chroniclesofskz

[chroniclesofskz]

What makes you tick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're just friends," Y/N managed to say, her voice wavering slightly. But the smirks on their faces told her they weren't fooled. They had heard the faint sounds of pleasure that had escaped from the kitchen, and they knew there was more to the story. The room grew quieter, and she could feel their curiosity burning into her.

Chan stepped in, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Yeah, we were just... catching up," he said, his eyes locking with hers, silently telling her not to give in to the embarrassment. She took a deep breath, letting his presence ground her. "Why don't we get back to the movie?" she suggested, trying to change the subject.

The rest of the night was a blur of stolen glances and accidental brushes of hands. Y/N could feel the electricity between them, and she knew the others noticed. But no one said a word, allowing them the space to navigate their newfound feelings.

[chroniclesofskz]

THIS WAS FUCKING JUCY 🫢

Hands On My Throat

Bestfriend! Chan x Reader

Tags: explicit sexual content, choking kink / neck play, brat taming, praise + possessiveness, slight dom/sub dynamic, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, multiple positions, couch sex, shower sex, best friends to lovers, sexual tension

Word count : 9.6k

Summary: He’s the golden boy of your friend group, also your best friend of ten years. Touchy without thinking. Protective without asking. And hot—criminally hot—without ever being yours. Until one night, in the middle of a crowded living room, his hand wraps around your neck without thinking. And you realize… he has no idea.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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There was no knock. There never was.

Chan walked into your apartment like he paid rent—hoodie half-zipped, keys jingling in his hand, the familiar scent of clean laundry and whatever cologne he swiped from his dresser that morning trailing in after him. He kicked off his shoes like a man with no shame and made a beeline for your fridge.

You didn’t even look up from your laptop. “You steal one more yogurt and I’m reporting you to the building board.”

He opened the fridge. “You don’t even like Greek yogurt.”

“You don’t know my life.”

“I know you used it once for a TikTok mask and gagged.”

You grinned. “Okay, fine. But still. Ask before you mooch.”

He shut the fridge and padded over, yogurt in one hand, water bottle in the other. “Never have. Never will.”

Chan dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough for his thigh to press solidly against yours. He stretched his arm behind you like he was at a movie theatre trying to flirt with a stranger. His fingers brushed your shoulder, then stayed there. Rested. Comfortable.

Normal.

You didn’t move. Just kept typing, one leg curled beneath you, the other pressed tight against his. You’d long since stopped noticing how often his body found yours. Chan was touchy—had been since high school. Always stretching across your lap, squeezing your arms, playing with your fingers absentmindedly during long talks. You didn’t even flinch when his palm dropped to your knee now, warm and casual.

This was just how it had always been.

People didn’t get it. Not back in school, not in college, not now when you lived a few floors apart and spent most nights either at his place or yours. The teasing from friends had been endless, and the side-eyes never stopped. But neither of you had ever crossed that line. Not even once.

Not even close.

You were hot. He was hot. That was an objective fact. But hot didn’t mean available. It didn’t mean interested. Not between you two.

Chan opened the yogurt with one hand and shoved the lid at you. “Lick this. Be useful.”

You turned your face slowly. “You want me to lick your foil lid?”

“I’m not dirtying a spoon just to eat this.”

“You’re so unserious.”

“I’m efficient.”

You took the lid, licked it once with a dramatic roll of your eyes, and handed it back. “Happy?”

He grinned. “Always.”

He popped the rest of the yogurt into his mouth and grabbed the TV remote, settling in like he didn’t plan on leaving for hours. You weren’t surprised. Most nights looked like this—Chan in your space, touching you somewhere, somehow, while the two of you talked about everything and nothing. He never asked. You never flinched. You barely noticed anymore.

And even when his hand slid just a little higher on your thigh—thumb brushing back and forth across the thin fabric of your shorts—you didn’t think twice. It didn’t register. Just Chan being Chan. Just another Tuesday.

⸻

Chan’s living room was loud. Like it always was when everyone crowded into his space.

Music buzzed from the Bluetooth speaker someone had connected half an hour ago. Your group of friends were splayed across every surface—couch cushions, beanbags, someone cross-legged on the floor—arguing over which movie to watch while the food delivery slowly made its way through Friday night traffic.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, half-listening, half-scrolling on your phone. Comfortable. Cozy. Familiar.

You’d lost count of how many nights like this there’d been. Movie nights, lazy dinners, game nights that never ended with the actual game. And Chan—always at the center of it. Hosting, leaning against walls with his arms crossed, eyes creased from laughter.

Right now, he was behind you, one knee on the couch as he leaned over to grab the remote off the coffee table. The angle brought his chest close to your back, the edge of his hoodie brushing your cheek before he spoke over your head.

“Why are we even voting?” he asked. “We all know it’s gonna end up being some sad indie movie with subtitles.”

“Because you like chaos,” someone shot back. “We’re trying to have feelings tonight.”

Chan huffed a laugh, dropped the remote onto the cushion beside you, and stayed where he was—half-standing behind the couch, his weight shifting from one arm to the next.

Then you felt it.

One hand landed lightly on your shoulder. And before you could glance back or even think twice, it slid upward.

His palm curved gently around the side of your neck.

Not tight. Not firm. Just resting.

His thumb brushed the underside of your jaw once, then paused, like he was measuring something.

“Huh,” he murmured, half to himself. “Your neck’s tiny.”

He squeezed—not hard, just curious. Testing the width of it in his hand. Like he was checking the fit of something he already owned. His fingers spread easily around your throat, thick and relaxed, his thumb nearly meeting his fingertips on the other side.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

You kept your phone up, face calm, body casual. But inside?

You were choking.

Silently. Violently.

He had no idea.

He wasn’t even thinking about it. It was just Chan being Chan—touchy, absentminded, always touching you. Always. You’d never given it a second thought.

But this?

This was the one place you’d never imagined his hand.

The one part of your body that could short-circuit you with just a look, if the wrong person stared too long. And here he was—fingers wrapped casually around it, thumb brushing over your pulse, eyes probably still on the TV while your soul momentarily left your body.

You blinked. Swallowed. Scrolled aimlessly to mask the tension pooling hot in your stomach.

“Chan,” someone called out. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he said distractedly, thumb still grazing your neck. “Just thinking how weird it is that this—” he gave the softest squeeze, “—could pop like a grape.”

You let out a short, strangled sound that you masked as a cough.

Chan chuckled and finally moved away, dropping onto the armrest beside you with a bounce. His arm still brushed your shoulder, but the pressure on your throat was gone. Like it never happened.

Like it meant nothing.

And to him, it probably didn’t.

But to you?

You weren’t even sure if your breath had come back yet.

⸻

The door shut with a final click.

Silence fell over Chan’s apartment, the kind that only came after hours of noise—empty cups scattered across his counter, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls. You sank deeper into the couch with a sigh, one hand absently rubbing your shoulder where it ached from sitting in the same position too long.

Chan reappeared from the kitchen, hair pushed back by a band now, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tossed a bottle of water onto the coffee table and plopped down beside you, then paused.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said, too quick. “Just… tired.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re stiff.”

You shrugged, not looking at him. “Yeah, well. You try staying upright for four hours while Minho screams at the TV like it insulted his mother.”

Chan smiled lazily. “You’re carrying tension. Scoot up.”

“What?”

He patted the space between his legs. “C’mon. Let me fix it.”

You hesitated, but only for a beat.

This wasn’t new. He’d given you shoulder rubs before—during finals in college, during hell weeks at your old job, after long car rides or moving days. It was Chan. Your Chan. The one person you trusted not to make anything feel weird.

So you shifted forward, sitting cross-legged between his thighs, and let him rest his hands on your shoulders.

At first, it was nothing.

Just firm pressure. The pads of his thumbs pushing slow, rhythmic circles into your traps, rolling out the knots like he had all the time in the world. You melted, just a little, head tipping forward under the strength of it.

“Jesus,” you muttered, “where did you even learn how to do that?”

“Years of stress,” he said. “You get good at fixing what you live with.”

You huffed something like a laugh, eyelids falling shut.

Then his thumbs pushed deeper, finding the ridge near the base of your neck, and you let out a low groan of relief.

It felt too good. Way too good.

But it was still safe.

Until his hands shifted.

Slid higher.

Thumbs brushing the edges of your neck now. Rubbing the muscles that fed into it. Soft. Slow. Intent.

Your body tensed before your brain caught up—and then it slipped.

A sound left you.

High-pitched. Sharp.

Needy.

You bit it back immediately, lips slamming shut, but the damage was done. It hung there in the air for a second too long—too feminine, too out of place for the room’s quiet.

Chan stilled.

You didn’t breathe.

Then—

“You good?” he asked lightly, voice above your head.

You could hear the confusion. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right. Or if you meant it the way it sounded.

“I—yeah.” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “Just sore.”

He hummed. Didn’t say anything else.

His hands moved again, this time slower, gentler—sweeping wide across your shoulders before sliding up again, thumbs circling your neck with almost tender pressure. Like he was feeling out the muscle tension—but also maybe trying to see if you’d make that sound again.

You were still. Too still.

“Didn’t think you were holding this much here,” he murmured. His thumbs pressed gently into the dip just behind your jaw. “You always carry it this high?”

You nodded too fast. “Y-Yeah. Must’ve slept weird.”

His touch softened, almost affectionate now, tracing down your neck with his thumbs before slipping away entirely. The absence of it made your breath hiccup.

You couldn’t look back at him.

Not yet.

Because now you weren’t sure if he didn’t notice…

Or if he definitely did.

You hadn’t mentioned it.

Neither had he.

Not when you stood to leave a few minutes later, not when he walked you to the door like he always did, not even when his hand lingered low on your back as you slipped on your slides.

If anything, he looked more normal than usual. Relaxed. Even smiled when you told him you’d come by tomorrow to help clean.

“Don’t forget I’m your friend, not your maid,” you said.

He gave your arm a little squeeze. “You’re both.”

And that was that.

Or so you thought.

—

The next day, his apartment looked exactly the same. A few stray cups gathered in the sink, a throw blanket half-draped off the couch, crumbs on the coffee table. You tossed your bag down and got to work wiping things down while he gathered trash from the bedroom.

“You could at least pretend to clean while I’m here,” you called out.

“I am cleaning,” he shouted back. “I just clean in peace. Unlike someone.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning.

It was easy again. Like nothing happened.

Until it wasn’t.

He emerged from the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck, then padded barefoot across the room to take the rag from your hand.

“Okay,” he said. “Can we talk about something?”

You glanced at him. “What?”

He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he took the rag, folded it neatly, and set it on the table—slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to brace.

Then he looked at you. Really looked.

“That sound you made,” he said, voice quiet. “Yesterday. When I was rubbing your neck.”

Your stomach dropped. Not in panic. Just in… sheer mortified awareness.

You played dumb. “What sound?”

Chan tilted his head, amused.

“Don’t do that.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted, backing a step toward the kitchen, like that would save you.

He followed. One step. Two.

“You made a sound,” he said, not letting it go. “High. Like… I don’t know. Not pain. Definitely not pain.”

Your cheeks flamed. “Okay, and?”

“It just surprised me.” His voice stayed calm. Curious. “You don’t usually sound like that.”

You swallowed hard, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at a barrier. “It was nothing. You just hit a spot. I didn’t even realize I—”

“Sure,” he cut in gently. “But… I’m sure I’ve hit that spot before.”

You froze.

He smiled again, but it was slower now. Measured. A little too knowing.

Your voice came out small. “So?”

“So…” he scratched at his jaw, like he was still figuring out what he wanted to say. “I don’t know. It just sounded like… something else.”

Silence.

Heavy. Awkward. Charged.

You looked down. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Chan stepped a little closer.

You could smell him again—clean and warm, the same scent you’d been surrounded by for years. But now? It clung to your skin differently. Sunk into your pulse.

He was watching you carefully. Not pressuring. Not pushing.

Just… observing.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I believe you.”

Relief hit you, fast and fleeting.

“But if you had meant something by it,” he added, voice lower now, “you’d tell me, right?”

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t teasing anymore.

He wasn’t joking.

You met his gaze—eyes warm, calm, steady. There wasn’t a trace of judgment in them. No expectation either. Just the softest, slightest pull of curiosity.

And something else you couldn’t name yet.

You looked away.

“Clean your damn table, Christopher.”

He smirked. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a goodnight.”

You grabbed your bag and made a beeline for the door, pulse thudding in your throat, your skin hot all over. You could still feel the ghost of his hand there, even now. Still circling. Still squeezing.

And the worst part? You knew you’d dream about it.

The second you turned toward the door, you knew he wasn’t going to let it slide.

You felt it.

That shift in the air. The narrowing of his patience. Chan wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t oblivious. You’d slipped out of a hundred close calls with him over the years, danced around every whisper of tension—but now?

He had a thread.

And he was pulling it.

“Wait,” he said, quiet.

You kept walking.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you muttered. “I said it was nothing.”

The words barely left your mouth before you felt his hand curling around the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you back into him with a snap.

Your breath hitched.

Back to his chest. Spine to his hoodie. You froze, lips parting in disbelief.

“Chan—”

He grabbed your face before you could finish. One hand cupping your jaw, the other squishing your cheeks together so your lips puckered slightly, tilting your head back against him.

Your breath caught.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low—so low it brushed against your ear like a hum. “That moan. Was it your neck?”

You squirmed, heat rushing to your face, but his grip was firm. Not rough. Just insistent. Gentle like the beginning of something you weren’t ready to name yet.

“I said it was nothing,” you mumbled through his hold.

“I heard you the first time.” His hand loosened just enough for your jaw to move, but his palm didn’t leave your skin. “But that’s not what I asked.”

You turned your head slightly, but he followed the motion, chest warm against your back, his breath fanning across your temple.

“I’m not judging you,” he said softer now, almost amused. “I’m just asking… do you have a thing for this?”

His hand dropped—slow, steady—fingertips trailing from your jaw down the curve of your throat.

You stopped breathing.

His palm hovered just under your chin, thumb resting at the side of your neck, fingers spread. Barely touching. Barely grazing.

Then— He wrapped.

Not tight. Not firm. Just enough to feel his fingers circle you.

Just enough to remind you how small you were in his hand.

Everything in you went still.

Your lips parted again—useless, breathless, caught. You didn��t moan this time, but the silence said enough.

Chan’s voice dipped, teasing now. “So you do.”

You turned your face away, jaw tensed. “It’s not like that.”

His hand didn’t move.

“Then what’s it like?”

You stayed quiet, hands fisting at your sides.

“I didn’t even squeeze,” he murmured, voice velvet-slick. “And you froze like I switched you off with a button.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned. “Ohhh. So it’s like that.”

You tried to step forward, but his grip on your waistband tightened just slightly—reminding you he still had you. That he could pull again. That he would.

He leaned in, lips almost brushing your ear now.

“I’m not mad,” he said, gentle. “I’m not freaked out. I just…” his thumb grazed under your chin again, slow, sweet, deadly. “I think it’s kinda cute.”

“Chan,” you warned, but it came out too soft. Too breathy.

He let go of your jaw, finally. Stepped back a little.

His hand dropped from your neck like nothing happened.

But nothing about your body felt normal anymore.

“I’m gonna order takeout,” he said casually, walking to the kitchen. “You want the usual?”

You blinked.

Stared at him, stunned. “Are you serious?”

He glanced back with a smirk.

“Dead serious. But—if you wanna talk more about your kinks after dinner, I’m free.”

⸻

Dinner was a blur.

You barely tasted anything.

Chan ordered your usual like it was a normal night, like he hadn’t manhandled your face and wrapped his hand around your neck barely twenty minutes ago. He sat across from you at his counter, hoodie sleeves shoved to the elbows, digging into pizza while casually talking about Genshin.

You blinked at your own bowl, lips still tingling, mind running marathons.

He’d touched you a thousand times before—your waist, your thigh, your cheek, your lower back—but not like that.

Not with intent.

Not while calling you out about your kinks like he was just checking the weather.

You poked at your own noodles.

“So we’re not gonna talk about it?” you asked.

Chan looked up, chewing, one brow lifted.

“Talk about what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”

A beat of silence.

Then the softest smirk curled on his lips. “Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it.”

You stared at him.

Something low and hot coiled in your stomach. That smug little tone he always used on you when he knew he’d won—when he baited you into spilling, or laughing, or saying something you didn’t mean to say.

And suddenly?

You’d had enough. You dropped your fork. Sat back in your chair.

“Fine,” you said, eyes locked on his. “You wanna talk kinks? Let’s talk.”

The smile slipped from his face, slow and sharp—like something in him clicked.

“…Now?”

You crossed your arms, chin high. “You started it.”

Chan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s go.”

His voice was low again. Not teasing this time. Steady. Intrigued. Like you’d just pulled a loaded weapon on the table and told him to pick a side.

You swallowed. “We’ve never talked about this before.”

“I know.”

“We said we wouldn’t.”

“I remember.”

“So why now?”

Chan shrugged. “Because you moaned like someone touched your soul when I only grazed your neck and then tried to lie about it. And now I’m curious.”

You flushed.

“Curious about what?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You.”

A silence stretched between you—hot, tight, heavy.

You laughed once, hollow. “God. This is so fucking weird.”

Chan tilted his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” you threw your hands up. “You’re my best friend.”

“I’m still your best friend.”

“And we don’t talk about sex.”

“We do now.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes were too dark. Too steady. There was no out here.

You inhaled slowly. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”

Chan sat back again, folding his arms. “What else does it for you?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Dead serious.”

You hesitated.

Then—like the words tasted like sin—you said quietly, “Hands.”

A pause.

Chan’s lips twitched. “Yeah. I figured.”

“Big ones,” you added without thinking. “Veiny. Rough. Confident.”

His eyes gleamed. “That why you always let me manhandle you like a ragdoll?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m just observing,” he said. “What else?”

You gave him a flat look. “What, you taking notes now?”

He leaned in again, elbows on the table, voice dark velvet. “I will if you keep talking like that.”

Your thighs pressed together under the table.

You looked away. “You go. Say something.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then—casually—“I like brats.”

You choked.

“Excuse me?”

Chan grinned. “Smart mouths. Girls who push back. Who pretend they don’t wanna listen but fold the second I—”

“Okay!” you raised a hand. “That’s enough, Freud.”

He laughed, head tipping back.

But the tension didn’t ease.

If anything—it twisted tighter.

You bit your lip. “So like… choking. Is that weird?”

He blinked. “Is what weird? Wanting it done to you? Or doing it to someone?”

You paused. “…Both?”

Chan tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not weird. But it’s intense.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Another silence.

He watched you. “You like intense?”

You looked up.

His eyes were too sharp again. Too serious.

You whispered, “Yeah.”

He stood.

You froze as he walked around the counter, bare feet soundless against the tile. He stopped in front of you, hand sliding onto your jaw—soft, slow—and tilted your face up again.

Your breath caught.

“You could’ve told me,” he said, voice low. “Any of this.”

“I thought you didn’t wanna hear it.”

His grip firmed just slightly—thumb brushing your cheek, the edge of your lip.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Until you moaned like that.”

His hand dipped.

Neck again.

Only this time, his fingers wrapped tight—not choking, but claiming. Measuring. Knowing.

And this time?

You didn’t pretend.

You looked him dead in the eye as your lips parted on a breathy, involuntary gasp.

“Yeah,” Chan whispered, smiling now. “That one.”

You should’ve walked away.

Should’ve laughed it off, said something dumb and deflective, gone home and buried yourself in blankets until the heat left your skin.

But you didn’t.

You sat there—his hand on your neck, your thighs clenched under the counter, breath caught somewhere in your throat—and you let him.

Chan was quiet. His eyes searched yours, slow and steady, like he was reading pages of you you didn’t even know were open.

His fingers flexed slightly around your neck. A light squeeze.

Not rough.

Just enough to say, I’m still here. You feel me, right?

And God… you did.

“You’re really into this,” he murmured.

You looked away, cheeks warm. “It’s not like I think about it all the time.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

He hummed.

Then leaned closer.

“But you’ve imagined it.”

You stiffened.

He chuckled lowly, and you felt it through his palm, the softest vibration echoing down your spine. “That’s not a no.”

You turned your head, just slightly, and muttered, “You’re annoying.”

He pulled back.

Only to hook his fingers under your jaw again, tilting your chin up like you weighed nothing in his grip. “There she is,” he said, smiling like you’d done something delicious.

“What?”

“That mouth,” he said, tapping your lip once with his thumb. “That bratty tone.”

“I wasn’t being bratty.”

“Mhm,” he smirked, stepping back. “Sure you weren’t.”

He let go.

The loss of contact was immediate—jarring.

Your neck felt cold without his hand on it.

Chan crossed to the couch and collapsed into it, legs spread, arms stretched along the backrest. Like nothing had just happened. Like your whole reality hadn’t just tipped sideways.

You turned slowly. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

You gestured vaguely at the space between you. “That.”

Chan shrugged. “Just testing a theory.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What theory?”

“That I’ve been missing out.”

You blinked. “Missing out on what?”

He grinned, head resting lazily against the cushion. “This side of you.”

Your heart thumped.

“There’s no side,” you lied quickly. “That was— That’s just how I talk to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

He cocked his head. “So you’d moan like that if Seungmin gave you a massage?”

You glared. “Seungmin gives serial killer energy.”

“Then what about Hyunjin?”

“Hyunjin cries at perfume ads. I’d never let him near my neck.”

Chan laughed.

You didn’t.

“I’m not teasing you,” he said after a moment. “I just… I don’t know. Feels like we’re finally being real.”

You chewed your bottom lip. “It’s not like I was hiding anything on purpose.”

“I know.”

“I just thought it’d be… weird.”

Chan leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “It’s not weird.”

“You’re not freaked out?”

“Nope.”

You hesitated. “So what now?”

He smiled, that slow, cocky, dangerous smile. “Now I get to learn things.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re making it sound creepy,” you muttered.

He stood up again. Walked toward you, deliberate this time.

And when he stopped in front of you again, it felt different.

He wasn’t teasing now. He was… curious. Focused. Like you were a puzzle he’d just realized had more pieces.

His hand came up again—back to your neck—but this time, he didn’t wrap it.

He traced.

Knuckles down your throat. Fingertips skimming your collarbone.

You held perfectly still.

“So sensitive here,” he murmured. “And you never said a word.”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters now.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

He leaned in. Close. His breath brushed your lips.

“Because now I’m gonna find out what else does it for you.”

Your legs weakened.

Chan reached behind you and gently pushed you back into the nearest couch, standing over you now, looking down like you were a question he wanted to spend the night answering.

He tilted his head. “You like being told what to do?”

You blinked, heart hammering. “Why?”

“Just wondering how deep the brat thing goes.”

“It’s not a brat thing,” you snapped.

That smile again. Sharp. Addictive.

“There she is.”

“Ugh,” you scoffed, sinking back.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Give me something else. I’ll tell you one of mine.”

You looked at him, wary. “Promise?”

“Swear.”

You exhaled slowly. “I like being touched… slowly. Like… teased. Not rushed.”

Chan’s eyes darkened.

“Oh,” he said. “We’re gonna have fun.”

You blinked. “Your turn.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you. Rested his hands on your knees, just above them.

Then leaned forward and said—

“I like control. But only when someone wants to give it up.”

You froze.

“Like… the second you say stop, I’m out,” he added. “But if you give me the green light…” His thumbs stroked slow, slow circles over your legs. “I’ll ruin you sweet.”

Your breath hitched.

“Too much?” he asked, smiling.

You didn’t answer.

Because truthfully?

You didn’t know if it was.

You weren’t sure what had shifted.

The air, maybe.

Or the weight of his eyes when he looked at you like that—like you were becoming something right in front of him.

But Chan didn’t back down.

He stayed where he was, hands resting on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, distracted strokes into your skin like his mind was already a step ahead.

“I’ve never really talked to anyone about this stuff,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Not like this.”

You swallowed. “Me neither.”

“I didn’t think I needed to. Thought I had it figured out.”

“And now?”

His eyes met yours again, and there was something deeper in them now. Darker.

“Now I think I’ve been fucking around in the shallow end.”

You stiffened, legs tensing under his grip.

He felt it.

His thumbs stilled.

“That bother you?” he asked softly.

You shook your head before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he’d found a loose thread in you. “Then why are your thighs clenched?”

“I don’t know,” you breathed.

“Hmm.”

He moved his hands slightly up your legs, just a few inches, nothing dramatic. But his gaze stayed pinned to yours the whole time.

“Do you like when I talk like that?”

You hesitated.

Chan leaned in, whispering, “Tell the truth.”

Your lips parted, no sound coming out.

He grinned, barely. “Thought so.”

You flushed.

He sat back on his heels, exhaling a little laugh like this whole thing was amusing—and fascinating—and fucking exhilarating.

“I think I like this side of you,” he murmured.

“What side?”

He brought his hand up again, knuckles brushing your neck, then trailing down your collarbone. “The one that can’t sit still when I do this.”

You shivered.

He smiled. “You get quiet when you want something.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“Mm. You’re quieter than usual.”

He leaned in again.

Not touching this time—just watching you breathe.

“You always give this much control without realizing it?”

Your mouth went dry.

“I’m not—” you started.

But he shook his head.

“No, don’t answer. I like watching you try.”

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

You were wet.

God, you were already so fucking wet, and he hadn’t even touched you where it mattered. Not once.

He moved one knee forward, bracing his arm on the cushion beside your hips. The shift brought him closer. Too close.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Heavy.

Brushing your inner thigh.

Your breath stilled.

Chan didn’t move.

His lips quirked—just barely.

And that’s when you knew.

He felt it too.

Still, he played innocent.

“Something wrong?”

Your eyes flicked to his, wide. “Are you—?”

“I am,” he said calmly. “You surprised?”

You blinked.

“No.”

“Because you’re hot?”

You exhaled slowly. “Because you’re different.”

That made him pause.

“How?”

“You’ve never… acted like this.”

He hummed, low in his chest. “You’ve never let me.”

You stuttered. “I— I didn’t stop you—”

“No,” he agreed, nodding once. “But you didn’t give me an invitation either.”

You looked down, eyes on the space between your bodies, his arousal pressed right up against you like a secret you weren’t supposed to notice.

And still, you didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t say a word.

His voice softened. “So now that we’re here… wanna know another thing I’ve never told anyone?”

You nodded without thinking.

Chan’s fingers skimmed your hip, slow and deliberate. “I like watching people fall apart.”

Your lips parted, breath catching.

“But not in a mean way,” he added. “I like the process. The way your body learns to trust me before your brain catches up. I like how shaky your breath gets when I press on the right spot. How your legs tense when you’re trying not to give in.”

He smirked, voice dipping lower.

“I like hearing that little gasp you just made. And I really like how your thighs are squeezing together again.”

You gasped again, this time audible.

He was rock hard now. You could feel him throb slightly against you. A steady pulse through his sweatpants.

And then—God help you—he moved just a little.

A subtle, deliberate shift of his hips.

Just enough to feel how warm you were.

How ready.

Your jaw clenched.

Chan’s eyes flicked down to your mouth.

And that was his breaking point.

Because suddenly his hand was back—on your neck.

Not squeezing. Not dominating.

Feeling.

Like he was trying to understand how something so small could make him so desperate.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, half-lost in it.

You swallowed. “Then show me.”

His eyes snapped back to yours.

Dark.

Ravenous.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Didn’t push further.

Instead, he leaned in—nose brushing yours—and whispered, “Not yet.”

That’s what he said—low, husky, brushing your lips like a secret.

But then his head dipped lower.

And you felt it—his mouth at your cheek first, warm and lingering, then sliding lower still until his lips brushed your jawline… his teeth barely grazing your skin.

You jolted.

He smiled against you.

“Still holding it together?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

And then he bit you.

Soft. Right on your cheekbone. Just enough pressure to make you gasp—nothing overwhelming, but so intimate, so damn suggestive, it felt like your body cracked open around it.

A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

High. Desperate.

Sinful.

“Fuck…” you breathed, under your breath.

But he heard it.

God, he heard everything.

His mouth dragged to your ear—barely brushing it—before his tongue flicked once at the shell of it and he whispered, “Say that again.”

Your head tipped back into the couch, fingers digging into the cushion beside you.

He watched you fall apart, kneeling between your knees like you were some holy thing unraveling at his mercy.

And then, without even thinking, it slipped out.

“…Chan.”

His name, like a prayer.

Choked. Shaken.

Raw.

He stilled.

Completely.

You opened your eyes slowly, vision slightly hazy, only to find him staring back at you—eyes wide, chest rising visibly beneath his hoodie.

“Shit,” he muttered, like it hit him all at once.

Like he just realized the weight of what was actually happening.

You blinked, cheeks burning. “What?”

He shook his head once. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

You bit your lip, too overwhelmed to even fake control.

And that was it.

That broke him.

Chan’s hands flew to your hips, dragging you down the couch cushion just enough for him to lean over you completely. His mouth caught yours in a kiss so devastatingly hot you forgot your own name.

Teeth clashing. Breath mixing.

Tongues tangling like they’d been waiting years for this.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, desperate for something to hold onto as he kissed you like a man starving—like he was angry you’d kept this from him, angry you made him wait.

And the way you moaned into his mouth? The soft gasp you let out when his hand slipped beneath your shirt and splayed wide over your waist?

It shattered him.

Chan groaned against your lips, grinding into you once—slow but solid—and the friction was unbearable.

You whimpered, breath hitching, thighs tensing around his hips.

“Jesus, babe,” he growled into your neck, voice cracking with restraint. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

But you did.

You knew now.

And worse? You loved it.

You tilted your head without thinking, exposing your throat like instinct, and the second his lips found the base of it, the moan you let out was filthy.

Loud. Guttural.

You felt him throb against your core through both your clothes.

And he didn’t even try to hide it.

His hand found your neck again—cradling, not choking. Not yet.

Just holding.

Possessive. Protective. Like it belonged to him.

“You were gonna hide this from me?” he whispered roughly against your skin. “This part of you?”

You whimpered, nails dragging down his back.

Chan laughed. Dark. Breathless.

“Not anymore.”

That was the last thing he said before everything blurred.

Your best friend had kissed you before—on your forehead, your cheek, once at midnight on New Year’s when he was tipsy and too sentimental—but this was different.

This wasn’t affection.

This was possession.

He kissed like he’d earned it—like every time he let you sleep in his bed, every time he pulled you into his chest when you were crying, every time he called you baby under his breath without thinking… was just a slow burn countdown to this moment.

His lips moved against yours like he already knew your rhythm. Like he’d been dreaming of it and now he was tasting it for real.

And when you moaned again? He growled into your mouth.

His hands were wild now, frantic. Pulling at the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer by the hips until you were slotted right against him, heat to heat.

You could feel how hard he was.

And when he shifted his weight and pressed into you deliberately, you gasped—high-pitched and startled.

He tore his lips from yours just long enough to pant, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”

“Then do something about it,” you whispered, already breathless.

His eyes flashed.

“Say less.”

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants so fast it made your breath catch—and when his fingers reached your panties, he froze.

Because you were soaked.

Dripping.

His fingers brushed along the fabric—slick and clinging—and then he dragged them lower, curling them against the wet heat right between your legs.

You gasped. Shuddered.

Chan’s head dropped to your shoulder, lips at your ear, groaning deep in his throat. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You whimpered.

His fingers stroked once—just enough to tease—before he yanked your sweatpants down in one go, panties and all.

You squeaked, legs instinctively clamping together, but he was already on his knees again, big hands sliding under your thighs and pulling them apart with a groan.

“Let me see,” he rasped. “Come on, babe, show me how bad you need me.”

You swallowed, chest heaving.

You had never seen him like this—never even imagined him like this.

Hair messy, lips red, hoodie halfway off his shoulder as he pushed himself between your legs like a man starving.

And it wasn’t until he looked up—until those dark, wrecked eyes dragged slowly up your body and met yours—that you realized:

You were gone.

Undone. Open.

And he loved it.

His fingers returned, sliding into your folds with maddening slowness.

You cried out, knees trembling.

He sucked in a breath, watching his hand work between your legs like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.

“Dripping,” he whispered, almost reverent. “All this for me?”

You bit your lip. “Don’t be cocky.”

He smirked.

And then he curled two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust.

You screamed.

Your hand shot out, grabbing at his wrist, your thighs threatening to close—but he was too strong.

He pressed one hand firmly on your stomach, keeping you grounded while his fingers moved—slow, then fast, then deeper.

“Not cocky,” he panted. “Just maybe obsessed.”

You cried out again, body arching, trying to grind into his palm. Every nerve ending in your body was on fire—and he was eating it up.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Melting for me. You gonna come already?”

You shook your head, biting your fist.

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t hold back now, baby. We’ve got years to make up for.”

You moaned louder—desperate.

And then he stopped.

Just like that.

Fingers sliding out, breath ragged.

You blinked at him in shock, your whole body pulsing.

“What—?”

He wiped his fingers on the hem of his hoodie like it was nothing, then leaned forward and whispered against your mouth, “I’m not letting you come with my hand. Not the first time.”

You whimpered, a broken, trembling sound.

He kissed you again, rougher this time.

And then his hands were on his hoodie, yanking it off in one smooth motion, chest glistening with sweat, body hard and flexed as he stood to kick off his sweatpants.

You stared.

You’d seen him shirtless. You’d seen him in boxers during sleepovers. But this?

This was feral.

Ripped, flushed, bulging under tension—and fully hard now, cock bobbing as he leaned back over you, eyes wild with want.

“You ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.

You couldn’t even speak.

Just nodded.

Because the fire had already started, and now?

You wanted to burn.

You were breathless beneath him—bare, dizzy, skin hot and tingling in all the right places. And when he hovered over you now, sweat-slick and wild-eyed, your best friend didn’t look like your best friend anymore.

He looked like a man unraveling. One second away from ruin. Yours.

His hand slid behind your knee, lifting your leg over his hip. “You good?”

You nodded again, swallowing hard.

He smirked, gaze dropping to your lips.

“You sure?” he asked, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds—slow, teasing, maddening. “You look like you’re in trouble already.”

And something in you—something playful and wicked—snapped.

“Guess we’ll see if you can handle it.”

Chan paused.

Your voice—usually warm, teasing, light—was lower now. Challenging.

Bratty.

His brows lifted. “Oh?”

You shrugged, purposefully lazy beneath him, your leg tightening around his waist. “I mean… you talk a big game, but—” you made a little face, “—you’ve never even kissing me before today.”

Chan blinked slowly.

Then laughed once—dangerous and deep in his chest—before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one swift movement.

“You’re cute when you’re mouthy.”

You gasped, startled, but didn’t stop.

“I’m just saying,” you said sweetly, shifting under him, deliberately dragging your slick heat along his length. “You’ve waited ten years for this. Hope you’re not rusty.”

He stared down at you like you were made of sin and gasoline.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, lowering his face to yours, lips brushing your cheek. “You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”

You smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

And that was it.

That was all it took.

He snapped.

His hand came down, wrapping tight around your throat and the next thing you felt was the blunt push of his cock stretching you open in one slow, greedy slide.

You cried out, head falling back, legs trembling from the stretch.

“Fuck—”

“That shut you up quick,” he growled, watching your face as he bottomed out.

You whimpered, fully filled now, completely caged beneath him, and for a moment all you could do was breathe.

You weren’t used to this—this intensity. This power shift.

You weren’t used to being his.

Chan didn’t move right away. He stayed there—deep inside you, hand on your throat, his other still pinning your wrists—just watching.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “Say my name.”

You bit your lip, eyes fluttering. “…Chan.”

He pulled out halfway.

“Say it right.”

“Chan—ah, fuck—Chan,” you gasped, back arching.

He snapped his hips forward—hard—and your moan broke into a scream.

“You’re soaked,” he panted. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“I didn’t know—” you whimpered, completely undone, “—you’d be like this.”

He smiled against your throat, kissed it once, then bit down lightly on your jaw. “This is what you do to me.”

And when you clenched around him at those words?

He lost it.

His grip tightened—your wrists, your throat, your hips—and he started moving, every thrust thick and deep, sharp enough to send your thoughts scattering into stars.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he growled, pulling out only to slam back in harder.

You whimpered, breath catching. “Yes.”

He chuckled darkly. “Wrong answer.”

He dragged your hands down, pinning them to your chest now as he fucked into you, his entire body a weapon. Every thrust hit somewhere new—some place that made you cry out, curse, beg without knowing you were doing it.

“Look at you,” he said, voice wrecked. “You gonna be good now?”

Your pride screamed no.

But your body—your soaked, trembling, wrecked body—sobbed yes.

You swallowed hard, hips twitching, and whispered up at him with all the strength you had left:

“Make me.”

Chan’s eyes blazed.

“Oh, baby,” he growled, snapping his hips forward again. “I’m gonna make you beg.”

And from the way your legs shook?

You knew he already was.

You didn’t remember when your moans got louder than the thoughts in your head.

Didn’t remember when you stopped trying to talk back and started crying his name like a plea.

But your body remembered. Every inch of it was tuned to his touch now—sweaty, sticky, soaked, and strung out beneath the weight of your best friend losing his damn mind inside you.

He hadn’t stopped moving.

And he hadn’t stopped talking.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned against your skin, hips snapping forward. “Been dreaming about this—about you—for years. You were right in front of me—walking around like that, giving me attitude, pushing my buttons.”

You gasped, fingers dragging down his back. “I wasn’t trying—”

“Bullshit,” he growled, pulling out just enough to thrust back in hard, rocking your entire body against the couch. “You knew what you were doing. You knew I’d snap.”

You choked on a scream, grabbing at his shoulder for balance.

And then, with a glint in his eye, he lifted one of your legs onto the couch arm and pressed forward—deep and low.

You damn near sobbed.

“Fuck, this angle—” he hissed through clenched teeth, “—you’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

You shivered, mouth open, unable to answer—until a familiar bratty smirk broke onto your lips.

“Still think you’re in control?” you managed, breathless.

Chan stopped moving.

Dead still.

And grinned.

“Oh, baby girl.”

And just like that, he yanked out of you, flipped your body, and shoved your front down into the couch cushions.

His hand was already on your back, pressing you down as he lined up again—and when he slid back in with one long, filthy thrust, your scream was muffled in the fabric.

“Who’s in control now?” he grunted, pounding into you from behind, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your neck again—pulling you back, making your spine curve deliciously.

You tried to fight it—tried to sass, to squirm—but every stroke hit your g-spot like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.

And when he growled “look at that arch,” you whimpered.

“I can feel you clenching, baby. You gonna come already?”

You hissed, bratty again through your cries. “You wish—”

So he pulled out, flipped you again.

“Keep testing me,” he breathed, dragging you into his lap, guiding you down onto him so slowly it made your eyes roll back.

He didn’t move.

Just held your hips steady, eyes locked on your face.

“You think you’re the one riding me?” he whispered, almost tender—until his fingers dug into your skin and he thrust up hard.

You screamed, forehead dropping onto his shoulder.

“Oh no, baby. You just get to watch this time.”

He started bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you, his grip rough, his rhythm feral.

“You gonna be good yet?” he panted, breath hot on your cheek. “Or should I fuck the brat out of you?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

But you nodded.

You were gone.

Gone for him.

He kissed your shoulder, then bit it.

And then?

He moved you again.

He was everywhere—his weight, his mouth, his cock so deep you felt like you’d split in half.

Your cries were high and broken now, your hands slipping against his sweat-slick back as he pounded you into the cushions with intent.

And then his hand went right back to your neck—holding, lifting, claiming you while he fucked the soul out of your body.

“You’re mine,” he panted, hips relentless. “Say it.”

You moaned, arching up into him. “Yours—yours, fuck—Chan—”

He dropped his forehead to yours, eyes wrecked, heart thundering.

“Come for me.”

And this time?

You did.

With a scream that could’ve broken glass.

Your body snapped, back bowing, thighs clenching around him, tears streaking your cheeks as the pleasure tore through you.

Chan didn’t stop.

He groaned, deep and desperate, as your walls clenched and fluttered around him—and then he stilled, cock buried to the hilt, trembling against you.

“Fucking—shit—”

You felt him pulse deep inside you, hot and thick.

And when he finally collapsed on top of you—panting, wrecked, his face buried in your neck—you couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that left you.

“…That’s one way to discuss kinks.��

Chan huffed against your cheek.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, kissing your jaw sweetly. “You’ve got no idea how bad it’s about to get.”

—-

Your body was buzzing—tender, used, and so completely ruined that you barely noticed when Chan lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.

You whimpered at the movement, tucking your face into his neck as he carried you down the hall, both of you still catching your breath.

Neither of you spoke. There was only the soft pat of his feet against the tile, your fluttering heartbeat in your ears, and the low, satisfied hum he made when you clung tighter to his shoulders.

The bathroom light flickered on. Warm. Clean. Familiar.

He didn’t hesitate. Just toed off the last piece of fabric on his body and stepped under the stream with you still in his arms.

The hot water hit your back and you gasped at the contrast—already sensitive, skin electric under every drop.

Chan’s big hands slid over you, soothing, slow. He lathered up a washcloth and began running it gently over your shoulders, your thighs, between your legs with such focus you had to fight the urge to melt all over again.

“You okay?” he asked, quiet against your ear, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded. “…Think you broke me.”

He chuckled, chest rumbling against yours. “Not even close.”

But still, his touch was careful now. Reverent. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And maybe that’s why you did it.

Why you let your hands roam a little more than they needed to.

Why you leaned in and started trailing soft kisses down his collarbone.

Why your lips didn’t stop there.

Because you couldn’t believe he was real either.

Not like this. Not yours.

He stilled when your mouth reached his chest.

You kissed it slowly, tenderly, running your fingers down his abs, over the ridges of muscle that flexed beneath your touch.

“…Babe,” he whispered, voice low, warning, already unraveling. “Don’t start.”

You looked up at him through wet lashes, lips parted, innocent and knowing all at once.

“Why not?” you murmured, kissing just below his ribs. “You let me fall apart for you. Let me return the favor.”

His breath hitched. He was already hardening again—and he knew it.

You kissed lower.

And lower.

And then you were kneeling—naked, dripping, your knees cushioned by the shower mat, hands already stroking his length back to full, pulsing attention.

He groaned.

“Fuck. Fuck, you look so good down there—”

You wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing gently, lips brushing against the flushed head of his cock. He jerked in your hand, and you hummed.

“I never told you my last kink,” you said sweetly, licking a slow stripe along the underside.

His hand hit the wall above your head, unsteady. “Yeah? What is it, baby?”

You smiled up at him—dark, sinful, soft.

“I don’t have a gag reflex.”

Chan let out a noise—guttural, choked, wrecked.

“Jesus Christ.”

And then you took him in.

All of him.

Slow. Deep. Deliberate.

His mouth fell open, eyes rolling back as you swallowed around him, your throat relaxing on instinct.

“Oh my fucking God—” he rasped, hips jerking forward before he caught himself, panting hard, water cascading down his back.

You pulled off with a wet pop, licking the tip before dragging your tongue along the base and sucking him back in just as deep.

He moaned—loud, shameless, one hand grabbing the back of your head while the other gripped the shower wall like a lifeline.

“Fuck, fuck, baby— you’re gonna kill me—”

You moaned around him in response, eyes half-lidded, hands stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.

Every sound he made went straight to your core—deep and breathy and so needy, it felt like a reward just to listen.

“You’re unreal,” he groaned. “Fucking unreal—how is this even real—”

You let your eyes flutter closed, increasing the rhythm, hollowing your cheeks, spit and water dripping from your chin as you let him fall apart above you.

And when his stomach clenched—when his thighs started to tremble—you just held him tighter, took him deeper, and moaned his name from the back of your throat.

“Fuck— I’m gonna come—baby, I’m gonna—shit—don’t stop—”

You didn’t.

Not until his hips jerked one final time and you tasted all of him—thick and hot and desperate on your tongue.

He roared your name, damn near sliding down the wall as his whole body seized, then shook.

When he finally opened his eyes again, you were smiling, swallowing, licking your lips like you’d just won.

Chan stared.

Then laughed—ragged, disbelieving, utterly in awe.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted, hauling you up into his arms again. “Mark my words.”

You kissed his jaw, cheeky. “Then what a way to go.”

He groaned, forehead against yours.

“We’re not sleeping tonight.”

And you knew he meant it.

—

The water was still warm when Chan reached for a towel and wrapped it around your body, gathering you into him like you were something precious. Like you might disappear if he blinked.

You were trembling a little—not from cold, but from the comedown. The wild pace of everything. The stretch, the heat, the orgasm that had left your legs like jelly. The way he’d held your gaze while wrecking you on the couch like you weren’t his best friend—like you were already his everything.

Now? Now he was silent. Gentle.

A hand on the back of your head, stroking slowly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw and deep, brushing his lips to your temple.

You nodded into his chest. “Mhm. Just… processing.”

He smiled faintly, lifting you into his arms again—still naked, still wet—and carried you to his room without another word. The towel stayed wrapped around you, his hands never letting go, like it physically pained him to stop touching you.

He laid you on his bed with careful hands, kissed your forehead, then disappeared for a moment—returning with your hoodie, a fresh pair of his boxers, a warm water bottle, and a glass of juice.

You stared at him, body curling toward his naturally as you laid there—wrapped in soft cotton, legs still aching in the best way. “So… this really happened.”

Chan tilted his head, gaze steady. “Are you regretting it?”

“No,” you whispered, too fast. Then, “Are you?”

His brow furrowed like you’d offended him. “Baby. I’d do it all over again right now if you weren’t already shaky.”

You flushed, heat blooming up your neck. He noticed it. Of course he did. His thumb brushed the side of your throat, reverent.

“Still can’t believe that’s your kink,” he murmured, soft and possessive and wrecked. “You have any idea what that did to me?”

You licked your lips, looking away. “…There’s more.”

Chan’s eyes darkened. “Oh, you’re gonna tell me.”

You tried to hide your smile. “We never talked about sex in ten years and now you wanna hear all my kinks?”

“Now I need to,” he replied, curling his hand behind your neck and pulling you closer again. “You let me touch you like that. Let me own you. You think I can go back to pretending you’re just my best friend after that?”

His mouth was so close. His fingers were back to stroking your skin, down your back, over the dip of your waist.

Your voice came out quieter now. “I’ve never given up control that easily.”

“I know.” He cupped your jaw, kissed the corner of your mouth. “And I’ll never take that for granted.”

You met his eyes. “But I’d do it again.”

His breath stuttered. And then he kissed you—soft this time, lingering.

“You have no idea how hard I’m holding back right now.”

“I can tell,” you whispered, glancing down at the way his towel was starting to shift.

He growled against your skin, pressing his forehead to yours. “This changes everything.”

You nodded slowly. “But it doesn’t ruin anything.”

“No,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “It just means we’ve got… ten years to make up for. And I plan to.”

You smiled. “So… you’re mine now?”

Chan pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you.

“No, baby,” he said with a dangerous smirk. “You’re mine. And I don’t share.”

Your stomach fluttered. You pushed at his chest, bratty. “Mm. You weren’t this cocky when we were just friends.”

He climbed over you again, straddling you on the bed with that wolfish glint in his eye.

“You never let me touch you like this before. Now I know what you sound like when you moan my name?”

He leaned down, voice dark, hungry.

“You have no idea how cocky I’m about to get.”

And just like that, you knew.

You’d opened Pandora’s box.

And Chan had no plans to close it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: AAAAAHHHHHHH!!! God this was sooo juicy to write!!!! I am so sorry for my absence guys, theres been so much on my plate… I’ve actually started an original book that i plan to publish some time in the future. 🤭 But I’m here now and ill post more frequently. As for all the requests? I SEE EVERYTHING, I WILL WORK ON THEM!! Just hold on for me babes!

Anyway, if you enjoyed this one, leave me a comment, like and reblog guys!! My taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added or removed!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness

[chroniclesofskz]

Gloss and Glances ᝰ.ᐟ

Paring- Felix x Reader

Summary- Backstage, Felix pouts for attention as Y/N, Stray Kids’ makeup artist and his girlfriend, applies his lip gloss. Frustrated by her focus on work, he kisses her, smudging the gloss

The backstage area of the arena was alive with energy—stylists rushing between stations, cords snaking across the floor, and the distant echo of fans chanting outside. Under the bright dressing room lights, Felix sat patiently in a chair, though “patiently” might have been a stretch. His foot tapped lightly against the floor, not out of nerves for the upcoming performance, but for an entirely different reason.

Y/N, Stray Kids’ trusted makeup artist and Felix’s not-so-secret girlfriend, was busy organizing her kit. Her hands moved quickly, adjusting palettes and brushes, her focus sharp. She’d already done touch-ups on most of the members, and now it was Felix’s turn.

Finally.

Y/N approached with her usual professional demeanor, her eyes scanning his face with practiced precision. She picked up the small tube of clear lip gloss from her kit and uncapped it, not noticing the way Felix’s eyes had softened the moment she stepped closer.

“Alright, stay still,” she murmured, her thumb gently resting under his chin to steady his face.

Felix obeyed, but his pout had already started to form, subtle at first. His gaze never left her face, drinking in the details—the slight crinkle between her brows when she concentrated, the way her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she focused. She was always like this when she worked: calm, meticulous, almost too professional for his liking.

He wanted her attention—not the kind she gave to every member, but his attention.

“You know,” Felix said quietly, his voice low and slightly playful, “I think you like this gloss more than you like me.”

Y/N’s hand paused mid-swipe, her eyes flickering up to meet his. “Don’t be dramatic.” She fought the small smile threatening to break through her professional facade.

Felix, not one to back down, pushed his pout out further. “I’m serious. You’re focusing so hard on my lips, but not because you like them. It’s just… work to you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, finishing the last swipe of gloss on his bottom lip. She leaned back slightly, inspecting her work. “First of all, I do like your lips. They’re symmetrical, soft, and easy to work with.”

Felix’s pout deepened. “That sounds like something you’d say about a good makeup brush.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed, the sound light and genuine, making Felix’s heart flutter. But she didn’t respond with words. Instead, she reached out with a tissue to clean up a tiny smudge near the corner of his mouth.

Felix caught her wrist gently before she could pull away. His touch was soft, but it sent a current of warmth straight through her.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice softer now, no teasing undertone—just sincere, raw affection.

Her heart stuttered. She met his gaze, expecting another playful remark, but instead, she was met with eyes filled with warmth, the kind of look that melted away the noise around them.

“I miss you,” he whispered simply.

Y/N felt her breath hitch. They’d been so busy lately—schedules packed, rehearsals endless. Even though she was always near him, it wasn’t the same. She couldn’t respond like she wanted to, not in the middle of work, surrounded by staff and members.

But Felix didn’t care about any of that.

Without another word, he leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, and pressed his lips to hers. It was soft, tentative at first, as if asking for permission. The faint sweetness of the gloss lingered between them, but neither of them cared if it smudged.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the suddenness of it, but then she melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively finding its place on his cheek. It was brief, maybe only a few seconds, but it held everything they hadn’t had the chance to say aloud.

When Felix finally pulled back, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners from the soft smile spreading across his face.

“Now,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against hers, “that’s attention.”

Y/N was breathless, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the chaotic energy of the backstage environment. She tried to muster a response, something witty to break the tension, but all she managed was a soft, shaky laugh.

“You just ruined your gloss,” she whispered.

Felix grinned, unbothered. “Guess you’ll have to fix it.”

Y/N shook her head, her cheeks flushed, but she picked up the gloss again. This time, as she leaned in to reapply it, Felix didn’t pout or complain. He just watched her with the same loving look, his heart full, knowing that even in the chaos, they’d always find small moments like this—where it was just the two of them, gloss and all.

[chroniclesofskz]

𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁・l.f.

— in which you forget that your hot housemate follows you on twitter.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.1k 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・roommate!felix x gn!streamer!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, flirting, kind of an smau, implied friends to lovers, humor if u count jeongin being a piece of shit

𝗮/𝗻・saw this tweet the other day and it was so painfully lix coded that i knew i had to write something asap. contains a tiny bit of gaming jargon but is hopefully comprehensible. ENJOY ♡

y/n ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ @ y/nxx

if someone brings you fresh cut fruit to your table when you're gaming, they either like LIKE you or it's your mom

11:23 A.M.・Oct. 2023・220.2K Views

bokkie 🐣 liked your post.

“My tweet?”

You read aloud the newest text in your chatroom, and your face brightens when you remember the one in question.

“Oh, about the fruit—no, it’s so true though. And I love my mom, don't get me wrong, but I have an inkling she did it to guilt trip me." You change your posture and adopt your best motherly tone of voice. "‘This is your tenth consecutive hour wasting your young adulthood in front of that damn screen. I am now going to hand deliver apple slices straight to your mouth.’ That kind of vibe, y'know?"

A slew of messages follows your anecdote, but it is a comment from one of your moderators that catches your eye first:

je0ng1n: what about the other option tho 👀

You groan at the sight of his username. “Man, why are you always here? Don't you have a job?"

je0ng1n: i’m on break je0ng1n: taking a dump je0ng1n: ungrateful bitch

You brandish a middle finger to the camera. “Hope the dump sucks."

je0ng1n: HEY je0ng1n: don’t even joke about that :(

An involuntary cackle precedes your next words. “If you’re actually wondering, though, the only person who’s brought me fruit while I’m playing video games is indeed my mother. Heartbreaking, I know.”

At this, the steady flow of messages morphs into a gallery of depressed cat emoticons; your audience never fails to impress you with their way with words.

“But if someone other than your disappointed parent is bringing you fruit,” you go on, “they might as well get on one knee in the process, honestly. That's such an adorable, loving thing to do.”

Suddenly, the words MATCH FOUND splash across your monitor, and you move your cursor to accept the game invite—only to be met with a pop-up window and a familiar error sound that grates on your ears like screeching tires.

You know how this story ends: the lights in your mouse go dark, and you look on in dejected silence.

je0ng1n: LMFAOOOOO je0ng1n: bro’s mouse definitely just exploded again

“You guessed it," you sigh. “Hang tight for a sec, guys."

Half an hour ago, you could’ve sworn you heard sneakers being kicked off, a set of keys falling against plastic. Now, you pull one side of your headphones off and roll your chair a few feet backward, calling through your half-open door: “Lix, are you home?”

You pick up on a soft clunk that sounds like metal hitting wood—the cutting board, maybe?—and then your housemate's low, accented answer bounces off the walls of your shared hallway.

“Yeah, you alright?”

“The mouse,” you say helplessly.

“Ah.” It’s not the first time you’ve summoned him for this. “Be right there.”

A few seconds later, you remember to tack on a hurried disclaimer: “I’m live, by the way!”

“I know.”

This brings a bashful smile to your face, though the expression quickly turns to one of pure dismay when you return to your desk and witness the disastrous state of your chat.

Felix has become a regular guest on your stream by now, always popping in to show you a TikTok or ask for your opinion on a new pair of jeans or simply give your camera an awkward wave—but he may as well own your channel with how completely and unequivocally he has captured the hearts of your viewers. They’re convinced he’s the sexiest person to ever grace the earth, with his chiseled features and coffee-colored eyes; with a grin that could set entire estates on fire and a voice that could scrape the nadir of the Grand Canyon.

Do you agree? Absolutely.

Do you have any intention of voicing this sentiment, so long as you’re splitting rent with him? Absolutely the hell not.

Another of Jeongin’s messages—GET ME HIS NUMBER OR I GET VIOLENT—inspires you to minimize the stream window before Felix gets here. It’s for the best.

A few moments later, the door opens, and the air shifts inside your room. A hand comes to rest on the top of your head; a familiar silhouette appears in your periphery. There is a fond grin plastered across your face and a bright greeting sitting readily on the tip of your tongue.

But then, Felix places a plate of freshly cut fruit in the empty space to the left of your keyboard—here, he hums, the sound falling against the shell of your ear like a drop of melted chocolate. And the gears of your brain grind to a complete stop.

There is no further acknowledgment; no supplementary explanation for what he's just done. He simply picks up your mouse and gets to work.

The words of your tweet swim dizzyingly before your eyes, not unlike those halos of stars and birds that revolve around disoriented cartoon characters. And you’re suddenly, achingly aware of your roommate's arm nudging against yours as he tinkers away; of the aromas of vanilla and laundry detergent that always come with his proximity; of the heat that’s risen to your face, and the plethora of questions that have surfaced to your mind.

A soft huff of laughter follows a gentle utterance of your name, and you snap out of your trance. Felix’s eyes are glinting with amusement when you meet them.

“It’s been recalibrated,” he says, handing back your mouse. “Just give it a few minutes.”

Your fingertips brush over his palm when you accept the object, and even this blink of contact has your heart performing an elaborate hopscotch routine across the plane of your chest.

It’s either your mom, or…

“Thank you,” you mumble, finally retrieving your larynx from the bottom of the Atlantic.

“Anytime,” Felix returns, and you know he means it. “You need a duo, by the way?"

“Yes, please.”

He gives you a warm smile at this, and there’s a hint of something else—something new—in the curve of his lips. “Give me two.” And he’s gone as quickly as he'd come.

You will never know how Felix slips his phone out of his pocket the second he emerges from your room, his pulse hounding his ears as he turns a nervous gaze upon his screen.

There is now a supersonic blur of messages saturating your chatroom, a colorful cacophony of moving emotes and capital letters, but he is focused wholly on the person in front of the camera and how you slowly lift a hand to your mouth, deathly silent despite your every viewer demanding your comment on the matter, your sanguine cheeks visible even through the gaps of your fingers.

That is all he needs to know.

Felix sinks into the leather of his gaming chair and bends to power on his computer. Only after a deep breath blows past his lips does his smile start to stretch into a grin, every bit as embarrassed as it is relieved.

je0ng1n: no way je0ng1n: no fucking way je0ng1n: my heart fluttered je0ng1n: wtf je0ng1n: how’d you pull HIM??

y/nxx has removed je0ng1n as a moderator of this channel.

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[chroniclesofskz]

Your Heart, My Safe Haven

Y/N had endured a day that felt like it had drained every ounce of strength from her body—her mind was heavy with worries, her spirit exhausted from the relentless grind. Each task, each harsh word at work felt like a blow, and by the time she finally found herself wrapped in the quiet comfort of their home, she carried a silent, aching weariness that she desperately tried to hide. Her smile was brittle, her eyes dull, but she put on a brave face, not wanting Felix to see the storm brewing inside her. She didn’t want him to worry, to feel burdened by her emotions—all she wanted was to be near him, to feel his warmth, to find just a fleeting moment of peace in his presence.

As they settled into their usual routine of movie night, Y/N’s heart tugged at her with an ache so familiar, so profound. She hesitated a moment, then softly asked, “Can we snuggle?” Her voice trembled slightly—fragile, vulnerable. She slowly shifted, nestling into his side, her entire being craving the warmth of his touch. She pressed herself into him, feeling the familiar rise and fall of his chest—a steady, calming rhythm that became her anchor in the storm inside her. Her sigh was almost inaudible, a subtle cry of exhaustion and longing, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Without hesitation, Felix leaned in, cradling her face tenderly with his warm hand. His lips brushed her temple with a delicate kiss—a silent vow of love and protection. “What’s wrong, baba?” he whispered softly, voice thick with caring and concern, as if every word carried the weight of his unwavering devotion. His hand stroked her hair gently, fingers softly weaving through her strands as if to hold her fragile heart in his palm. His eyes, filled with gentle tears of love, searched into hers, understanding immediately that beneath her calm exterior, a tumult of emotion churned—a storm she refused to name.

Her voice wavered as she fought to keep herself composed. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, her tone trembling with unspoken emotion. “Don’t worry about it.” But behind her words, her body betrayed her—her shoulders trembled slightly, a silent cry that she was struggling to contain. She pressed her face deeper into his neck, inhaling his scent—warm, comforting, honeyed with the familiarity of home. It was her sanctuary, his smell a gentle balm soothing her fractured spirit.

Yet, despite her effort to seem strong, her tears began to spill, soft at first, then streaming freely. Her tiny hands clutched at his shirt, gripping him as if her very life depended on it. Felix felt her tremble, felt her trembling so violently that it broke his heart. The silent sobs wracked her body, a raw, desperate release of all the ache she’d held inside all day. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, struggling to keep pace with her tears and trembling.

He gently paused the movie, then cupped her face tenderly, searching her tear-filled eyes with unwavering love. “Baby… look at me,” he whispered softly, voice thick with emotion, as he drew her closer and held her against him. His arms encircled her, as if to protect her from the world. “Please, talk to me. I’m here—tell me what’s wrong. Don’t carry this alone.”

And then she broke—her defenses shattered—ugly crying overtook her as her body trembled in frantic sobs. Her tears soaked his shirt, her trembling hands clutching desperately at him, as if her very soul depended on his presence. Her broken voice, muffled and trembling, finally revealed the chaos inside her: “Felix… I feel so overwhelmed. This week… it’s been too much. My job’s been relentless—I feel like I’m drowning. Some days, I feel so alone—so empty. And I love you so much… but I’m scared. Scared that I’ll lose you because I’m not always okay, because I’m so fragile sometimes. Some days, I feel so lonely, even with you here. Like I am somehow more alone when I’m supposed to be with the person I love most in this world.”

Her words sank into the quiet night, heavy with truth and longing. Felix’s own chest ached painfully as he listened, feeling her pain as if it were his own. His love for her grew fiercely, ablaze with protective desire. Seeing her so vulnerable, so open, opened a floodgate of emotion in him. He cupped her trembling face, brushing her tears away with unwavering gentleness.

“Shh, my love,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to carry all this weight alone. You’re human—flesh and blood, with feelings that run so deep. And I promise you this—nothing, nothing in this world changes how much I love you. You’re the very heart of my life, and I would move mountains just to see you smile, just to make sure you’re safe and loved. Every tear, every pain you carry, just proves how fiercely you love—how deeply your heart feels. And my greatest wish is to be the one holding you when the storm inside you gets too loud. To be your sanctuary when everything else feels broken.

I know you’re scared I’ll see you as too much sometimes—that maybe the chaos inside makes you feel unworthy of love. But listen to me carefully, sweetheart: You’re not too much. You’re not a burden. You’re the reason I breathe, the melody in my heart. Your fears, your tears—they’re a part of you, and I love every piece of you. Even in your darkest hours, even when you're overwhelmed with emotion, I see only your pure, genuine soul—your genuine love that pours out of you like an endless river. And I want to be the one to protect that love, to cherish every vulnerable, trembling moment you share with me.

Felix softly pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, a reflection of his unbreakable devotion. His voice was a gentle promise as he whispered, “Never think you have to fight these battles alone. I’m here, I’ll always be here. To hold your hand through the storms, to wipe away your tears, to be your safe harbor when the world feels like too much.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her cheek, as if to memorize every trembling line, every tear. “You’re the most precious thing in my life, and I love you fiercely—especially when you’re hurting. Because your pain becomes my pain, and I’d do anything to fix it. You don’t have to pretend or hide. I want you to lean into me, to let me be your strength when you feel weak.”

Her trembling hand reached up, catching his cheek with love and trust behind her tears. She looked into his loving, steadfast eyes—those deep pools that reflected every ounce of his care, every promise he’d ever made. Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion, as she said, “How… how did I get so lucky to have someone like you? You’re the most loving, caring, gentle man I’ve ever known. I don’t always feel worthy of you, but I’m grateful every single day… grateful that I found someone willing to love a girl with so many scars and fears.”

Felix’s smile was soft, genuine, radiant—that rare kind of love that makes your heart ache with happiness. His fingers traced her face tenderly, brushing away her tears with such care that it seemed almost sacred. “You’re my everything,” he whispered. “The reason I wake up every morning with purpose. I don’t care about the bad days or the messy moments—you are my forever, just as you are, beautiful and brave. I promise you, I will love you through every high and low, through every tear and smile, for as long as I breathe. No matter how overwhelming life feels or how much your emotions tumble inside—you are still my girl, my heart, my soul. And I will never stop loving you. Never.”

Her tears slowly subsided as she looked into the depths of his unwavering devotion, a safe harbor amid her chaos. Her trembling hand reached for his, intertwining their fingers, anchoring herself in his love. Her voice was faint but full of hope, “You… you make everything okay, even when it’s not. You’re the reason I believe that I can get through anything.”

Felix leaned closer, softly kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her trembling lips, each touch conveying a silent vow of endless love and support. “That’s right, my love. You’re stronger than you think. And I will be here—always—holding you gently, loving you fiercely, loving all of you—your fears, your tears, your beautiful heart. You are mine, and I am yours—for today, tomorrow, and forever.”

In that quiet night, wrapped tight in each other's arms, Felix’s love was a soothing balm, a promise etched into every gentle touch and whispered word. And Y/N, finally feeling the warmth of his unwavering love, let herself believe—perhaps she was enough, just as she was, because with Felix, she was loved beyond measure, eternally and unconditionally.

[chroniclesofskz]

Underground Temptation

Felix's home office was a sanctuary of modern elegance, a space where he often felt most in control of his chaotic life. The sleek mahogany desk, with its gleaming surface, was flanked by two ergonomic chairs that whispered of high-stakes business deals and deadlines met. Above it, a large window offered a serene view of the bustling city, the skyscrapers standing tall like silent sentinels guarding the concrete jungle below.

The walls were adorned with framed certificates and awards, each a testament to his unwavering dedication to his career. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the LED lights, casting a cool, professional ambiance that reflected his sharp, analytical mind. His eyes, usually focused and intense, today danced with a hint of excitement as he logged into the Zoom meeting with Nicolas, the creative director of the iconic fashion house, Louis Vuitton.

Felix had been waiting for this moment for weeks, his heart racing as he adjusted the sleek black tie around his neck. The new campaign they were about to discuss was set to revolutionize the industry, and he had been entrusted with the digital strategy that would catapult the brand to new heights. The call was punctual, and the screen flickered to life, revealing Nicolas's sharply-tailored silhouette against the backdrop of the Louis Vuitton headquarters in Paris.

"Felix, so good to see you," Nicolas greeted with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His French accent was a gentle purr, a stark contrast to the tension in the room.

Felix returned the smile, his mind racing. "Likewise, Nicolas," he replied, trying to ignore the sudden warmth spreading through his loins. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of the millions riding on this call.

But just as he was about to dive into the presentation, the door to his office creaked open. In sauntered Y/N, his girlfriend of three fiery years. She had a habit of making grand entrances, but this was something else entirely. Her naked body moved with a sultry sway that seemed almost predatory, her eyes gleaming with mischief as they locked onto his. She was a vision of beauty, her hair cascading over her bare shoulders, her skin glowing with the promise of a challenge unspoken.

Felix's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in shock and arousal. He shot her a look that was half plea, half warning, but she just giggled and winked back. Y/N knew exactly what she was doing, and she reveled in the power she held over him. Her eyes danced with excitement as she dropped to her knees and crawled under the table, her movements feline and graceful.

Her warm breath washed over his crotch, and he felt her soft fingers unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle echoing in the room. She worked with a silent efficiency that spoke volumes about her intentions. The fabric of his trousers parted, and she took his hardening cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip with a practiced ease that made him groan.

Felix's eyes snapped back to the screen, where Nicolas was discussing the intricacies of the new monogram canvas. He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white, as he attempted to focus on the conversation. His voice wavered slightly, but he managed to keep his composure as Y/N's mouth began to work its magic, her tongue tracing the veins of his cock with a gentle persistence that was both maddening and exhilarating.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a wicked glint of amusement in her gaze. She knew she had him, and she wasn't about to let go. She took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked him with the ferocity of someone who hadn't tasted pleasure in a lifetime. The sound of her slurps filled the otherwise silent room, muffled only by the fabric of his trousers and the thickness of the mahogany desk.

Nicolas paused, his brow furrowing. "Felix, are you quite all right?" he asked, his concern palpable even through the digital barrier.

Felix's eyes darted to Y/N's smirking face, her mouth still wrapped around his cock. He coughed, trying to disguise his distress. "Yes, yes," he said, his voice firm but shaky. "It's just… I've had a bit of a cold."

Nicolas nodded sympathetically, though his gaze remained curious. "Ah, I see," he said, his voice a blend of concern and confusion. "Let's proceed then, shall we?"

Felix nodded, his mind racing as he tried to steer the conversation back on track. He cleared his throat, his hand trembling slightly as he pointed to the screen. "Yes, as I was saying, that fabric right there," he managed, his voice hoarse. He hoped the fabric he indicated was indeed the right one, as he had barely glanced at it before. His eyes were glued to Y/N's head, bobbing up and down with an increasing rhythm that matched the pounding in his chest.

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and challenge as she looked up at him, her mouth full of his cock. She could feel the tension in his body, the way his abs tensed and his breath grew shallower. With a wicked smirk, she decided to up the ante. Her hand slid down to cup his balls, her grip firm yet gentle, teasing them with a rolling motion that made him grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

The meeting carried on, with Nicolas discussing the color schemes and the intricate detailing of the new collection. Each word was a struggle for Felix to process as Y/N's mouth moved faster, her tongue swirling and flicking with a precision that was both professional and tantalizing. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, his mind a whirlwind of desire and the need to keep his composure.

Finally, the moment arrived. He couldn't hold back any longer, his body tensing as he reached his peak. He came hard, his cock pulsing in her mouth, and she eagerly swallowed every drop, her eyes never leaving his. She pulled away, licking her lips with a satisfied smirk, as if to say, "You're welcome."

The screen flickered, and Nicolas's image paused mid-sentence, the poor connection briefly cutting out. "Felix, are you sure you're okay?" Nicolas's voice was filled with genuine concern now, the video lag not helping to ease the tension.

Felix's chest tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He nodded frantically, his hand moving to his forehead in a weak attempt to mimic a casual gesture. "Yes, just…just a bit tired, I assure you," he managed to say, his voice a hoarse whisper. His eyes darted to Y/N, whose mouth was now free from its task, and she stared back at him with a smug smirk, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

Nicolas's gaze grew more intense, his concern etched into the lines around his eyes. "Perhaps we should reschedule?" he suggested, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Felix's chest relaxed as he groaned, the tension of the moment finally releasing. He couldn't let his personal life interfere with this career-defining opportunity. "No, no," he said, his voice a little too forceful. "I'm fine, really. It's just… the air conditioning. It's acting up today."

Nicolas nodded, though the doubt lingered in his eyes. "Ah, I see," he replied, his voice a mix of skepticism and relief. "Let's push through then. We're almost done with the initial review."

Felix's chest relaxed as he groaned, the tension from his release mingling with the frustration of his near-disaster. Nicolas was a perceptive man, and he had to be careful not to arouse suspicion. He took a deep breath and nodded, focusing on the task at hand. "Yes, of course," he said, his voice a tad too bright.

Nicolas's eyes searched his, and for a moment, it seemed like he was peering right through the screen into the tumultuous sea of emotions behind them. "Felix, if you're sure," he said, his tone filled with the weight of unspoken concern.

Felix nodded emphatically, his cheeks flushing with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I'm fine, really," he assured, his voice a little too high-pitched. He took a deep breath, willing his racing heart to slow down, his eyes flicking back to Y/N. She was still under the table, her hand playing with his now-softening cock, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She knew she had pushed him to the edge, and the thrill of their secret play was only making her hunger for more.

The call dragged on, with Nicolas discussing deadlines and budgets, and Felix trying his best to keep his thoughts from wandering. His mind was a whirlwind of frustration and desire, each word from Nicolas feeling like a flogging to his already raw nerves. He was acutely aware of Y/N's presence, her breath hot against his thigh, her eyes gleaming with anticipation of the punishment she knew was coming.

Finally, the meeting concluded. Nicolas signed off with a curt nod, the concern in his gaze lingering until the screen went black. The room fell into a tense silence, the only sound the echo of their heavy breaths.

Felix leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing into slits as he glared at Y/N, who was now standing in front of him. She had the audacity to look smug, her hands on her hips, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. He knew she had done it on purpose, knew she had enjoyed watching him squirm.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Y/N," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "A spanking isn't going to be enough for you tonight."

Her smile grew wider, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "I was hoping you'd say that," she purred, leaning over the desk to kiss him. Her lips tasted faintly of him, and the warmth of her breath against his cheek sent a shiver down his spine.

He grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her over his knee. She yelped, her eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and excitement. He didn't hold back, his hand coming down hard on her ass, the sound echoing through the room. She squirmed, her moans growing louder with each smack, her body arching and her breasts jiggling with every impact.

The sting grew, turning her skin a delightful shade of pink. He could see the goosebumps rising on her flesh, feel the heat radiating from her body. She was his, all his, and she knew it. Her eyes held his, the challenge in them only making him hit harder.

With every smack, the tension between them grew, their chemistry a living, breathing entity in the room. It was a dance of power and submission, a silent declaration of their love and lust.

Felix's hand paused, his breath ragged, his cock growing hard again at the sight of her bare, reddened skin. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N nodded, her eyes glazed with passion. "Always," she breathed.

And with that, the game was on. The night ahead would be a symphony of pain and pleasure, a testament to their tumultuous yet undeniable connection. The office, once a bastion of professionalism, had been transformed into their personal playground, a place where boundaries were tested and desires laid bare.

[chroniclesofskz]

Boy Next Door

Felix Lee was the boy next door that every girl in the neighborhood talked about. With a sprinkle of freckles on his nose and cheeks, deep brown eyes that seemed to bore into your soul, and a jawline sharp enough to cut through the thickest slice of life, he was the epitome of the heartthrob that walked among them. His skin was pale, almost translucent, which made his muscles pop even more, standing tall at 5'7 with a slender frame that had somehow packed on a surprising amount of definition. His heart-shaped lips, a feature that was the envy of many, remained a mystery to most as they rarely curled into a smile, especially in the direction of Y/N.

Y/N, on the other hand, was the kind of girl who didn't quite fit into the same mold as the others. Standing at a delicate 5'1, she had a slender build that was more suited for a ballet dancer than a swimsuit model. Her eyes were a gentle shade of blue, often hidden behind the lenses of her glasses, and her chest was more modest than the voluptuous figures that seemed to grace the covers of every magazine. A sensitive soul with a heart as vast as the ocean, she had been crushing on her neighbor since the day he had moved in, a mere 7-year-old with a mischievous smile and a penchant for adventure. Yet this summer, everything had changed.

Felix had transformed before her eyes, his body sculpted by the relentless sun and his heart seemingly hardened by the endless parade of girls that cycled through his bedroom window. Each week brought a new face, each one more beautiful and more confident than the last. They strutted around in their skimpy outfits, flaunting what they had, while Y/N felt like she was shrinking into the shadows of her own home. She watched them with a mix of curiosity and envy, her heart aching every time she saw him touch one of them in a way that seemed so foreign and intimate. What did she do to deserve this? Why couldn't she be the one to make him laugh until his stomach hurt or to feel his arms around her in the quiet moments of the night?

Y/N's feelings of isolation grew as the summer stretched on. Her once unshakable belief in their unspoken bond had crumbled, replaced by a deep sense of abandonment. She felt like the invisible girl, the one that existed only in the background of his life. The one he used to whisper secrets to under the cover of darkness, now reduced to a quick glance or a forced smile. It was like he had forgotten her entirely, like she didn't matter anymore. The pain was unbearable, and she found herself retreating into the safety of her thoughts, her mind a tumultuous sea of doubt and anger.

Her envy grew like a vine, wrapping around her heart and squeezing tight. She couldn't help but compare herself to the girls he brought home, each one more stunning than the last. They had what she didn't: confidence, curves, and a seemingly endless supply of charm. Their laughter echoed through the thin walls that separated their houses, a taunting reminder of her own loneliness. She hated the way her stomach twisted when she saw their reflection in his eyes, the way he looked at them as if they were the sun, and she was just a fading star. She hated feeling insecure, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't enough for him.

The silence between them was deafening. What used to be filled with the sweet whispers of shared secrets and the sound of their hearts beating in sync was now a chasm of misunderstanding and unspoken pain. Every time she saw him, she felt a part of herself die a little more. The boy who had promised her the world had become a stranger, a ghost of the person she had once known. Yet, she couldn't ignore the way her heart skipped a beat when he was near, the way her breath caught in her throat when their eyes met for the briefest of moments.

Y/N had always been the shy, sweet girl with a heart as vast as the ocean, eager to take in the world without judgment. But the summer had changed her, too. The constant reminder of her inadequacies had turned her into a storm cloud of emotions, ready to burst at the slightest provocation. The rain outside mirrored her own tumultuous feelings, a silent witness to her pain and longing. As the weeks went by, she found solace in the pages of her books, escaping into worlds where love was pure and unblemished by reality.

One particularly rainy afternoon, she had had enough. The arguing from her parents' room had reached a crescendo, and she knew she couldn't bear to hear it anymore. They had been fighting like this for what felt like an eternity, and the weight of their impending divorce was crushing her. She slipped out of the house, her feet carrying her to the one place she had always felt safe: the treehouse they had built together when they were children. It was a symbol of their friendship, a bastion of innocence in a world that had grown so cruel.

As she climbed the rickety ladder, the rain beating down on her, she couldn't help but feel like she was climbing away from her troubles. But she also felt like she was climbing away from the one person who had ever truly understood her: Felix. The treehouse had always been their place to escape from the world, but now it felt like a prison of memories. She sat on the damp wooden floor, her knees to her chest, and let the sobs come. She didn't know how long she'd been there when she heard the ladder creak, but she was too lost in her own grief to care.

Felix poked his head in, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him. His eyes were filled with a mix of guilt and concern. "Y/N, what are you doing out here in the rain?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine worry. "Why are you crying?"

Wiping her eyes, she glared at him through the mess of her emotions. "Why do you even care?" she spat out, the anger bubbling to the surface. "You've had a different girl here every other day this summer! You don't care about me, or what's going on with me!" The words stung as they left her lips, but she didn't care. She needed to get this out, needed to make him feel a fraction of what she'd felt watching him from her window, her heart breaking a little more each time.

Felix looked at her, his expression a mix of shock and pain. He hadn't realized the impact of his actions, too caught up in his own whirlwind of hormones and confusion to see the damage he'd been doing. "Is everything okay at home?" he asked tentatively, trying to navigate the minefield of her emotions.

"No, everything is not okay!" she screamed, the tears flowing freely now. "I think my parents are getting a divorce, and you wouldn't even know that because you've been too busy playing boyfriend to everyone but me!" The rain outside seemed to mimic the tempest raging inside her. She felt exposed and raw, but the words just kept coming. "Why did you have to change? Why did you have to ignore me and make me feel like I'm not good enough?"

Felix's eyes widened at the revelation, his heart squeezing in his chest. He had no idea things had gotten so bad. He had been so self-absorbed in his own quest to forget his feelings for her that he'd missed the signs of her pain. He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched in an attempt to comfort her, but she flinched away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the weight of his actions finally sinking in. "I've been a terrible friend."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of the boy she had once known. The boy who had promised to be there for her, no matter what. "Why?" she managed to choke out, her voice trembling with emotion. "Why did you stop talking to me? Why did you push me away?"

Felix swallowed hard, knowing he had to tell her the truth. He took a deep breath and stepped closer, the rain soaking his clothes and matting his hair to his forehead. "It's because I love you," he said, the words barely above a whisper. "And I didn't know what to do with those feelings, so I tried to ignore them by being with other girls. But it didn't work. I can't stop thinking about you."

The admission hung in the air, the rain seemingly pausing for a moment to let the gravity of his words sink in. Y/N stared at him, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "What?" she breathed, her heart racing. Could it be true? Did he really feel the same way she did?

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I've always loved you," he said, his voice stronger now. "But I thought if I slept with other girls, the feelings would go away. But all it did was make me realise that there's no one else I want to be with."

Y/N's heart was racing so fast she thought it might burst out of her chest. She had dreamt of this moment for so long, but now that it was here, she didn't know what to do. Without another word, she stood up and pulled him closer, her lips finding his in a fierce kiss that spoke volumes. The rain pelted against their faces, mixing with their tears as the years of pent-up emotions spilled over. The treehouse that had once been their sanctuary of innocence now became the stage for a passion that had been simmering just beneath the surface.

Felix's hands roamed over her body, feeling the curves she had always been so self-conscious about. He peeled off her shirt and bra, revealing her pale, perfect skin to the damp, humid air. He took in the sight of her with a reverence that made her feel beautiful for the first time in what felt like forever. He kissed her neck, her collarbones, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She gasped and leaned into him, the feeling of his hard chest pressing against her softness making her feel alive in a way she had never known before.

He reached down and unbuttoned her shorts, sliding them off her hips along with her panties. She stepped out of them, her legs trembling slightly from a mix of nerves and anticipation. He looked at her with such raw hunger that she knew this was it, the moment she had been waiting for. He kissed her again, harder this time, and she felt the warmth of his tongue slip into her mouth. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and she pulled it over his head, revealing the defined muscles she had only ever seen from a distance.

He laid her down on the makeshift bed of blankets and pillows, the rain creating a rhythmic backdrop to their frantic movements. He kissed her again, his hands exploring the contours of her body as she arched into his touch. He was gentle but firm, his movements speaking of a passion that had been building for years. She felt his erection pressing against her, and she knew what was going to happen next. She took a deep breath and nodded when he asked if she was sure.

The moment was intense and raw, as if all the emotions they had bottled up over the years had come to a boil. He entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust to the new sensation. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as she felt a brief flash of pain, but it was quickly replaced by a pleasure so intense she thought she might pass out. He watched her face closely, his eyes full of love and concern, asking her if she was okay. She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, and whispered, "Felix, I want this. I want you."

And with that, he began to move, setting a pace that matched the beating of the rain outside. She moaned and writhed beneath him, her body responding in ways she had only ever imagined in her most secret of fantasies. He kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach, whispering sweet nothings into her ear that sent shivers down her spine. Her nails dug into his back as the sensation grew, her body tightening around him like a vice.

The moment she came, it was like the storm had reached its peak. She screamed his name, her hips bucking as waves of pleasure washed over her. He followed soon after, his own release mixing with hers as they clung to each other, both lost in the intensity of what they had just shared. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, in their treehouse, the rain a soft lullaby as they lay tangled in each other's arms, finally admitting what they had both known all along.

Felix pulled out gently, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back his own emotions. He leaned over her, brushing the rainwater from her cheeks with his thumbs, and kissed her forehead tenderly. "It's going to be okay," he murmured into her hair, his voice soothing and full of promise. He wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her close as if he could absorb her pain and make it his own. "I'm not going anywhere, not now, not ever."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but in his arms she felt safe, like she could finally let go of the fear that had been gnawing at her insides. She nodded, her voice shaky as she whispered, "I believe you."

They laid there for what felt like hours, the rain slowly subsiding to a gentle patter on the roof above them. The air was thick with the scent of their passion, a heady mix of sweat and rain and the promise of something new and beautiful. He held her close, his heart beating in time with hers as they both tried to come to terms with what had just happened. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered honesty, a stark contrast to the lies and misunderstandings that had defined their summer.

As the storm outside grew quieter, so did the tumult inside of them. The pain of their confessions had been washed away, leaving only the warmth of their bodies pressed together and the sweetness of their shared breaths. The treehouse, once a symbol of their friendship, had become a testament to the love that had been growing between them for so long. They lay there, entwined in the aftermath, feeling more connected than they ever had before.

Felix stroked her hair, his eyes searching hers for any sign of regret. But what he saw there was something entirely different. It was hope, pure and unbridled, the kind that only comes from finding someone who truly sees you and loves you for all that you are. And in that moment, as the rain continued to fall around them, he realized that he had been wrong all along. She wasn't just the girl next door; she was the girl he was meant to love, the one who had been there all along, waiting patiently for him to come to his senses.

And so, as the raindrops danced on their skin and the leaves whispered their secrets, they promised each other that they would face the storms of life together, no matter what the future held. They had found their safe harbour in each other, and nothing could ever change that.

[chroniclesofskz]

One night changed everything

In the bustling heart of Seoul, a young woman named Y/N hurried through the neon-lit streets. Her eyes were glued to her phone screen, the glow casting a soft blue hue on her face as she scrolled through job postings. Her dream of attending university and becoming a renowned journalist was slipping through her fingers, weighed down by the crushing burden of tuition fees. Each step echoed the urgency of her situation, her worn-out sneakers whispering against the concrete. She'd tried everything—part-time jobs, internships, and even freelance gigs that paid next to nothing. Yet, hope remained as stubborn as the smog that hung in the air.

Y/N's stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn't eaten since the early morning cup of ramen. Her phone buzzed, and she paused, expecting another rejection email. Instead, it was a text from her best friend, Chan, who had a peculiar expression on his face when they'd parted earlier. "Hey, I might have something for you. Meet me at the usual spot?"

Curiosity piqued, she replied with a quick nodding emoji and headed towards the small park that was their sanctuary from the city's relentless pace. The crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant murmur of traffic provided a serene backdrop as she approached the bench where Chan sat, his elbows propped on his knees, a furtive look in his eyes. He leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone, "Felix needs your help."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, "What kind of help?"

Chan fidgeted, "Well, you know how guys can be…"

SUMMARY^1: Y/N, desperate for university funds, meets her best friend Chan in a Seoul park. He tells her that their mutual friend Felix needs her assistance, hinting at something sensitive involving his male desires.

Y/N sighed, "What did he do?"

"He's tired of being the butt of jokes," Chan admitted, his voice dropping lower, "He's a virgin, Y/N. He's desperate for a one night stand, but he's too shy to ask."

Y/N's cheeks flushed, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "Why are you telling me this?"

With a knowing smirk, Chan leaned back on the bench, "Because he's willing to pay for it, and I know you need the cash for school."

Her eyes narrowed, "What's the catch?"

"An NDA," he said, holding up his phone to show her the contract. "It's all above board. No strings attached, and you get enough money to cover your first semester."

The words hung in the air, a blend of temptation and disbelief. Y/N had had a crush on Felix since they were kids, but she'd never acted on it. Now, the opportunity was being dangled in front of her, wrapped in a thick envelope of cold, hard cash.

"Is it safe?" she whispered, her heart racing.

Chan nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "Safer than a library, and just as quiet. You both sign, and it's a secret between you and him. Plus, the cash is yours to keep, no matter what happens."

The gravity of the situation sunk in, and she took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it," she said, more to herself than to Chan. "But not because I like him," she added, trying to convince herself of the lie.

In the quiet sanctity of her tiny apartment, Y/N slipped into the baby blue slip dress that clung to her curves like a whisper. She felt both naked and empowered in the silk, the color a stark contrast against her flushed skin. The ribbon in her hair was a delicate touch, a silent nod to her inner child's innocence that she was about to leave behind. As she stepped into the sky-high white heels, she felt the weight of the decision sink deeper into her soul.

Arriving at the hotel, she took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, her heart hammering against her chest with each floor that passed. The corridor was eerily silent, the plush carpet swallowing her nervous footsteps. Outside room 1403, she paused, her hand hovering over the door handle. The cool metal felt reassuring under her fingertips. She took another deep breath and pushed the door open.

Felix was there, dressed in a crisp white shirt that accentuated his lean physique, his eyes widening at the sight of her. The room was bathed in a soft blue glow, reflecting off the pristine surfaces and intoxicating her with its serene beauty. He looked at her with a mix of awe and hunger, his pupils dilating as he took in every inch of her. She could see his hands shaking slightly, his own nerves betraying him. "You look…" he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the words, "Perfect."

The tension between them grew palpable as they moved closer. She felt his breath on her neck, hot and heavy. His hands traced the contours of her body, and she shivered at his touch. It was clear he was trying to be gentle, to make her comfortable, but the urgency in his actions was unmistakable. He untied the ribbon in her hair, the satin slipping through his fingers like water, and she felt a thrill run down her spine as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin.

He led her to the bed, the mattress sinking under their combined weight as he laid her down. His hands moved to the zipper of her dress, pulling it down with a zest that spoke of his inexperience. She felt a strange mix of pity and excitement for him, knowing that she was about to give him something no one else had. As he slid the dress off her, she caught a glimpse of the blue underwear, the color a stark contrast to the white sheets.

The night unfolded like a feverish dream, a dance of pleasure and pain that neither of them had anticipated. His touch was clumsy at first, but eager, and she found herself guiding him, her body responding to his every caress. She'd never felt so alive, so desired, and it was intoxicating. Each moan and whimper she made spurred him on, his confidence growing with each passing moment.

They explored each other's bodies like two lost souls finding refuge in a storm. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the air, punctuated by their ragged breaths. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. And when he finally entered her, it was with a tenderness that surprised them both.

Her moans grew louder as he found his rhythm, each thrust a declaration of his newfound power. She clung to the sheets, her nails digging into the fabric as he claimed her in a way she'd never felt before. His hands roamed her body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. He watched her face, reading her reactions like a book, learning what made her squirm and what made her scream. And when he felt her tighten around him, her body arching off the bed, he knew she was close.

With a final, desperate thrust, he buried himself deep within her, and she came apart in his arms, her orgasm shaking her to her very core. He followed, his release hot and intense, his body collapsing onto hers with a final, guttural groan. They lay there for a moment, hearts racing, the only sound the gentle panting of their breaths.

As the night progressed, they lost count of the times their bodies collided in ecstasy. Each orgasm was a symphony of pleasure, a crescendo of sensations that left them both breathless and spent. They pushed the boundaries of their desire, each new touch and caress bringing them closer to the edge until they could take no more.

But even as they reveled in the afterglow of passion, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that she was playing a dangerous game. The NDA loomed over her like a dark cloud, a silent reminder that this was a transaction, not a love affair. Yet, as she felt the warmth of his arms around her, the beat of his heart against her chest, she couldn't help but wonder if it was all just a lie. A lie she desperately wanted to believe.

When the sun began to peek through the curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden light, Y/N knew it was time to leave. She slipped out of bed, her legs wobbly from the night's exertions. She gathered her clothes, her eyes lingering on the crumpled blue dress that had been her armor for the evening. As she dressed, she felt a pang of sadness, the reality of their situation crashing down on her.

Felix watched her from the bed, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

Y/N forced a smile, "It's what you paid for."

He reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek. "You're more than just a one night stand to me, Y/N. I've always…" His words trailed off, and she stepped back, the warmth of his touch fading.

"It's okay," she said, her voice shakier than she'd like. "It's just business."

With a nod, she turned and walked out of the hotel room, the envelope of cash heavy in her pocket. The echo of his voice followed her down the hall, a promise of more than she could ever afford to hope for.

The weeks that followed were a blur of classes and part-time jobs, her mind never far from that fateful night. She tried to bury her feelings, to convince herself that it had been just a means to an end. But when she saw the positive pregnancy test staring back at her, all the walls she'd built around her heart came crumbling down.

Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone to call Chan, the only person she could trust with her secret. Her voice was barely a whisper when she confessed, "I think I'm pregnant."

Chan's response was immediate and firm. "You have to tell him."

Y/N felt a knot form in her stomach. "But the NDA…"

"Felix is your friend," he reminded her gently. "He'll understand."

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the choice she now faced. She could either hold onto the lie, or risk everything by telling the truth. The fear and excitement swirled inside her like a tempest, threatening to consume her whole. But one thing was clear: she had to face the music, no matter the cost.

The days ticked by, each one heavier than the last. The secret grew within her, a living, breathing entity that whispered in the back of her mind. She knew she couldn't keep it much longer. And when she finally gathered the courage to confront him, she had no idea that her world was about to turn upside down.

Felix was rehearsing in the dance studio when she found him, sweat glistening on his forehead, his body moving in perfect sync with the music. She watched from the shadows, her heart racing. He looked so at ease, so confident, it was hard to believe he'd ever been the shy boy who'd needed her help. But she had to tell him, no matter the cost.

As the music faded, he caught sight of her, his eyes lighting up in surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Her voice was a mere murmur, "We need to talk."

He wiped the sweat from his brow, the smile fading from his face as he took in her serious expression. "Is everything okay?"

The studio felt like it was closing in on her, the walls painted with their shared secrets and unspoken desires. She took a deep breath, "I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air like a fog, thick and suffocating. For a moment, time stood still. Then, everything crashed down around them.

Felix stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. "What?"

Her voice grew stronger with each syllable, "You heard me. I'm pregnant."

The color drained from his face, and he sank to the floor, his hands shaking. "But we used protection," he said, as if the words could somehow change the truth.

Y/N nodded, her eyes filling with tears, "Sometimes it doesn't work."

The silence that followed was deafening, each beat of her heart echoing in the cavernous room. Then, as if a dam had broken, the words spilled out of her. She told him about the NDA, her fears, and the love she'd never admitted. "I didn't want it to be like this," she sobbed.

Felix looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions she couldn't quite read. He took a deep breath, "You don't have to do this alone," he said, his voice firm.

The shock of his words washed over her like a tidal wave. "But the NDA," she whispered.

"Fuck the NDA," he said, standing up to face her. "This isn't just about money or a one night stand anymore. This is about us. And if we have a baby together, we're going to do it right."

The words hit Y/N like a ton of bricks. She hadn't allowed herself to believe that he'd react this way. She'd braced herself for anger, for rejection, but not this. "But JYP," she began, her voice trembling. "What will he say?"

Felix took her hand, his eyes filled with determination, "Let's go talk to him," he said, leading her out of the studio.

The walk to Park Jinyoung's office was a blur of nervous glances and shaky breaths. The corridors of the JYP Entertainment building were eerily quiet, the only sounds their footsteps and the distant echo of laughter from the other trainees. When they reached the door with the gleaming gold nameplate, Y/N's heart was racing.

With a deep breath, she opened the door to find Park Jinyoung behind his desk, his sharp eyes peering over the top of his glasses. The room was a testament to his success, with awards and trophies lining the shelves, but all she could focus on was the man who held her future in his hands.

"You're pregnant?" he said, his voice calm, but with an unmistakable edge of anger.

Y/N nodded, her eyes downcast, "It was an accident, I swear. The NDA…"

But before she could finish, Felix stepped forward, "It's my responsibility, hyung. I'm the one who broke the rules."

Park Jinyoung's gaze switched to him, his expression unreadable. "You know the rules, Felix," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Felix swallowed hard, "I know, and I'm sorry. But we can work something out, right?"

The silence was suffocating as Park Jinyoung leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his years, he spoke, "I remember when my wife was pregnant with our first child," he said, his eyes far away. "It wasn't easy, but we did it."

Felix's grip on her hand tightened, and she felt a flicker of hope. "You're not mad?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Mad?" he repeated, his expression softening. "I'm disappointed, but I'm not mad. You're both adults, and this is a serious situation. But we'll figure it out."

The words were like a balm to her soul, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. "Thank you," she murmured.

"We'll keep it private," Park Jinyoung continued, his gaze intense. "But if this affects your training or the company, there will be consequences."

Felix nodded, his jaw set, "Understood."

The conversation that followed was a whirlwind of plans and promises. They'd keep the pregnancy a secret until it was safe to share, and Y/N would be given a break from her duties to focus on her health and the baby. It was more than she could have ever hoped for.

As they left the office, Y/N felt a strange mix of relief and terror. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn't facing it alone.

The months that followed were a blur of doctor's appointments, cravings, and sneaky glances in the mirror. Each week brought a new challenge, a new joy, and a growing bump that seemed to tie her and Felix closer together. He was there for every ultrasound, his hand squeezing hers tightly as they watched the little miracle flutter and kick on the screen. He'd lean in and whisper sweet nothings to their unborn child, his voice filled with a love she never knew existed.

Y/N continued her studies, balancing her pregnancy with her classes, and even managed to keep her secret from the prying eyes of the media. The bump grew steadily, becoming a silent testament to the love they shared. They'd sit together at night, her hand on her belly, feeling their baby move in time with the rhythm of his heart. It was a secret dance, a silent promise that bound them together.

When it was time to tell the fans, they did it with a video that went viral in minutes. The camera panned over her growing belly, a soft glow emanating from her skin as she cradled it, her eyes filled with a love so profound it seemed to spill over into the lens. "We're going to be parents," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. Felix's hand rested on her shoulder, his eyes shining with pride.

The fanbase was torn. Some were ecstatic, their hearts swelling with joy for the couple they'd watched grow from awkward teenagers into adults navigating the choppy waters of life. They flooded social media with well wishes and messages of support, eager to be part of this new chapter. Others, however, were not so accepting. The jealousy burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. They couldn't bear the thought of their idol, their fantasy, sharing a life with someone who wasn't them. The hate was palpable, the comments on their posts a minefield of spite and malice.

But amidst the chaos, something strange happened. As the months passed and Y/N's belly grew rounder, as they posted more pictures of their quiet moments of bliss, something began to shift. The fans who had once been jealous found themselves drawn into their love story, unable to look away from the raw emotion that played out before their eyes. They watched as Felix painted her swollen feet with tiny stars, as she laughed through the pain of stretch marks. They saw the way he looked at her, not just with desire, but with a love so pure it was blinding. And they couldn't help but love them for it.

The haters grew quieter, their voices drowned out by the tide of love that swelled for the couple. They saw that this wasn't just a scandal, a secret kept for monetary gain. It was a love story, one that had been born out of friendship and grew into something so much more. The fans who had been jealous began to feel a kinship with Y/N, a bond formed by the shared experience of loving someone who was so clearly loved by another. They saw in her the possibility of their own happiness, the proof that love didn't have to be perfect to be beautiful.

And when the baby was born, a tiny bundle of hope and love, the fanbase erupted in celebration. They watched as Felix held his child for the first time, his hands shaking, his eyes brimming with tears. They saw the way Y/N looked at him, her love and admiration shining brighter than the stage lights. And they knew, without a doubt, that this was a love that was meant to be, a bond that not even the most stringent of contracts could break.

Baby, Madeline Lee. "Daddy's Little Girl, Mommy's Whole World."

[chroniclesofskz]

Chaos at the London airport

Felix and the rest of Stray Kids pushed through the throngs of screaming fans, every step heavy with exhaustion and adrenaline. Their hearts pounded in rhythm with the relentless shouts, the frantic clawing hands, and the chaos that overtook the airport’s bustling terminal. The crowd was a raging storm—an unstoppable tide of obsession, everyone desperate for a piece of their idols. Security struggled desperately to hold back the surge, but even they were losing ground.

Felix’s eyes flicked to Y/N—so close behind him, just a step or two. Her face was filled with love, worry shining in her eyes as she stayed close, hoping to stay in his sight. But amidst the chaos, yanked suddenly by a fan’s aggressive pull, she was ripped away from his side. Someone’s hand gripped her arm tightly, pulling her back with brutal force. Her eyes widened as she was dragged, instinctively reaching out for Felix, but the crowd’s grip was too fierce. Her voice, full of fear, called out, “Felix…!” but she was swiftly lost in the surge, her trembling hands the last thing Felix saw before she was swallowed whole by the rushing mob.

In the chaos, someone shoved her fiercely. Her body lurched forward, feet slipping on the slick floor as she was helplessly caught in the violent tide of fans. Her cries for help—fragile, desperate—were drowned out by the thunderous noise. Her tiny hand was stepped on painfully; a shoe kicked into her stomach with brutal force, causing her to double over and clutch her side in agony. Tears blurred her vision, and she whimpered softly, “Felix… I’m scared….”

Many fans ignored her, their eyes cold and dismissive. Some sneered and rolled their eyes as if her suffering was an inconvenience. Her screams faded, her body trembling as darkness threatened to drown her. Felix, completely unaware she was gone—focused on trying to keep himself together—suddenly felt her absence like a punch to the gut.

He spun around, frantic, his voice trembling as he looked to Chan. “Hyung! Where is she?!” Felix’s eyes darted wildly, trying to spot her amidst the chaos. His mind raced—why was she no longer close? Where had she gone? In his desperation, he pushed through the crowd, his voice rising in panic, calling out again, “Where is she? I can’t see her!”

He wasn’t aware she had fallen. It wasn’t until he turned completely, scanning the crowd with a frantic gaze, that reality hit him like a bullet—she was gone, and his heart pounded painfully. His eyes searched desperately for her fragile figure—her face bruised, her body trembling—and it was only then that he saw her. Pale, motionless, laid out among the chaos—a fragile, heartbreaking sight that shattered every part of him.

As she was pulled aside, the crowd’s attention shifted and they began to look and snigger. Felix’s eyes widened in horror when he saw a fan sneer at her. Someone from the crowd spat mockingly, “Why are you even shouting for Felix? He won’t save you. You're not even that special.” The fan then burst into cruel laughter, scoffing at her pain, and trampled over her trembling body as she cried out, overwhelmed by fear and shame. Tears streamed down her face as she begged silently for help, but the words caught in her throat.

Felix, seeing her assaulted and humiliated, was instantly flooded with rage and heartbreak. His voice cracked as he snapped, “Hey! Stay away from her,” and he stormed over, pushing past the pushing, shoving fan with firm authority. With a fierce glare, he grabbed the offending fan and forcefully pushed them back into their place. “Leave her alone,” Felix growled, voice low but unwavering—protecting her from further cruelty. Then, as her trembling form lay helpless on the ground, Felix quickly pulled out his phone and called for ambulances, his voice strained with worry. “Please, I need an ambulance now,” he begged into the receiver.

The crowd continued to push and claw at the barricades, fans desperate to get closer, some still trying to reach out and snatch a piece of the chaos. Fans who saw her humiliated started to snigger and jeer, but Felix’s focus was solely on her, fighting to shield her from the cruelty and chaos that threatened to swallow her whole.

Felix stayed by Y/N’s side through the quick but careful check-up. The doctors confirmed she had fractured her right hand and broken a few ribs from the kicks and falls amid the chaos. His heart clenched again, imagining how even a small injury could have been much worse. Despite the pain, she managed a small, brave smile when they said she was stable enough to leave.

They helped her to her feet slowly, Felix’s arms steadying her as she leaned on him. They exited the hospital into the cool night air, where thankfully, there were no fans—just their worried faces, Felix’s bandmates, and staff. The crowd of fans was nowhere in sight; the police and security had kept them back, and only a handful of their close circle remained.

The tension in the air was thick as Felix gently helped her into the car, his mind racing with fear and relief. The drive to the venue was quiet but charged with unspoken promises: Felix would protect her no matter what. He kept a firm grip on her hand, never letting go, whispering soft words of reassurance in her ear.

When they arrived at the concert, the familiar lights and sounds enveloped them, offering a moment of escape from the storm of the airport. Despite her injuries, Y/N was determined to be there—to see Felix perform, to feel normal again. Felix hesitated at first, worried about her health, but her determined gaze and gentle touch convinced him she’d be okay. “I want to see you shine,” she whispered softly, her voice filled with resilience. Felix nodded and promised her he’d give his all—for her.

The concert was incredible—powerful, emotional, full of energy. Felix poured his heart into every word, every note, dedicating a song to her, knowing she was fighting her own battle behind the scenes. For that moment, everything else—the chaos, the injuries, the fears—faded into the background as the crowd’s cheers carried them away.

But all too soon, the moment of peace shattered.

As the show ended and the arena lights dimmed, the floodgates of media opened. The story exploded across headlines and social media platforms—photos, videos, and speculation swirling in a frenzy. Who was this mysterious girl? Why was Felix so protective? Rumors ran rampant. Some fans rallied around her, supporting her and Felix, calling her brave and beautiful. Others grew jealous, attacking her character, accusing her of being a distraction, unworthy of Felix’s love.

The constant barrage of speculation and negativity threatened to drown their happiness. Felix acted swiftly—shutting down comments on his socials, trying to shield her from the worst. He posted a sweet photo of her smiling, fragile but alive, with a heartfelt message about love and resilience. Yet, even with those efforts, the media kept relentless, and the online hate only intensified.

Behind closed doors, they left the hospital with no fans or camera flashes—just themselves, their closest friends, and worried eyes. The fans’ screams, the chaos, the prying reporters—all faded behind the walls of their tiny sanctuary. Now all that mattered was her recovery and finding peace in the storm.

Before stepping onto that stage again, Felix gently pulled her into his arms, his forehead softly pressed against hers. He looked into her trembling eyes—the one person in the world who mattered more than anything. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. Carefully, he leaned forward and pressed his lips tenderly to hers in a loving, reassuring kiss. It was more than just a kiss—it was a promise. A vow that no matter what storms came, he would always protect her, love her fiercely, and stand by her side.

With one final, loving look, Felix stepped back, took a deep breath, and headed onto the stage, ready to give everything he had—for her, for their love, and for the fans who believed in them. Because deep in his heart, he knew their love was stronger than any storm that might come.

[chroniclesofskz]

Beneath the Summer Sky

Romance with fluff elements and light, suggestive intimacy

Under the blazing summer sun, old friends clash, secrets spill, and hearts collide. Felix has returned, carrying guilt and longing—now, on a sunlit beach, they learn that love might be the greatest adventure of all. When confessions slip and feelings finally surface, can they take the leap into something more?

The Australian sun poured its golden light over the secluded beach, casting a warm glow that made everything shimmer. The waves rolled in gentle, rhythmic patterns, whispering secrets to the sand. Y/N leaned casually against Seabreeze Snacks, her family’s cozy beach hut, which was painted in bright, cheerful colors. She wore her favorite Levi shorts, a soft baby pink bikini top that complemented her sun-kissed glow, and a light, sheer off-the-shoulder tank top that fluttered with the breeze. Her hair was pulled into a loose side braid, with tendrils escaping to frame her face, giving her that effortless, laid-back vibe that only someone truly comfortable in their skin could carry. Her eyes sparkled under the sunlight, bright and lively, full of the joy that this quiet spot always brought her.

Across the sand, the Stray Kids members were playing a lively game of football, their loud laughter echoing out into the blue sky. Felix, ever the cheerful and energetic one, was in the thick of it, his face lit up with a bright smile. But today, despite the exuberance, his gaze kept flickering toward her. Every time she cheered a teammate or chewed on her bottom lip while watching the game, his heart fluttered. He was grateful for these moments, even if they made his cheeks warm and his palms sweat.

Finally, Felix found a break in the game and jogged toward her family’s little shop, affectionately called The Tidal Treats. It was her family’s beachside haven—simple, cozy, and filled with the smell of fresh snacks and salty air. As he approached, he hesitated for a moment, feeling a little nervous. He knew she was busy with her work, but some instinct told him to come say hi, to find a reason to talk to her.

"Hey, Y/N," Felix said as he stepped up to the counter, the warmth of his smile trying to hide his nerves. "Can I get a couple of drinks for the guys? Something cold that hits the spot?"

Her face brightened when she saw him. "Of course! I’ll grab them right now," she said cheerfully, flipping open a cooler. Her relaxed, friendly voice and dainty smile made Felix’s heart skip a beat. Her eyes, so bright and full of life, made him forget how nervous he was.

He watched her move with quick, confident motions—her easy confidence seemingly shining in the bright sunlight. But his courage faltered just enough to make his words sound a little shaky. “Uh… actually, y’know… the guys would love for you to join them later. We’re just hanging out here for a bit. You’re welcome to come, if you’re not busy.”

Y/N looked up, surprised for a moment, then smiled shyly. “My shift ends in about ten minutes,” she said softly. “I’d love to join you—and the drinks are on the house. It’s still work, technically, but I think my family would be okay with it.”

Felix’s smile grew wider. “Well, in that case”—he hesitated for a beat—“I insist on paying.” His cheeks tinted pink. “It’s the least I can do.”

She giggled, cheeks rosy, and nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you guys soon.”

When her shift was finally over, she carefully removed her little work tank top, leaving only her bikini top and shorts. She glanced in a tide pool nearby, checking her reflection, then took a deep breath, nervous but excited. She knew today was special — her first time really meeting the other band members apart from Chan, who she’d known for a while. The thought made her stomach flutter.

Meanwhile, the group was still pretty lively, splashing and joking around by the water’s edge. Felix spotted her first and waved her over eagerly. “Hey! You made it,” he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling. His bubbly personality made everyone happy, but especially her. She stepped closer, feeling the warmth of the moment.

“Hi,” she said softly, shy but smiling. Her heart was pounding — this was Felix, the boy she’d known nearly her whole life, but also a total crush she’d kept hidden for so long. She tried to keep her composure, even as Felix’s easy charm made her blush.

The group was already planning a mini Olympics, a fun competition to settle who footed the bill for tonight’s dinner. Felix handed her a bib in cheerful red, imagining her on his team. “You’re on my side,” he said confidently, eyes playful.

“Let’s see if you keep up, Y/N,” Felix teased with a grin, handing her a bright red bib. Her cheeks warmed at the playful tone, but she accepted it, nervous yet excited to be part of the fun. The others gathered around, splitting into teams of five and four as the first game—football—kicked off with loud cheers and spirited shouts. Y/N, despite saying she wasn’t particularly good, surprised everyone with her agility and sneaky skills. Her tackles were fierce, and she outmaneuvered even the tallest guys, her eyes shining with a fierce competitive streak that only made Felix’s admiration grow.

Watching her was like witnessing a different side of her—confident, fierce, radiant under the sun. Felix couldn’t stop cheering her on, feeling his heart thump faster every time she scored a goal or made a slick move. The way her hair glistened, her skin glowing in the sunlight, her smile infectious—none of that escaped his notice. She was more than just his childhood friend today; she was his rising star on the sand.

When the football game wrapped up, they moved to badminton, where she admitted her skills were more “practice than expertise,” but her enthusiasm made up for any lack of finesse. She swung wildly at first, laughing at her own goofy attempts, then gradually found her rhythm, giggling more with each rally. Felix watched her as she laughed, her face lit up with genuine joy, a stark contrast to the shy girl she was just a few minutes ago. Her carefree attitude and natural smile made his stomach flip—a feeling he wasn’t entirely used to but was beginning to embrace.

The sun was climbing lower, casting long golden shadows over the beach, when somebody suggested a water fight. Instantly, chaos ensued—splashing, running, and shouting. Felix couldn’t resist joining in, grabbing Y/N’s waist and hauling her under a spray of salty water. She squealed, laughing uncontrollably and trying to wiggle free. Her wet hair stuck to her face as she tried to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed from both exertion and happiness.

Not to be outdone, Y/N retaliated fiercely, dunking Felix headfirst into the shallow tide pool. He surfaced coughing, water streaming down his face, curls plastered to his forehead. She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of wet hair behind Felix’s face, her fingertips grazing his skin in a soft, intimate gesture. Felix looked at her with wide-eyed surprise, his cheeks flushing slightly at her tenderness. Then she doubled over in giggles, still soaked but glowing with pure happiness. Felix wiped his face with his sleeve, then gently splashed her back—more playfully now—feeling his grin grow wider as she squealed again, her laughter bubbly and lighthearted. He watched her—so alive, so carefree—and for a moment, he forgot about everything else, lost in the warmth of her smile and the playful sparks igniting between them.

Later, as the sky painted itself in shades of fiery orange and pink, Felix suggested a peaceful walk down the beach. The others went ahead, leaving Felix and Y/N to wander side by side where the sand was softer, quieter. They found a tiny, secluded spot behind a thicket of bushes, where their towels lay crumpled on the sand. The breeze was cool, and their damp bodies soaked up the salty air, sending a gentle chill through them.

They settled down on the warm sand, Y/N resting her head gently on Felix’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. Felix looked down at her, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. His heart pounded loudly, feeling the weight of everything he’d carried with him. He hesitated, then finally mustered the courage to speak.

“I honestly don’t want to leave,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with feeling. “It’s so hard to go when I feel like I’m leaving my best friend behind. Especially now that I’m back in Australia—I’ve carried so much guilt for leaving you all those years ago. I chased my dreams, but I’ve always felt bad for abandoning you, for not being here when you needed me. And I’ve never stopped wishing I could turn back the clock just to tell you how much you mean to me.”

Y/N listened quietly, her gaze softening, but she didn’t interrupt. Instead, she gently took his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly. “You’re here now,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “That’s what counts. I’ve always wanted what’s best for you, Felix. Honestly, I don’t care about the guilt or the regrets—I just want you to be happy, to chase your dreams and be the person you’re meant to be. My own feelings? They don’t matter. My selfishness isn’t going to stop you from doing what you love.”

As she spoke, her voice grew more unfiltered, almost rambling on the raw honesty pouring out. She looked away briefly, cheeks flushing, her words tumbling free—everything she’d been holding inside all this time. “I love you,” she blurted suddenly, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth, her face turning beet red. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice trembling with embarrassment, horrified by what she’d just revealed.

Felix’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say a word at first. Instead, he gazed at her, a mixture of affection and amusement flickering across his face. Slowly, he reached up, gently removing her hand from her mouth, and looked into her eyes with a soft, understanding smile. “You really do love me,” he murmured, voice tender.

Y/N’s cheeks were blazing, her heart hammering so loudly she thought he might hear it. “I… I didn’t mean to say that,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

He took her trembling hand in his, his gaze full of gentle reassurance. “Hey,” he whispered softly, “you don’t have to hide it anymore. I’ve always known—I've always felt the same. And maybe I’ve been too afraid to admit it myself. But now… I want us to be more than just friends, Y/N. I want to see where this could go.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but a hesitant smile formed on her lips. Slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing softly against his in a shuddering, tentative kiss. Felix responded immediately, deepening the kiss as the feelings they’d both been hiding burst free. Her hands found his waist, and suddenly she was straddling him, feeling the strength of his abs through his shirt. Their bodies pressed close, igniting a heat that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

In that moment, they knew—they wanted something more than friendship. Something real, something lasting. But just as the intensity built and Felix’s lips were swollen from the passion, he instinctively hesitated. His breath was ragged, and he looked at her—his eyes dark with longing. “Hey,” he whispered softly, “we don’t have to rush. Let’s take our time. I want to do this right.”

Y/N’s face was still flushed and her chest heaved as she nodded softly, feeling a mixture of relief and eager anticipation. Felix gently brushed his fingers over her lips, feeling the weight of what they’d just revealed. “We’ll make it work,” he promised softly. “I swear. This—us—this is just the beginning.”

They stayed there, hearts pounding, knowing everything between them had shifted forever. They were stepping into something deeper—something more real—and whatever the future held, together was the only way they’d face it.

[chroniclesofskz]

Embraced by Love

Bang Chan sat quietly in the dimly lit studio, tears silently slipping down his reddened face as he struggled to hold back a quiet sob. His shoulders trembled with the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak—feeling helpless to protect everyone, especially after having to end their set early. He watched helplessly as fans in the venue started passing out from the heat, the frustration gnawing at him. The venue’s unconscionable price—eight dollars for a bottle of water—only fueled his anger and despair. He felt utterly powerless, overwhelmed by the chaos surrounding him.

Suddenly, the door eased open softly, and Y/N stepped inside, her heart aching at the sight before her. She moved gently, sensing his vulnerability so raw that he didn’t even try to conceal his silent tears. Carefully, she approached him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tender, reassuring embrace. His trembling shoulders pressed against her, and for a moment, all the weight of the world seemed to melt away as he buried himself into her warmth.

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, her lips soft and loving as she held him close. She could feel his body trembling—shaking with the silent storm of emotions—his breath hitching as tears threatened to spill over again. Without saying a word, she softly wiped the tears from his flushed cheeks and stroked his hair gently, her fingers soothing and tender. Her voice was delicate but firm, filled with love and reassurance. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry.”

He leaned into her, muffling his trembling cries against her shoulder, and slowly, he sank further into her love, wrapping his arms around her waist. His face pressed into her neck, feeling her heartbeat steady underneath his cheek. His swollen lips trembled as he struggled to speak—his voice thick with emotion—"I just... I feel so helpless. I wanted to do more. I wanted to protect everyone."

Y/N gently brushed a lock of hair from his face, her hand tender and warm. Then, softly, she reminded him, “You paid for every person in that venue so they could have water. Your own money, your hard work. You made sure they were cared for, even if it meant ending the show early. That’s what truly matters. Your heart, your effort, your love—those are what count the most.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and as he looked into her eyes, overwhelmed, she leaned in closer and cupped his cheek. Her lips found his in a tender, loving kiss—slow and warm, expressing her understanding and unwavering support. His breath hitched once, then slowly, he mirrored her—the way his lips gently pressed to hers, full of gratitude and love. The kiss felt like an affirmation of everything he was feeling—her love anchoring him, soothing his broken heart.

When they finally parted, his voice cracked as he whispered, “Thank you. For everything. Your support, your love—that’s what keeps me going.”

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes shining with affection and understanding. “I’ll always be here for you, baby. No matter what. We’re all in this together—eight of us—your family, your team, your fans. We love you, and we believe in you.”

Gradually, the tears slowed, and he let himself relax deeper into her arms. In her embrace, he felt a fragile surge of hope—the warmth of her love making everything feel a little less heavy. As his trembling eased and he rested his forehead against her shoulder, he knew that, no matter how tough things got, he wasn’t alone. Because, in her loving arms, he found the strength to face anything.

And in that moment, surrounded by her tenderness, Chan felt forever grateful—for her unwavering love, for her support, and for knowing he was more than enough in her eyes.

[chroniclesofskz]

Shadows of Rebellion

In a world where perfection is drilled into every corner, the streets are lined with identical houses, their white walls gleaming under the constant surveillance of cameras. Every garden is meticulously maintained, every blade of grass cut to the same length, and the streetlights blink in unison. There’s no mess, no clutter—just pristine surfaces and the watchful eyes of Harmoni Corp observing from above, ensuring nothing disrupts the manufactured peace.

From birth, they’re molded to fit a role they don’t choose. In school, instead of normal lessons, children are subjected to a system that analyzes their every move, their personality, even their biological data. Tablets score their performance, and AI algorithms determine who they are—how they walk, talk, behave—everything calibrated to find their ideal match. The future is predetermined, an endless cycle of testing and matching, with every step orchestrated for harmony.

When they turn 18, the process accelerates. A call from Harmoni Corp arrives, summoning them to the sleek, clinical facilities where their lives are forever changed. There, they are poked, pricked, scanned, and tested by advanced AI that claims to divine their perfect partner. Doctors in spotless white uniforms guide them through exhaustive exams, collecting every piece of biological and psychological data—ensuring that when the moment comes, their match will be as perfect as the system believes.

Y/N’s life changed the day she received her list of instructions. She was taken from her childhood home and placed into a home identical to all others, a space devoid of personality, walls lined with cameras watching her every move. She’s told her future is already decided—her match is someone whose data aligns perfectly with hers. She only knows his name, a mere string of characters, nothing more. The system promises that eventually, they will meet inside their “forever home,” and the moment will be orchestrated with precision.

She doesn’t want this—she refuses. She dreams of a life where no cameras judge her, where she decides when and if she has children, where her body isn’t monitored and controlled. The idea that she’s deemed “defective” if she can’t conceive, that her worth depends on the system’s standards, makes her angry and despairing. This isn’t the life she envisioned; it’s a manufactured existence, a prison of perfection.

Her designated partner is someone named Felix. She’s told he is the one who scores best for her, the ideal match created by the algorithms. But she has no idea what he looks like, what he’s like—only that at some point they will meet inside those four walls, and their connection will be purely system-approved. She’s told their paths are already set, their destinies intertwined by the cold logic of the corporation.

Felix—her future—embodies a quiet strength, a calm demeanor that balances kindness and resilience. His features are something you imagine—soft and appealing, yet capable of hiding complexity beneath. Perhaps he has gentle eyes that hold a hint of rebellion, a stubborn jawline that hints at fighting the system, or an effortless smile that reveals he’s not fully convinced by this world. But for her, he is simply the person programmed to complete her.

Y/N’s life is dictated by protocols—scheduled routines, monitored interactions, and a constant undercurrent of rebellion simmering beneath the surface. When their “meeting” finally happens, inside that identical, sterilized home, there are no sparks—just a quiet acknowledgment of systems aligning, of lives forced into harmony.

But underneath the surface, questions stir. How much of this is real? Can she truly find love within the confines of a system that wants her to conform? Will Felix be more than just a match—will he see her as a person, not just a sum of data points? Or is their connection just another manipulation crafted by the corporation to maintain control?

In this world of endless perfection, her greatest act of rebellion might just be choosing to question everything. To resist the algorithm’s grip. Because somewhere deep inside, she knows she is more than a number—more than the system’s idea of harmony. And whether Felix is the answer or just another piece of the puzzle, she’s determined to find out.

The day of their official meeting arrived in a blur of clinical anticipation. The white, windowless room felt colder than ever, the air thick with silence broken only by the hum of machines and distant footsteps. Y/N sat in a sleek chair, her heart pounding but her face composed—trained to suppress any sign of deviation, of rebellion. Across from her, Felix waited, his expression calm but alert, like someone who knew he was part of something much larger than himself.

The door slid open silently, and a figure in a sharp, white uniform entered. It was the overseer—one of the many agents of Harmoni Corp tasked with ensuring that everything remained perfect, nothing left to chance. He approached with a clipboard, eyes scanning the screen in front of him, and then offered a small, emotionless nod.

“Y/N,” he intoned, voice devoid of warmth. “Your match has been prepared. You will now meet your destined partner.”

The door swung open again. Inside, standing perfectly still, was Felix. He looked every inch the ideal—balanced, composed, as if he belonged to a different world. His features seemed carved from porcelain, with eyes that looked at her not with fear, but with quiet curiosity—that unspoken understanding that something about all of this felt wrong.

As Y/N’s eyes locked onto his, she felt a jolt of something unnameable—defiance, fear, maybe heartbreak. The system had brought her here, but her soul whispered that she was more than just data points, more than a product of algorithms designed to bring harmony. She was human. She had a choice hidden beneath the layers of control.

“Hello,” Felix said softly, voice steady but warm, breaking the ice after a moment of tense silence. His smile was gentle—almost hesitant—as if he knew this moment was more than just a system match.

She responded with a careful nod, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Everything about her was her own—her eyes, her voice—yet they all seemed like scripts, pre-approved, rehearsed in the shadows of her mind.

The overseer observed silently as they exchanged the barest of greetings. For a moment, the world outside paused—two entities brought together by cold calculations, yet fighting the very fabric of their predetermined existence.

What if I don’t want this? her mind whispered, the question echoing louder than any protocol. She looked at Felix, trying to read beyond his calm exterior, searching for a flicker of resistance or rebellion, but he was as controlled as she was. They were both pawns in a game they barely understood.

Over the next few days, the “harmony” of their life unfolded meticulously—each interaction a carefully curated performance. The houses, all identical, held no surprises. Cameras captured every gesture, every glance, every moment of resistance she tried to hide. Yet inside, her mind was a battlefield of doubt and silent defiance.

She didn’t want to be a part of this perfection. She wanted chaos—her own choices, her own life. The idea that her body and future were being manipulated by artificial intelligence and strict regulations made her sick with frustration. She thought about the women and men who had come before her—those who had given up, those who had conformed, and those who had dared to dream of escape.

And Felix—Felix was the embodiment of her silent rebellion. He was gentle but strong, a flicker of hope amid the oppressive order. His presence felt like that tiny crack in the perfect wall, an invitation to break free.

One night, under the guise of a routine check, Y/N subtly taps her tablet, secretly searching for a way out. Hidden deep within the system’s firmware, she finds whispers—glitches, rumors of other dissidents who refused to accept the system’s authority. Maybe they had escaped. Maybe they had fought back.

Her opportunity arises when she notices the security lapses, the moments when the cameras flicker or the AI system momentarily stutters, like a machine starting to break. That’s when she whispers to Felix—her voice barely above a breath.

“Can we leave? Can we run?”

He looks at her, eyes filled with a mixture of fear and longing. A decision is made in that silent gaze—an unspoken vow that they can’t stay trapped in this endless cycle of false harmony.

One stormy night, as the oppressive surveillance dulls into silence, they gather what little they need—nothing but their resolve and stolen moments of rebellion. Stepping into the shadows, they slip past the cameras, moving toward the unknown, their hearts pounding loud enough to drown out the empty streets.

The escape isn’t easy. Sirens blare, alarms chirp to life, and the oppressive security system fights to reign them in. But they push through, fueled by the fear of a life lived in chains and the fierce hope of real freedom.

In that moment, they’re no longer two systems of data and design. They are two rebels

The rain had begun to fall hard as they hurried through the empty streets, the sound of heavy boots echoing behind them. The once immaculate neighborhood, so carefully constructed to mirror perfection, now seemed distorted—shadows flickering in the darkened alleyways, the lights from the security drones cutting through the rain like laser beams. Every step was a gamble, every breath a risk. Their goal: the main perimeter fence, the only barrier left between their manufactured lives and what lay beyond.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, not just from the sprint but from the weight of everything she had been told — and everything she was about to do. She cast a quick glance at Felix, who moved with a quiet determination that inspired her. Like her, he wanted nothing more than to reclaim his life—no more cameras, no more controlling protocols, no more being a product in someone else’s perfect plan.

The fence loomed ahead, a high, shimmering barrier woven with electric wires that crackled ominously in the storm. Sparks danced around opposition points, warning almost aloud: Turn back. Stay compliant. But neither of them hesitated.

“Ready?” Felix whispered, voice barely audible over the downpour.

Y/N nodded, her hands trembling as she fished out a keycard she’d hidden in her pocket—a desperate, fragile hope that it might give them enough of an edge to get through. With a swift swipe, a flicker of acknowledgment passed, and the barrier stopped its relentless hum for a split second—the system glitching, perhaps just enough.

The moment the gate's barrier wavered, they moved quickly, slipping through the opening just as alarms blared behind them. The door sealed with a hiss, and for a fleeting moment, they thought they'd made it. But the world outside was a chaos they’d never truly prepared for.

They ran into the night, into the wilderness beyond the orderly streets. The forests stretched ahead, a tangled maze of shadows and wet leaves, black and unwelcoming. Every instinct told them to push forward, to get as far from the facility as possible—their safe haven of perfection turned nightmare within moments.

They didn’t speak, only rushing through the thick undergrowth, the rain masking their breaths and footsteps. Occasionally, flashlights cut through the darkness, revealing armed surveillance drones circling overhead, their eye-like lenses scanning for intruders. It was clear—they were being hunted.

Y/N stumbled and nearly fell, but Felix caught her, gripping her close. His face was grim but resolute, hands trembling in the mud as he checked their surroundings.

"We can't go back," he hissed, voice edged with urgency. "They'll hunt us down. We have to keep moving—find somewhere to hide."

Fighting exhaustion and fear, they pressed on, the forest enveloping them. Somewhere deep inside, she felt a flicker of hope—this might be their chance for freedom, for a life beyond the sanitized, monitored existence. The system was relentless, but they were just two individuals willing to risk everything to be more than just numbers, more than a puzzle to be solved.

Minutes felt like hours as they navigated the darkness, until finally, they came upon what seemed like an abandoned structure—an old, rusted shelter hidden behind a thicket of bushes. Bursting through the door, they collapsed inside, leaning against the cold walls as rain pattered on the roof.

The silent night was broken only by their ragged breaths. Y/N looked at Felix, who was soaked through but alive, his eyes shining with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Despite everything, she found herself trembling—not from fear now, but from the exhilaration of defying the impossible.

“We made it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “We’re really out of there.”

Felix reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “It’s not over yet… but at least we’re free from all that control. From the cameras. From the system that tried to turn us into perfect copies of each other.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rain, the distant hum of the surveillance drones still chasing their trail. But a new hope had taken root—one that refused to be broken. They were no longer prisoners of Harmoni Corp’s utopia.

It was silent the only thing that could be had was the rain falling on the broken roof of the abandoned structure Y/N lay there out of breath the wet dripping down her clothes she shiverd gently.

Felix took one look at her—soaked, trembling, yet undeniably real—and in that moment, something primal stirred within him. Without a second thought, he closed the small distance between them, his hands cupping her face with a fierce intensity. His eyes bored into hers, reflecting a raw hunger and a desperate need that left no room for doubt. He leaned in, his breath hot against her lips.

His mouth crashed onto hers, a hungry, demanding kiss that sent shockwaves through her body. It was a kiss that promised everything and left nothing to the imagination. Her mind reeled, trying to process the sudden, overwhelming sensation of his lips against hers, the smoothness of his skin against her own, the taste of rain and something more primal. Her lips parted instinctively, inviting him in, and she surrendered to the moment with a fervor that matched his own.

Things escalated rapidly—Felix's hands roamed her body, pulling her flush against him, his fingers digging into her flesh as if to claim her. Their breaths mingled, hot and desperate, as the rain continued to pound overhead, a distant echo to the storm raging between them. Felix's lips trailed a path of fire down her neck, his teeth nipping at her skin, leaving marks that would linger long after the night was over.

She responded with equal fervor, her hands clutching at his shirt, fisting the fabric as she pulled him closer. Her fingers traced the hard lines of his body beneath the wet cloth, feeling the power and heat radiating from him. The tension that had been building during their escape, the fear, the uncertainty—they all evaporated in the face of this raw, unbridled passion.

Felix's hands found the hem of her dress, slipping beneath it to explore the soft skin of her thighs. His touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through her body, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both. She gasped, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through her veins. Felix paused, his eyes meeting hers, a question in their depths.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire and concern. She nodded, a blush spreading across her cheeks, her heart pounding in her chest. "I want this," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a gentle, reassuring kiss. His hands continued to explore her body, but with a newfound tenderness, as if he was cherishing every inch of her. He roamed her curves, admiring the softness of her skin, the way her body fit perfectly against his. But as his hands moved lower, she felt a rush of shyness, her cheeks flushing a deeper red.

Felix noticed her hesitation and paused, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and understanding. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Every inch of you." He trailed a finger down her side, making her shiver with anticipation. "I want to see all of you."

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat as he slowly peeled away her wet clothes, revealing her bare skin to his hungry gaze. He took his time, admiring her body, his eyes roaming over her curves with a fierce intensity that made her feel both vulnerable and powerful.

They stumbled backward, their bodies entangled, until they reached a makeshift bed of discarded clothes and old blankets. Felix's mouth found hers again, his kiss more urgent, more demanding, but always gentle, always asking for permission. Her hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the strength and power beneath her fingertips.

Clothes were discarded hastily, tossed aside in their haste to be closer, to feel more. Felix's mouth trailed down her body, his tongue and teeth leaving a path of fire and pleasure. He took his time, exploring every inch of her, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive her wild with need. He teased her nipples with his tongue, making her moan and arch against him. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red, embarrassed by the sounds escaping her lips, sounds she had never made before.

He noticed her shyness and pulled back slightly, his eyes soft with understanding. "Don't hold back," he whispered, his voice gentle. "Let me hear you. Let me know how good this feels."

Encouraged by his words, she let go of her inhibitions, her moans growing louder, more uninhibited. He fingered her deeply, his thumb circling her clit, making her cry out with pleasure. She reached for him, her hands wrapping around his hard length, stroking him gently. He groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. She leaned down, taking him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his tip, tasting the salty pre-cum. He moaned, his hands tangling in her hair, guiding her movements as she took him deeper, her head bobbing up and down, her moans vibrating around his length.

Felix pulled her up, his body pressing against hers, his hard length nestled between her thighs. He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, seeking permission. She nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling with anticipation. He entered her slowly, gently, giving her time to adjust to the new sensation. She gasped, a mix of pleasure and pain, her nails digging into his back.

He began to move, his hips thrusting against hers in a rhythm that was both gentle and demanding. He fucked her with a passion that left them both breathless, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, her body arching to meet his thrusts. Her moans filled the small space, unashamed and free, a testament to the pleasure coursing through her veins.

"Felix," she moaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and need. "Don't stop."

He groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he pounded into her, his body slapping against hers. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

"Cum for me," he growled, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let me feel you cum around my cock."

She cried out, her body tensing as she came undone, her inner muscles clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth. He groaned, his own release following close behind, his hot seed spilling into her, filling her completely.

They collapsed onto the makeshift bed, their bodies spent and sated, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Felix pulled her into his arms, his lips pressing soft kisses against her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. She snuggled into him, a contented sigh escaping her lips, her body still tingling with the aftershocks of their passion.

As the storm outside began to subside, Felix held her tighter, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Stay with me," he whispered. "Forever."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, a mixture of joy and fear. "Forever," she echoed, her voice barely a whisper.

In that moment, as the first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, they knew that their journey was just beginning, a promise of a future filled with love, passion, and the wild, uncontainable storm of their desire. It wasn't some algorithm or AI that had made them compatible; it was love, pure and simple, a force that transcended all logic and reason, binding them together in a way that was as beautiful as it was unpredictable.

[chroniclesofskz]

More than the Sun, Moon & Stars

Dad! Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Father's Day is all about Chan, mostly. Warnings: SMUT, oral (both rec), p in v unprotected, toys, blindfolds, restraints. Sweet aftercare. Chan being babied. A/N: Father's Day smut, basically. Enjoy my sweets! Comment to be tagged in future fics. I need a short smut break for a few days guys, but stick around bc I'll be back to it. Also, I've said it once & I'll say it a million times, Chan needs to be babied and taken care of.

You couldn’t believe the weekend was finally here. You and Chan had decided a vacation was in order for the two of you, promising Hwan you’d be home Sunday for Father’s Day; but you explained you need a weekend just you and him. You hadn’t told Chan anything about the vacation, or anything you planned for him.

So, when the two of you walk into the beach house, and it looks seemingly normal, he’s cool and calm.

“You made it sound like some big secret,” he snickers as he puts your bags down outside the room bedroom.

“Well I do have surprises for you,” you wink at him as you wrap your arms around his waist. He quirks a brow at you before smiling cheekily and kissing your lips.

-

After dinner Chan’s on the bed shirtless, relaxing when you walk into the room wearing a sexy new piece of lingerie.

Chan’s eyes flit over you, a cocky grin on his lips.

“That’s new,” he smirks as you stalk over to him, hands behind your back. He watches you closely as you move to straddle him on the bed, his hands automatically going to your hips. You smile at him, a seductive chuckle escaping you as you take your hands from behind your back, holding red satin restraints. His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“We’re using these?” He asks.

You bite your lip front teeth showing as you nod your head yes and hum the answer. You take his hands, tying them to head board. His eyes follow you, willfully submitting as you secure the ribbon.

“Feel ok?” you ask. He nods, throat slightly parched. Normally Chan was the one to control things, but tonight was all about him. What he wanted, well, mostly. You’re having some fun too. You take a moment to admire your work, seeing him unable to move, legs sprawled out on the bed. His adams apple bobs when he swallows as he watches you leave the room for a moment. His heart is in his throat in anticipation.

You walk back in, blind fold in hand. Chan’s bottom lip goes between his teeth and a soft, barely audible whimper is heard from him and if you hadn’t been paying attention, you never would’ve heard it.

“Don’t worry, baby boy. I got you.” You whisper in his ear as you tie it behind his head.

“Color?”

“Green,” he breathes out. You smile, kissing just below his ear.

“Breathe for me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

He shutters in response.

He pulls against the restraints instinctively. You kiss his cheek nails brushing the opposite one as you do so. You leave the room, grabbing your fun bag.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks.

“Patience, daddy. Patience.” You giggle. He huffs, heart erratic and anxiety a little high. You help him out of his pants, body bare in front of you, and your mouth waters as the sigh of his erect cock, standing at attention.

“Someone’s excited,” you giggle as you lightly let your nails skim the top of it. Chan gasps, arms tugging against the restraints.

“Y/n, please,” he begs.

“Shhhh, I’ve got you, trust me.” You murmur. You barely blow a little air at the tip, causing Chan’s body to go stiff.

“I’ve always loved this little happy trail,” you praise him as your nails then glide along it, making his skin pebble with goosebumps. He breathes deeply, anticipation high. You grab a feather from your bag, lightly ghosting it over his abs. He tenses under the touch, a grin on his face.

“You’re such a tease, ah,” he hisses as you run it over one of his nipples.

“Am I?” you ask as it goes up his neck. You glide it back down, tracing it over his thigh, the tops of his feet, before going back up the other thigh and lightly letting it touch his cock. His hips buck at the slight amount of friction.

“So eager.” You grin as you run it over his damped head, watching as little beads form at the top.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmur as you stand in the door way.

“I’ll be right back,” you bite your lip as he lays there, utterly leaving you in control. You grab a piece of ice from the freezer, holding it between your lips as you enter the bedroom once more.

You straddle his waist, touching the tip of the ice to his neck, making him hiss and let out a breathy laugh.

“Fuck,” he grunts as you run it down his neck, in between his pecks. You slowly circle it around his nipples, watching as they become erect even more and Chan responds with a deep groan. You travel the ice down his abdomen, watching as his muscles go taut and he pulls against the restraints. You trail the ice down to his cock, letting it hit the base of it and Chan lets out a moan.

You move your head up, letting the ice flow over his cock, resting it at the tip, a slight pleasurable siting being felt.

“Color?” you ask before you continue.

“Green,” he breathes and you smile, continuing to allow the ice to melt against him.

“Ah,” he gasps as you grab his balls, slightly squeezing them.

“Fuck,” he shouts out face a little red from the anticipation.

“Baby please,” he whimpers hips lifting from the bed.

“Use your words,” you tease as you get up, discarding the ice.

“I wanna feel you,” he breathes. You smirk, licking his saft starting slow, his voice coming out in broken words and sounds. You take him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him.

You bob your head mercilessly, feeling him twitch in your mouth, and you can hear his breathing becoming labored.

“I’m gonna cum,” he moans and you pull off him.

“What the hell?” he asks, head lifting in your direction.

You hum in response, straddling his hips again. You lean down, holding his jaw between your fingers and kiss his lips. He hums against you, desperate for anything you’ll give him.

You reposition yourself so you’re facing his cock and you lean down, kitten licking his tip. He groans as his back tries to arch. You giggle to yourself, satisfied.

“More,” he moans, “Please.” You wrap your lips around him, slowly sliding down on him, your top lip running over the vein on the underside. Chan lets out a guttural moan, something that causes your cunt to dampen. You begin to bob your head, slowly, with hallowed cheeks, the bed frame creaking from how hard he’s pulling, hands begging to touch you.

“Be a good boy, Christopher,” you reprimand before reattaching yourself to him. He whines, hips shifting upward, hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” he apologies profusely. You hum around him, feeling him twitch in your mouth. You let him go with a pop, a strangled noise coming form him. You pick out a vibrator from the bag, switching it on and holding it to his tip.

“Angh,” he arches his back gasping as the vibration hits his nerves.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last,” he gasps.

“So don’t. Fall apart baby. It’s ok,” you answer him.

“Fuckfuck,” he whines as more whimpers follow the harder you press it to him. Your hands go to his balls, massaging and licking them.

He chokes out another moan as you stroke him at the base, cum quickly covering his stomach and the toy. You smile at the release and the heavy breathing he does.

“Fuck,” he exhales. He feels your hands lift his head, hair slightly damp at the root from sweat, and you undo the blindfold. His pupils are blown, his face a light pink and his chest heaves and he watches you.

“Fuck,” he says still pulling at the restraints.

“Feel good?” you wink and chuckle at him as you flatten your tongue. He watches as you lick up the mess on his stomach, blowing out a deep breath.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he says his eyes half lidded. You smile up at him once he’s cleaned up.

“Baby,” he asks, voice small.

“Hmm?” you hum in satisfaction.

“I wanna taste you,” he pleads. You raise your brow.

“I guess you do deserve it, you were very good,” you answer and Chan exhales a breath. You slip out of your underwear, position your cunt over his face, loosening the straps just a little so his hands can come down and touch you if need be.

“Still ok?” you peer down at him and he nods his head frantically.

“Sit,” he says. You do as he asks, and hover over his face.

“Baby, I said sit, not hover. Let me have you,” he almost whines, and you oblige, sitting down fully. His tongue is warm, a moan escapes him as he tastes your arousal and the vibrations go straight to your clit, causing you to gasp and your hips to grind down a little. Chan is quick to get to work, his tongue lapping at your clit like it’s his last meal- the last thing he’ll do before he dies. Like making you cum is his life’s mission.

“Fuck, yes, keep going,” you shift your hips as your hand goes into his long hair.

“Ah-ha, god yes,” you squeal as his tongue curls up into your clit. His eyes watch you the whole time, and you discard the bra you’re wearing, massaging your own breasts as he flicks your bud over and over again, that sweet heat building quickly in your stomach.

“God, you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimper as your hand grips at the root of his hair, tugging slightly. His tongue works impossibly faster and harder until your legs are shaking on either side of his head and back is arched, cunt clenching around nothing. You pull yourself from his face, gasping for air.

Chan smiles at you, as you untie the ribbons, allowing his arms to come down, and as your about to position yourself above him, he takes the momentum from you and flips you on your back. You squeal in excitement and he laughs with you, hovering above you, a look of pure love in his eyes.

“You were supposed to lay there,” you feign a pout.

“Well, I wanna make my baby girl feel good,” he mumbles, a hand caressing your cheek before he leans down pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. You hum against his lips, as his head presses against your clit, causing you to jump.

He lines himself up, pushing in slowly.

“Fuck,” you groan at the full feeling, feeling him stretch you oh so well.

“So tight,” he mumbles, eyes closed. Your legs wrap around his waist, resting your heels on either side of his back.

“I love you,” he whispers as he begins to thrust.

“I love you too, baby.” You share an intimate kiss as his hips rock, quickly gaining speed, chasing your highs. His head falls to your shoulder, and you cradle it lovingly.

You bite into his solid shoulder, tears brimming your eyes from the sheer amount of pleasure.

“Fuck, Chan I’m close,” you whimper as your face rests in the crook of his neck.

“Me too, cum with me, ok?” You groan in response as his hand finds your clit, rubbing tight circles on it.

“Three,” he moans.

“Two.”

“One, cum for me baby.” He says as his hips go impossibly fast, and the both of you break together; the room filling with moans and curses. Your pleasure tears falling from your eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathes, both of you taking a moment to catch your breath. He wipes the pad of his thumb over your cheek with a small smile.

“God that was amazing,” you say breathlessly. He captures your lips, bodies resting as one for a minute.

“You are the love of my life, baby.” He says. You smile proudly.

“Hwan’s a close second though, right?” you quirk a brow and he chuckles, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“Of course.” He smiles.

-

The two of you are laying in bed cuddling together.

“Tour starts in two weeks, how do you think he’ll take it?”

“I think he’ll miss you, but we’ll get to see all the live streams and stuff so I think he’ll be ok once he’s used to you not being home.” You smile up at him with your head on his chest.

“What about you?” he asks cautiously.

“I’ll be fine, so long as you flash your abs to the camera every night. And in between shows I get pictures.” You wink playfully and Chan laughs at you.

“So, you’ll just miss my abs, got it.”

You sit up on your elbows hand drawing circles on his chest.

“We’ll be fine, Chan. I promise. Go have fun, see the world, do what you do best.”

“Again? Baby I made you cum twice how many more times do you need?” he jokes. You swat his chest and hide your face in his neck.

“Christopher, I’m serious.” You whine.

“I know, I’m kidding, well sort of.” He says.

“I wanna do something,” he says after a moment. He sits up, grabbing his phone off the bedside table.

He opens his camera and without capturing your face or his, takes a picture of your hands interlocked. He places the black and white filter over it and posts it to Instagram and bubble with the caption being a simple red heart.

You look at him with a wide smile.

“Did you just soft launch us?” he smiles as he clicks the screen off and peers down at you.

“Maybe.” He smiles before kissing your forehead.

You grin up at him, before You kiss his chest and run to the bathroom.

A few moments later water is rushing into the large tub and you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. Chan’s chin rests on your shoulder.

“Do you know you how much I love you?” he asks. You giggle and lean into him.

“More than the sun, the moon and the stars?”

“More than that,” he whispers. The two of you step into the warm water, you forcing Chan to sit in front of you. You begin working on his muscles, rubbing them, caressing them, leaving behind a kiss every now and then. He sighs content, letting you pamper him for once in his life.

“You work so hard,” you whisper. He nods; shoulders tense. Once you finish rubbing his shoulders, your hands go around his stomach, and your cheek presses into his back, holding him.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” You say quietly. Chans hand rests on top of yours for a moment.

“You’re an amazing father, an amazing boyfriend, amazing artist, and most of all,” you bring your lips to his ear, “an amazing man. The man of my dreams.” You smile as he leans into you a little more.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght

Do not repost my work

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[chroniclesofskz]

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[chroniclesofskz]

pairing : bangchan x reader warnings : pooooornnnnn porn porn !!notes : be logged into twitter to view .

requested by @ivpriv14

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

riding chans big dick !! , pt.2 , pt.3

channie fingering you is the best (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

his favorite thing to do after a concert is fuck you in his hotel bed .

punishing you after seeing you a little too close to the other members ᢉ𐭩

chan likes to tease you before fucking you sometimes because it gets you to beg !!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

lmk if anything is misspelled or if any of the links dont work !

[chroniclesofskz]

Ride My Face Baby Girl

Meet Bang Chan, the CEO of Stellar Fashion, a man who could silence a room with a single glance. His sharp features and piercing dark eyes spoke of power and authority, a stark contrast to the soft whispers of fabric that accompanied his every move. The office buzzed with the electric anticipation of his arrival each day, as employees straightened ties and smoothed out wrinkles, hoping to catch his eye.

But not everyone was so eager to bask in his shadow. Enter Y/N, the new girl on the block, with a fire in her eyes that matched the vibrant H/C hair. Unlike the others, she wasn't so easily swayed by his charisma or his sharply tailored suits. In her mind, he was just another entitled prick who thought he could have anything he wanted, including her. But as the days passed, she couldn't deny the growing tension between them, a dance of wills that seemed to fuel his obsession.

Their interactions grew more frequent and intense, their banter a mix of professional and personal, with Bang Chan's eyes often lingering on her curves a beat too long. It was infuriating, yet strangely thrilling, like a cat playing with its prey. Y/N knew she was skating on thin ice, but she was determined to keep things strictly professional. After all, she needed this job.

One evening, the tension reached a boiling point. As the office emptied and the last of the day's light painted the sky, Bang Chan called out to her, his voice echoing down the hallway. She sighed, steeling herself for another round of his games. Entering his office, she found him leaning against his desk, his arms folded over his broad chest, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He studied her with a look that was both hungry and challenging.

"Do you have any idea why you're here?" he asked, his voice a low growl that seemed to resonate through her body. Y/N swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she met his gaze. She knew she had to keep her cool, but the way he looked at her was making it increasingly difficult. "No," she replied curtly, her voice a little shakier than she would have liked.

Bang Chan pushed off the desk and took a step closer to her. "You've been parading around here all week, flaunting that body of yours, and not giving me the time of day," he said, his eyes raking over her figure. "It's driving me mad."

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to play it cool. "I'm just doing my job," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. But inside, she felt a thrill at his words. The fact that she had gotten under his skin was oddly satisfying.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space, and she could feel the heat of his body. "Is that what you call it?" he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "Driving me wild with every twirl of your hips?"

Y/N tried to step back, but she was already against the wall. She put her hand on his chest to push him away, but instead of resisting, she felt the firmness of his muscles beneath the fabric, and her hand lingered. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice betraying the excitement she was trying to suppress.

His hand reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "I want to taste you," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "To feel every inch of you tremble beneath me."

Her breath hitched, and she knew she should be offended, should push him away, but instead she found herself leaning into his touch. "You think I'm going to just give in to you?" she challenged, her eyes sparkling with defiance.

Bang Chan chuckled, the sound low and seductive. "I know you want it," he said, his voice a whisper against her ear. "I see it in the way your pupils dilate every time I'm near, the way your breathing changes." He took her hand and placed it over the bulge in his pants. "Feel that?" he asked, his voice a rough rasp. "That's all for you, baby girl."

Y/N's cheeks flushed, and she tried to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly in place. "This is inappropriate," she protested weakly, her body betraying her.

He leaned in closer, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath on her skin. "Is it?" he whispered. "Or is it just what you've been waiting for?"

Before she could respond, his lips claimed hers in a kiss that was both demanding and possessive. Her resolve crumbled, and she kissed him back with a passion that surprised even herself. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour as if he had been waiting for this moment his whole life.

The sound of a zipper echoed through the room as he unzipped her dress, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, his eyes greedily devouring the sight of her bare breasts. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N's body responded to his words, her nipples hardening under his gaze. She felt a thrill of power as she watched him fight for control. With a smirk, she reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling him back towards her. "If you want me, you'll have to earn it," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr.

The challenge in her eyes was all it took for Bang Chan to snap. He picked her up, setting her on his desk as if she weighed nothing. His mouth found hers again, their kisses deepening as his hands began to explore her body, his fingers dancing over her sensitive skin.

"You want me to earn it?" he murmured against her lips, his voice a dark promise. "I'll make you beg for it, baby girl."

Without warning, he slid his hand between her thighs, finding her already wet and ready. He inserted two fingers, stroking her with a precision that sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made her see stars.

The room filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick sound of his fingers moving in and out of her. His thumb circled her clit, pressing down just enough to make her hips buck. She felt the tension building, the pressure mounting, and she knew she was close.

"You're going to come for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. "I want to feel you drench my hand."

Y/N bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to escape as his fingers worked their magic. But it was no use. With a gasp, she felt the wave of pleasure wash over her, and she squirted all over his desk. He groaned in approval, his eyes never leaving hers as she rode the intense orgasm.

Her body trembled as she came down from the high, her breathing returning to normal. She felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her, but also a strange sense of satisfaction. She had never been with a man who could make her feel so alive, so desired.

Bang Chan pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean. "Mmm, delicious," he said with a wink. "But we're not done yet."

Without a word, he took Y/N's hand and led her over to the plush burgundy Chesterfield sofa that dominated one corner of the office. He lay down, his tie now loosened and shirt untucked. He patted his face, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Ride my face," he said, the words dripping with lust.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her heart racing and her mind reeling. But something in the way he looked at her, with such hunger and desire, made her want to give in. She straddled his head, her legs trembling slightly as she positioned herself. His nose grazed her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her, and she gasped.

He began to lick and suck, his tongue delving deep into her wetness. His hands gripped her thighs, keeping her steady as she rocked her hips back and forth. The leather of the sofa was cool against her bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth. She could feel herself getting wetter and wetter with every stroke, her body responding to his expert touch.

Her hands found their way to her breasts, her nipples hard and sensitive as she pinched and played with them. The sight of her bouncing on his face, her hair cascading down around her, was almost too much for him to handle. He groaned, the sound muffled by her pussy, and she felt his grip tighten on her thighs.

Y/N threw her head back, her eyes closing as she let the waves of pleasure wash over her. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Harder," she moaned, her voice barely a whisper.

Bang Chan didn't need any more encouragement. He buried his face deeper into her, his tongue working her clit in fast, firm circles. He could feel her legs starting to shake, her hips bucking against his mouth as she approached climax.

And then she was there, screaming his name as she came all over his face. He lapped it up greedily, savoring the taste of her sweet release. When she finally collapsed onto the sofa beside him, breathless and panting, he gave her a smug look. His face glistened with her arousal, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill at the sight. He leaned in, kissing her softly, and she could taste herself on his lips. It was an intimate, erotic moment that she didn't expect.

With a cheeky smirk, she whispered, "Was that all you've got?" Y/N was surprised by her own boldness, but it was clear she had tapped into a side of herself that she had never explored before.

Bang Chan chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not even close, baby girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "We're just getting started."

Y/N looked at him with a mix of surprise and excitement, her breath still ragged from the intense orgasm. She couldn't believe she had allowed this to happen in the office, but something about his commanding presence made it feel right. He stood up, his own desire evident in the bulge straining against his pants.

With a flick of his wrist, he undid his belt and let his pants fall to the floor, revealing his hard, throbbing cock. She stared, her eyes widening at the size of it. "Like what you see?" he asked, stroking himself slowly.

"You're… huge," she breathed, unable to tear her gaze away.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "And you're going to take every inch of me," he said with a smirk, his voice full of confidence.

Y/N felt a thrill of fear mixed with arousal. She had never been with a man this dominant before, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. He stepped closer to her, his cock brushing against her inner thigh. "Now, let's see if that mouth of yours is as feisty as your attitude," he murmured, guiding her head towards his cock.

Her heart was racing, but she knew she wanted this. With a nod of determination, she leaned in and took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip as she began to suck. He groaned, his hand fisting in her hair as he guided her rhythm. She took him deeper, feeling the veins pulsing in his length, the taste of him making her even wetter.

As she bobbed her head, he watched her with hooded eyes, his grip on her hair tightening slightly. "That's it, baby girl," he said, his voice strained. "Take it all."

Y/N felt a rush of power knowing she could make him feel this way. She took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing out as she worked her mouth along his shaft. She could feel him getting closer, his breaths becoming shallower, his hips jerking slightly as he fought for control.

But just as she was getting into the rhythm, he pulled away, leaving her gasping for air. "Not yet," he said with a smirk. "There's something I want to do first."

Without warning, he picked her up and carried her over to the large, mahogany desk that dominated the room. He laid her down, her legs dangling over the edge, and spread her open. "Now, let's see if I can make you scream louder," he said, his eyes darkening with desire.

He slammed into her without preamble, filling her completely in one swift motion. Y/N gasped, her nails digging into the wood as he began to thrust. Each stroke was deep and demanding, his powerful hips driving into her with a force that made the desk creak beneath them.

The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, punctuated by her moans and his grunts. She felt herself climbing towards another peak, her body responding to his every command. His hands roamed her body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as he claimed her completely.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, he reached between them, finding her clit and giving it a firm press. She came again, her body arching off the desk as she screamed his name, her walls tightening around his cock.

He didn't stop, his movements becoming more frantic as he chased his own release. His eyes were locked on hers, and she could see the hunger in them, the need to claim her fully. And in that moment, she knew she was his, and she didn't want it any other way.

As the last of her orgasm faded away, she watched him, panting and desperate. "Come for me," she whispered, and with a final, powerful thrust, he did, filling her with his hot seed.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies tangled and sweaty, the tension of the day giving way to the afterglow of passion. But she knew that this was just the beginning of a very complicated dance between them.

[chroniclesofskz]

assigned to you

summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: dystopia, slow burn, romance, angst, smut, fluff.

warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,

wc: 19,1k

notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣

hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶

everything begins the day you turn twenty.

you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.

the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.

in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.

love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.

you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.

and yet—there is no other choice.

the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.

“please return home and prepare for assignment.”

you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.

sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.

three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.

you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.

your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:

assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.

a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.

you stare.

he’s... beautiful.

cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.

your throat feels dry.

beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.

you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.

it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—

yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.

a boy you’ve never met.

friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.

you’re early.

your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.

the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.

you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.

and then the door opens.

you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—

it’s hard to breathe.

he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.

choi yeonjun.

his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.

you feel like you’re being auctioned off.

“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.

you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.

“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”

it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.

you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.

the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.

you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.

then, the mediator clears her throat.

“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”

your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.

and just like that, you are alone with him.

just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.

yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.

“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”

you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.

“you don’t talk much, huh?”

you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.

“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”

he smiles. “that’s fair.”

a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.

“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”

you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.

“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”

your brows knit together, surprised.

he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”

and you look at him then, really look.

his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.

"you’re used to this,” you murmur.

his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”

there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.

you swallow, throat tight.

“i didn’t want this,” you admit.

he nods. “me neither.”

silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.

“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”

your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.

“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”

you blink.

he waits.

slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.

and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it— you speak.

you tell him a little. not much. just enough.

and he listens. attentively. sincerely.

maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.

two weeks later.

the wedding is on a thursday.

you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.

you wear beige.

yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.

the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.

your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”

and that’s when you finally cry.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.

they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.

you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”

you don’t answer.

he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.

your boxes are already inside. so are his.

the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.

you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.

and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.

but now, days pass like fog.

there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.

you go to the hospital together a week later.

the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.

yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.

you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history— you flinch.

yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.

“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”

his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.

on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.

“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.

“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”

and again—there it is.

that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.

nights are the hardest.

you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.

sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.

you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.

now, there’s only silence.

until one night, a knock.

not loud. not urgent. just... present.

“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”

you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.

“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”

you swallow. your throat feels raw.

after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”

you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.

you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.

you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.

that’s a first.

the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.

he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.

a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.

from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.

you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.

one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.

you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.

in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”

you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.

that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.

“so you don’t catch a cold.”

you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.

the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.

one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.

you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.

the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.

you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.

he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”

the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.

“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”

he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.

“i did,” he says finally.

your heart stirs.

“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”

you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.

“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”

you don’t say anything. you let him speak.

“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”

you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.

you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.

but you hate her a little.

you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.

and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”

he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”

the silence after that is heavy, electric.

you don’t answer.

but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.

the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.

you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.

you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.

“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”

you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.

“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”

you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.

you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.

and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.

you hate that it lingers.

you hate that it hurts.

that night, the rain starts late.

it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.

the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.

your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.

you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.

you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.

you don��t think. you just move.

barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.

he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.

you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”

there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.

his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.

he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.

“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.

yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.

you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.

“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”

you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.

“nothing’s going to break tonight.”

those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.

you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.

you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.

and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.

you slept like a baby.

it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.

it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.

you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.

and now you realize why.

yeonjun’s arms are around you.

not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.

your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.

you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.

but instead you stay.

you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.

his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.

you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.

he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.

“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.

neither of you moves.

there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.

“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”

you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”

he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”

you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.

“i felt safe.”

his eyes soften.

you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.

but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.

yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”

you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.

because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.

the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.

he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.

the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”

you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.

you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.

“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”

you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.

“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”

“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”

you shift in your seat. trials.

“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.

your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.

yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”

ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”

your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.

you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.

“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.

the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.

you don’t speak on the way home.

you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.

because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.

you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.

you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.

you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.

but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.

and now you can’t not think about it.

when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.

but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.

you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.

an hour passes. maybe two.

you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.

a soft knock at your door.

you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”

yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”

you nod. “it’s okay.”

he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.

“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”

your breath catches.

he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.

his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.

“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”

you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat. and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.

but this time, it’s not outside.

it’s you. it’s him.

and it’s not fear anymore.

it’s something else entirely.

you don’t kiss that night.

you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.

he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.

after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.

in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.

you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.

when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.

it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.

“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”

you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”

he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.

but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.

and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.

you think about it too much. think about him too much.

and you think about her.

the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.

you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.

how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.

and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.

but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.

you’re not in love.

you’re not supposed to fall in love.

yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.

one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.

you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.

“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”

you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”

he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”

you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”

the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.

“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.

you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.

“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.

your heart stumbles.

neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.

the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.

you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

it feels too good. too right.

his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.

you stay there until the sun begins to rise.

you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.

but he doesn’t move either.

and neither do you.

because something’s changing. you both feel it.

you just don’t say it. not yet.

not until it’s too loud to ignore.

and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.

you try not to overthink the moments.

you try.

the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.

you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.

he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.

you nod, throat dry. “morning.”

neither of you moves.

and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.

whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.

but things are still complicated.

you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.

“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”

your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.

“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.

and then yeonjun.

his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.

“not yet.”

not yet.

those words echoed for hours after.

the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.

“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”

you had never wanted to disappear more.

the walk home was silent.

yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.

but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.

you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.

he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.

the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.

his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.

you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.

“is that mine?”

you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.

“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”

“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”

you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.

and things only build from there.

he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.

“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”

he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.

but your heart stutters anyway.

one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.

yeonjun finds you there.

he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.

“can’t sleep?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

“you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure.

the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.

you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.

“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”

“like what?”

he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”

you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.

you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.

this is the moment where maybe everything could change.

but you don’t kiss. not yet.

you breathe in together.

and for now, that’s enough.

the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.

you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.

then the soft sound of rain begins again.

but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.

yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.

he joins you without asking.

“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.

you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”

“don’t tempt me,” he grins.

the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.

your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.

you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.

yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”

“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”

“the girl you were in love with.”

his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”

that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”

you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”

“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”

but you don’t smile back.

you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”

yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.

“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”

you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.

“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”

he leans closer.

“you make me forget her name.”

you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.

“yeonjun…”

“can i kiss you?” he breathes.

you nod.

slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.

you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.

it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.

when you finally part, you’re breathless.

he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”

“me too.”

you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.

you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.

you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.

and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.

you feel chosen.

the next morning, something has changed.

it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.

you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.

when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.

he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.

and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.

at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”

“you asked first.”

“still counts.”

the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.

the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.

until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.

you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.

you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.

a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.

it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.

the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.

he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.

“so, are you pregnant yet?”

you freeze.

your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.

“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”

“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”

your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.

yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.

“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.

he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”

“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.

“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.

you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.

and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.

the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.

and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.

the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.

you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.

and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.

you break the silence first.

“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”

he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”

you turn to him, a little surprised.

“really?”

he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”

you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.

“thanks,” you whisper.

you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.

“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”

“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”

“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.

his eyes flick down to your lips.

“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.

your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.

you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.

and then he pulls over.

not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.

you feel your pulse in your throat.

“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”

you nod, heart racing.

“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”

you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.

“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”

he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.

“do you think i’m not happy?”

your throat dries.

“are you?” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.

“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”

and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.

it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.

you melt into it.

your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.

“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”

you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.

and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.

you’re not lovers. not yet.

but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.

you fall asleep like that.

and neither of you says a word.

you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.

“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.

walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.

“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.

he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”

you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.

the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.

at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.

he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.

your breath hitched.

you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.

he said nothing.

neither did you.

but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.

the light turned green.

he drove on.

his hand didn’t move.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.

by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.

inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.

you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.

“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.

you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.

his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.

and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.

“thanks,” he said, voice still low.

you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.

that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.

your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.

later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.

you thought he’d say something.

he didn’t.

he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.

“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.

you turned your head toward him. “about what?”

he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”

you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”

silence again.

and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.

it felt dangerous.

he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.

your pulse roared in your ears.

his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.

you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.

his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.

his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.

and then—

his phone rang.

the sound shattered the moment like glass.

you both froze.

you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.

you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.

“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “oh.”

he didn’t explain.

he just walked away.

and something cold settled in your chest.

you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.

you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.

but then you froze.

because you heard it.

soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.

a low groan, deep and drawn out.

then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.

your breath caught.

you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.

then, you heard it.

“y/n...”

your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.

your knees weakened.

another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.

and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.

he was close.

he was touching himself.

thinking of you.

you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.

you didn’t know what this meant.

but you knew one thing.

he wanted you.

and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

you didn’t mean to lean closer.

you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.

but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.

and then—thud.

a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.

then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.

“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.

before you could react, the door swung open.

and there he was.

yeonjun.

bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.

on the floor.

his shirt up around your waist.

your bare thighs. your panties exposed.

your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

time froze.

he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.

you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.

“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”

“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.

you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.

“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.

your breath hitched.

“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”

you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.

he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”

you couldn’t speak.

“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”

“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”

his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”

your lips trembled. “me too.”

something inside him snapped.

he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.

you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”

“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”

his eyes burned into yours.

his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.

“maybe i want you to.”

his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—

a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.

you both froze.

his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

another knock. then a voice from outside.

“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”

“fuck,” he hissed.

he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.

you looked at each other.

your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.

you wanted to scream.

but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

you didn’t respond.

because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.

his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.

every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.

he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.

you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.

just him. just you.

and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.

"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"

"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.

he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.

and then.

he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"

you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."

every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.

his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.

“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.

the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.

it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.

the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”

you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”

your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”

you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”

when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.

"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.

"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.

and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.

his.

yours.

the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.

the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”

your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.

“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”

you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.

“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”

you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”

“perfect. when was your last period?”

you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”

you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”

“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”

you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.

the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”

his hands stilled on the steering wheel.

“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.

“oh.”

another silence.

“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”

“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”

but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.

and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.

“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.

yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”

“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.

he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.

you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.

“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”

his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”

your breath caught.

the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.

this wasn’t just about reproduction.

not anymore.

and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?

set your blood on fire.

you didn’t even make it past the front door.

as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.

your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.

you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.

"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.

"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.

he didn't need more encouragement.

he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.

you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.

“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”

he didn’t make you ask twice.

he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.

"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.

you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.

“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.

“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”

“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”

he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.

"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”

“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”

but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”

he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.

his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

neither of you said anything for a long time.

but you both knew.

there was no going back.

the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.

the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.

and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.

sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.

it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.

you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”

you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.

later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.

and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”

the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.

he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.

“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”

your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.

back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.

he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.

and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.

“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”

the world stilled.

you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.

the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”

you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.

the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.

a baby.

your baby.

with him.

“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”

“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”

you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.

he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

and it did.

you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”

the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.

when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”

you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”

he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”

you’d never felt more seen. more loved.

later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.

and now it had shifted again.

you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

you were parents.

you were a beginning.

and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.

of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

but now, it was here.

growing inside you.

growing between you.

and it was love.

the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.

she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.

your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.

it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.

now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.

“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.

you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”

he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”

“barely.”

you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.

you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.

“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.

“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”

“or jumping each other.”

he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”

you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”

“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”

“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”

“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”

“then take me,” you breathed.

you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.

“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”

you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”

he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.

“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”

he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”

you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.

“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”

“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”

your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.

“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”

you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.

he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”

you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.

and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.

because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.

and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.