can hardly believe love like this could exist for someone who came from no love at all.
“You’ll probably let him stay up too late if he says he’s not tired. You’ll teach him how to break my rules without me noticing, and then I’ll catch you both in the act. And you’ll be the one in more trouble because you’re the adult, and you should know better than to break my rules.”
It’s so easy to envision it when you put it like that. So simple to picture this future of yours that you believe is possible with him. So painfully ordinary. So mundane. So normal and like everyone else. It’s everything he’s always wanted—a normal fucking family. Just a life. A small, regular one that he shares with the people in his house. A house that they make into a home. A home that he has always wanted and never believed he’d get to have.
His hand slides down protectively over your stomach. “Yeah, but I’m gonna mess up.”
“Of course you will, silly,” you whisper. “I will too. But we’re the adults, so we’ll apologize to set a good example, and stuff. Nothing worse than someone who never apologizes—we can’t let our son grow up to be one of those men.”
He laughs, tears spilling over before he can stop them. “Yeah, I guess we can’t,” he mumbles.
“I don’t let my husband be one of those men,” you hum, kissing his nose, “so no way I’d let my son be, either.”
He presses his forehead to yours as he closes his eyes. “Yeah, you do keep your husband on a tight leash, don’t you?” he murmurs.
Natsuo is twenty-three. He’s a husband—in fact, he’s your husband, and he’s done it right so far. You have loved him for years and years, and you’ve stayed happy all this time. It’s been because of him. He has kept you happy as his wife.
“What can I say?” you grin. “I’m the man of the house.”
His chest feels lighter as he pulls you into the deepest kiss he might have ever pulled you into.
Natsuo is twenty-three. He is his father’s son, but he is also his son’s father. He’s going to do it right, and you’re going to watch him be all the things he’s promised you he’ll be.
tbh my niche is fluffy and cheesy feel-good romance i dont rly write heavier topics so this is honestly not very good but once an idea possesses me i have no choice. the fic writes me i do not write the fic ueueueue
ꨄ︎ warnings : very awkward, skinship?, reader is kinda mean, euijoo is just desperate, fuma cameo
ꨄ︎ word count : 1.8k
ꨄ︎ author’s note : this was actually a maki req that i received a while ago but it got lost somewhere 😓 i hope you don’t mind that i switched it to euijoo anon!! there is a juju drought on my blog… anyway yearning euijoo 🤤 all support is appreciated. hope u enjoy jokitties 🪽
since the first day he had met you, euijoo had been certain he would be able to make you his. you were just so perfect, he had to. not to be dramatic, but his life depended on it.
despite being a rather timid guy a lot of the time, when you were in the vicinity his demeanor shifted until something completely different. more shameless. more desperate.
he’d text you the same thing every morning:
- good morning!
- have a good day :)
and the same thing every evening:
- goodnight!
- sweet dreams, pretty
it was rare that euijoo would get a response, and even then they were brief:
- you 2
it frustrated him, but euijoo wasn’t one to give up that easily.
---
he would try during group hangouts after uni, moving across the couch until he was sat right next to you, thigh pressed against yours, and he would give you his signature smile.
“uh, hi, y/n. good day?” he would curse himself when you shift away, not interested in conversing with him.
“you’ll get ‘em next time,” his friend yuma would tease from his other side, nudging euijoo with an elbow.
---
euijoo constantly tried to make moves on you, and you somehow always managed to avoid him before he could realise his advances weren’t working. he was so confused.
it wasn’t that he thought you hated him, because you still willingly hung out with him (in a group setting obviously), but more so that he couldn’t figure you out. couldn’t figure out how you felt.
so he would test it, test your feelings for him. he just wanted an answer. and boy did he get one.
“y/n,” he whispered into your ear on movie night, careful as to not let the others hear. “this is fun. um… would you ever have a movie night w-with me? just me?”
you glanced at him, unimpressed. he was really asking you this now? in the middle of the movie?
“euijoo, come on. not now.” you brushed him off, turning back to the screen. euijoo turned too, cheeks burning in embarrassment.
fail number one.
---
another time, you and your friend group were on your way to the beach, walking down the sidewalk, soaking in the sun. each of your friends were split off into smaller groups, all busy and absorbed in their own conversations. you lingered at the back on your own, simply enjoying the view.
“hey,” euijoo said, slowing to match your pace. you greeted him briefly in return. “it’s such a nice day, don’t you think?”
“yeah, it’s pretty good.” you replied, giving him a small smile.
your expression quickly faltered when you felt euijoo’s hand slip into yours. his touch was delicate, careful, but that only made it all the worse for you.
“euijoo what are you doing? not now.” you whispered, pulling away from the contact. away from euijoo.
fail number 2.
not now. not now not now not now not now.
not ever, it felt more like.
euijoo was utterly hopeless.
---
every rejection left euijoo buried in questions he didn’t know the answer to.
did you hate him?
was he being too overbearing?
was he not trying hard enough?
why were you so distant?
questions, questions, questions. so many questions. no answers.
---
“hyung, i’m useless,” he whined, his long body splayed across his bed. fuma sat in the desk chair on the opposite side of the room. if anyone was to walk in, they’d think it was a makeshift therapy session.
“she never responds to my texts, like, ever. she hates me.”
fuma sighed, adjusting the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
“no, she doesn’t.” he replied, folding his arms. euijoo groaned. “i’d know better than anyone.”
“but… but she’s constantly rejecting me!” he let out a helpless huff. “do we mismatch? i think we do. every little thing i do somehow pushes me further from her-”
“-because you’re doing too much, euijoo.” fuma cut him off, causing him to sit up.
“huh?”
fuma cleared his throat.
“she doesn’t like all the grand, upfront gestures. that’s not y/n.”
euijoo listened quietly, fascinated at this new information. he’d been approaching you the wrong way the whole time.
fuma continued.
“she likes simple. she prefers the types of things that say more internally than externally. sudden confessions and bold touches aren’t what will work for her.”
all of the questions floating in euijoo’s head had finally snapped into place at fuma’s words, pairing with the answers he had been desperate for. everything made sense now.
“earth to euijoo~”
“oh! right, um… i’m listening.” euijoo shook out of his daze. “so, hyung, what should i do? to… to make her like me.”
he watched as fuma leant forward in the desk chair, elbows resting on his thighs.
“let me enlighten you.”
---
that day with fuma had changed euijoo for the better, and he was sure that he could make you his now.
even you had noticed the difference in how he acted. euijoo was no longer pushy, didn’t invade your personal space, and refrained from asking you out on a date a minimal ten times a day.
euijoo was more subtle now, his actions simple but still there.
he’d show up at your friend’s apartment with your favourite drinks and snacks in his backpack. you couldn’t recall telling him that these were your favourites, but he knew.
“i remembered.” he’d say, a timid smile on his lips. “you told me when we first met at freshers week.”
when your voice was lost in the sea that was your friends’ chaotic conversations, loud and energetic, euijoo would cut through, giving you a chance to speak. a subtle way of saying ‘i hear you’.
when you and your friends would be heading home from the library, late in the january evening, euijoo would offer you his jacket, silently draping it over your shoulders. you had only shivered once.
everything euijoo did was subtle, and it seemed to be working. you were more comfortable around him, more willing to talk to him - he’d even managed to convince you to facetime him when the two of you couldn’t sleep.
it was going steady. it was going great.
---
friday’s movie night with the group had ended roughly 30 minutes ago, everyone dispersing from the apartment gradually. you and euijoo were some of the last people to leave; he was walking you to the train station.
euijoo had been fidgety all night, and you weren’t oblivious to this. a few blocks from the station, he had quietly asked you to stop, standing face to face with you.
“can we talk?” he asked, expression doing nothing to hide his nervousness. you nodded, urging him to continue.
“well, um…” a moment of awkward silence filled the space between you before he found his words. “i actually wanted to apologise for something.”
“go on.”
“listen, um… i’m really sorry for how i acted before. i was… weird. i was so pushy and annoying and it was all because i wanted you to like me. and i learnt that what i was doing was, in fact, what you hated.”
he could barely keep eye contact with you, eyes glancing around the street.
“so i went to fuma. he told me what you liked, what you didn’t like. and i changed. for you, i mean.” his voice cracked slightly, his emotions bubbling right below the surface. “i put so much effort into doing what would win you over. you should see how many texts i sent fuma. it’s embarrassing.”
he chuckled self-deprecatingly. you noticed how his bottom lip trembled.
“i just… i really want you to like me. because-” euijoo stuttered again, his hand covering his face for a moment. he was crying. “b-because i love you.”
you were shocked, to say the least. you knew that euijoo liked you, but to hear him actually admit his feelings to you was a whole different story. he was more genuine this time. he was laying his feelings out in front of you, raw and defenceless, hoping you’ll accept them.
“my feelings depend on you. n-no… i depend on you.”
tears ran down euijoo’s cheeks, and his hands trembled at his sides. he didn’t want to wait anymore. all he wanted was you.
“i’m trying so hard, y/n.” he whispered, finally making eye contact with you. “i just… i just want to know if my efforts are paying off.”
you looked up at him, his tear-stained, pink cheeks, his big brown eyes, his hair that fell over them.
“please, y/n.” he begged, voice broken from crying.
you were quiet for a moment, letting the moment process in your mind before you said anything. here euijoo was - the shy try-hard that would rush to sit next to you in the car, the guy who’d be caught staring at you during movie nights, the guy who would constantly be trying to be the center of your attention - baring his heart out to you on a friday night. crying and begging. about a month ago, you would’ve told him to stop, probably even walked away. but now, you found him sweet, endearing.
“i like you too, euijoo.” your words cut through the silence.
“wait, w-what?”
“i said i like you too.”
euijoo wrapped his arms around you almost instantly, his wet cheek pressed against your shoulder. his arms were squeezing you so hard you could barely breath.
“thank you so much,” euijoo said, and by the sound of his voice you could tell he was crying again. “thank you for giving me a chance.”
“…you’re welcome.”
your hands rested firmly on his lower back, grounding him. letting him know that you were here now, and you weren’t going anywhere.
“i’m sorry i was so closed off before. i just didn’t know how to react to everything.”
“don’t apologise, pretty.” euijoo shook his head instantly. he didn’t like the idea of you apologising for how you were as a person. because in his eyes, you were perfect. “but… this means you’ll go on a date with me, r-right?”
he lifted his head, looking at you with such a desperate look in his eyes you couldn’t deny him any longer.
“of course.”
success number one.
---
euijoo had just got into bed when his phone buzzed. his face lit up when he read your messages.
