The Amount Of Times I Listened To Railway This Week Is Unhealthy 🫠🫠

The amount of times I listened to railway this week is unhealthy 🫠🫠

"Baby, play me like a game.."

Chan x Rockstar! Male! Reader

Summary: Reader, named Riot, is a cousin of HAN. Han invited everyone to his cousin's show.. and Riot has his eyes on a certain someone.

Warnings: Spicy undertones but no actual action, idk, maybe Chan having an internal meltdown about Riot?

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The arena pulsed with energy, the crowd’s screams vibrating through the floor as the lights dimmed. Stray Kids sat in the front row, their VIP passes dangling around their necks, courtesy of Han Jisung.

"You sure this guy’s worth the hype?" Lee Know muttered, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat.

Felix grinned, bouncing in anticipation. "Han’s been talking about him nonstop. Said he’s insane live."

"Insane how?" Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. "Like… ‘good’ insane or ‘should-we-call-security’ insane?"

Before Han could answer, the speakers roared to life with a distorted guitar riff, the stage exploding in a burst of pyrotechnics. The crowd lost it.

Then—silence.

A single spotlight cut through the dark.

And he dropped from the ceiling.

A collective gasp ripped through the audience as Riot—your stage name, your identity at this moment—free-fell from the rafters, landing dead center on the stage with a roll, popping up effortlessly like it was nothing. The music kicked back in, a hard-hitting rock beat, and you were already singing, your voice smooth, powerful, unwavering despite the stunt.

Stray Kids’ jaws hit the floor.

"WHAT THE F—" Changbin choked.

Han was already gone.

"Where’d he—?" Chan whipped his head around, but Jisung had vanished into the shadows, slipping backstage like he had a backstage pass to your soul.

Then—you moved.

The stage was yours—a kingdom of fire and sound—and you ruled it like a predator. Every step was deliberate, your boots hitting the floor in time with the pounding bass as you stalked the edge of the stage. The crowd was a sea of screaming devotion, but your gaze cut through them like a blade, locking onto the eight men in the front row.

Especially him.

Bang Chan sat frozen, his fingers gripping the armrests as you dragged your eyes over him, a slow, wicked smirk curling your lips. The music pulsed, the beat dropping into something darker, heavier—and then, with one sharp tug, you ripped your sleeveless shirt down the middle, exposing your sweat-slicked abs, the fabric hanging uselessly at your sides.

The arena erupted.

But you weren’t done.

In one fluid motion, you dropped to your knees, sliding across the stage until you were inches from Chan’s face. Your chest heaved, your breath hot as you leaned in, close enough for him to see the wild, unhinged fire in your eyes.

Then you sang—voice rough, dripping with something between a promise and a threat—

"You wanna play with fire, baby?

Better pray you don’t get burned."

Chan’s throat went dry. His pulse was a hammer against his ribs, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, to push you away, to pull you closer—but he couldn’t move. Your gaze held him captive, dark and wanting, your lips curled in a smirk that said you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Then—

You winked.

And just like that, you were gone, spinning back onto the stage like you hadn’t just set Chan’s nerves on fire. Behind you, the other members of Stray Kids were losing their minds—Hyunjin gripping Seungmin’s arm in shock, Felix’s mouth hanging open, Changbin yelling something unintelligible.

But Chan?

Chan was still frozen, your scent lingering in the air, your voice echoing in his skull.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even done yet.

Behind him, the others erupted.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"HAN BETTER EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW—"

But Han was already backstage, grinning like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank of all time.

And the show had only just begun.

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The arena plunges into darkness, the roar of the crowd fading into a collective, anticipatory hush. A slow, sultry bassline slithers through the speakers, its vibrations curling around the silence like smoke. Backstage, Han leans against the edge of the curtain, his grin feral as he watches his cousin step into the single spotlight illuminating the stage.

“Oh, they’re so not ready for this,” Han mutters to himself, pulling out his phone with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. His thumb hovers over the record button, ready to immortalize the chaos about to unfold.

Onstage, RIOT stands alone, your presence commanding yet strangely vulnerable. Gone is the usual fiery bravado that defines you; in its place is something raw and devastatingly magnetic.

You tilt your head slightly, letting your shadowed gaze sweep across the audience like a predator sizing up its prey. The leather jacket draped over your shoulders slides down in one fluid motion, hitting the stage with a deliberate thud that seems to echo louder than it should. The sound sends a ripple of tension through the crowd.

A murmur runs through the audience, a mix of awe and anticipation. Stray Kids, seated in the front row, remain oblivious to what’s coming. Chan leans forward slightly in curiosity, his brow furrowed as he watches RIOT with cautious interest.

Then—You sing.

"I don’t need pride, don’t need my name,

Just tell me what you want, I’ll be your fucking game."

Your voice is broken and breathy, each word dripping with shameless desperation. Your hand tightens around the mic stand as though it’s the only thing grounding you. Slowly—achingly slowly—you drag it across the stage with a deliberate sway of your hips that feels more like a taunt than a dance move. The spotlight follows you as you prowl forward, your movements languid and feline.

And then comes the moment.

You slide the mic stand between your legs with a sinful grind of your hips before dropping to your knees at the very edge of the stage. The crowd gasps audibly as you lean forward on all fours, closing what little distance remains between yourself and Bang Chan. Your eyes—wide, glassy, and brimming with something almost too raw to look at—lock onto Chan’s like you're staring straight through him. It’s not just eye contact; it’s an unspoken confession wrapped in a challenge.

Backstage, Han has to bite down on his sleeve to keep from bursting into laughter. His phone trembles slightly in his hand as he zooms in on Chan’s face—frozen and flushed scarlet under the harsh spotlight.

“Oh my god,” Han whispers hoarsely to himself between muffled snickers. “He’s actually going to kill Chan.”

Chan doesn’t move. He can’t move. His brain is short-circuiting under RIOT’s relentless gaze. He feels pinned in place by those eyes—trapped in some kind of spell he doesn’t know how to break.

Meanwhile, Stray Kids are unraveling in real-time:

Changbin has buried his face in both hands like he can’t bear to witness another second of this madness.

Felix is fanning himself so vigorously it looks like he might take flight at any moment. Hyunjin teeters between fainting and launching himself onto the stage—his clenched fists trembling with unresolved tension.

Lee Know crosses his arms tightly over his chest, glaring daggers at RIOT but unable to hide the faint glimmer of reluctant admiration flickering behind his eyes.

But RIOT isn’t done with them yet—not even close.

Still on your knees, you lean further forward until half your torso dangles off the edge of the stage. your body arches back dramatically as you flip onto your back with an effortless grace that feels almost indecent in its intimacy. One arm dangles loosely over the stage’s edge while the other clutches at the mic like it’s an extension of yourself. Your head tilts back so far that strands of sweat-dampened hair cling to your face as you gaze upside-down at Chan through heavy-lidded eyes.

"SO BEG FOR ME LIKE I BEG FOR YOU—TEAR ME APART, I DON’T CARE IF IT RUINS ME TOO."

The final chorus rips out of you like a plea torn straight from your chest. Your voice cracks beautifully on the last note—a sound so raw it leaves everyone breathless.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The crowd seems collectively stunned into stillness.

And then—the arena explodes.

Screams erupt from every corner of the venue as fans lose their minds entirely. The energy is electric, chaotic—a storm breaking loose after unbearable tension.

But RIOT doesn’t bask in it for long. Instead, you turn your head slightly toward Chan one last time and wink—a slow, deliberate motion that feels more intimate than any touch could ever be.

Before anyone can react further, the lights flicker violently—once, twice—and when they stabilize again… RIOT is gone.

The name RIOT flashes across every screen in jagged dark red letters that seem to drip like fresh blood against a stark black background. The music cuts out entirely as if signaling not just an end—but the end. The show is over.

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Chan remains frozen in place long after RIOT vanishes from sight. His mind races frantically:

What just happened? Was that real? Did anyone else notice how he looked right at me? Oh god—it was aimed at me.

Heat crawls up his neck and settles across his cheeks like wildfire as he tries—and fails—to compose himself.

Backstage, Han is doubled over laughing so hard that tears stream down his face. “Dude,” he gasps between wheezing breaths as RIOT strolls past him looking utterly unbothered by what just transpired. “You just murdered Bang Chan.”

You smirk lazily while wiping sweat off his brow with a towel slung over one shoulder. “Good,” he says nonchalantly before tossing Han a wink for good measure. “Now let’s go watch them try to recover from that.”

The arena is still buzzing with the aftermath of RIOT’s performance, the crowd’s screams echoing like a storm that refuses to settle. The screens are black now, save for the blood-red name that lingers ominously: RIOT. The lights remain dimmed, casting the venue in an eerie half-darkness as if the air itself is trying to catch its breath.

But Chan can’t breathe.

He’s still sitting in the front row, frozen like a statue, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together to keep them from trembling. His face is flushed—burning—and no matter how much he wills himself to calm down, his heart won’t stop pounding in his chest. It’s deafening. He feels like everyone can hear it, like it’s betraying him in real-time.

What just happened? His mind replays the performance in fragments: RIOT’s voice cracking with raw desperation, the way he’d dropped to his knees, the way he’d looked at him. That wink—that wink. Chan swallows hard, but it doesn’t help. His throat feels dry as sandpaper.

“Hyung?” Felix’s soft voice breaks through the haze, but it only makes Chan flinch. He turns his head slightly, catching Felix’s worried expression through his peripheral vision.

The younger boy leans closer, fanning himself with one hand while clutching Chan’s arm with the other. “Are you okay? You look… uh…”

“Red,” Hyunjin finishes for him from Chan’s other side, his voice laced with disbelief and something sharp-edged that might be jealousy.

Hyunjin is slouched back in his seat, one hand gripping the armrest so tightly that his knuckles are white. His jaw is clenched as he glares daggers at the now-empty stage. “Like a tomato,” he adds flatly, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice that betrays him.

Chan doesn’t respond. He can’t even look at them. He stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, trying to piece together some kind of coherent thought amidst the chaos in his brain.

Lee Know, seated next to Hyunjin, lets out a low whistle and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well,” he says dryly, tilting his head toward Chan with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like someone has a new admirer.”

At that, Chan finally snaps out of his daze—just barely—and turns to glare at Lee Know with wide eyes. “What? No! That’s not—he wasn’t—” His words trip over themselves as panic sets in again. “It wasn’t aimed at me,” he insists weakly, though even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie.

“Oh, come on,” Changbin groans from two seats down, finally lifting his head from where it had been buried in his hands for most of the performance. His face is still redder than usual, and he looks thoroughly exasperated as he gestures vaguely toward Chan. “Hyung, everyone saw it. He was basically crawling into your lap.”

“Stop!” Chan hisses, waving both hands frantically as if trying to physically push away Changbin’s words. His ears are burning now too; he can feel it.

“Honestly,” Lee Know muses aloud, tapping a finger against his chin like he’s deep in thought. “I’m impressed by how bold he was. That takes guts.”

“Or insanity,” Hyunjin mutters darkly under his breath.

Felix giggles nervously and pats Chan on the shoulder in what he probably thinks is a comforting gesture but only makes Chan sink further into mortification. “It’s okay, hyung,” Felix says cheerfully despite looking like he might faint at any moment. “It just means you’re really… uh… magnetic?”

“Magnetic?” Hyunjin echoes incredulously before scoffing and crossing one leg over the other with an exaggerated huff. “More like cursed.”

“Guys!” Chan snaps suddenly, louder than intended. The others fall silent for a moment as they all turn to look at him with varying degrees of amusement and concern. He takes a deep breath and runs both hands through his hair in frustration before slumping back against his seat with a groan. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“But hyung,” Felix starts again hesitantly before trailing off when Changbin nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head as if to say let it go.

Meanwhile, Seungmin has been sitting quietly on the far end of their row this entire time, watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he speaks up in that calm yet cutting tone of his that always seems to hit its mark: “You do realize Han filmed the whole thing, right?”

Chan freezes again.

“What?” he whispers hoarsely after a long pause.

Seungmin shrugs nonchalantly and adjusts his glasses as if this isn’t groundbreaking news that threatens to ruin Chan’s life forever. “I saw him backstage,” Seungmin explains matter-of-factly. “He was laughing so hard I thought he might pass out.”

Chan groans again and buries his face in both hands this time. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he mumbles miserably into his palms.

“You’re really not,” Seungmin agrees without missing a beat.

Before anyone can say anything else—or before Chan can spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment—the lights in the arena flicker back on fully, signaling that the show is officially over. The crowd begins to disperse slowly amidst lingering chatter about RIOT’s performance.

But Stray Kids don’t move right away.

Chan finally sits up straight again after what feels like an eternity and exhales shakily as if trying to regain some semblance of composure. He glances around at the others—at Felix’s worried smile, Changbin’s exasperation, Lee Know’s smirk, Hyunjin’s simmering irritation—and feels equal parts grateful and overwhelmed by their presence.

“Let’s just go backstage,” he mutters eventually while standing up and brushing off invisible dust from his pants as if that will somehow help him regain control of the situation.

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As they make their way out of their seats and toward backstage access, Chan can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t over—not by a long shot.

And somewhere behind those curtains… Han is waiting for them with a video file and far too much glee for anyone’s comfort.

You step off the stage, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through your veins like a wild animal refusing to be tamed. The sweat-drenched shirt clings to your back, and you rip it off without hesitation, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool air hits your skin. Your eyeliner is smudged, and you can feel the makeup starting to run, but you don’t care. You’re too busy gulping down water from the bottle in your hand, trying to quench the thirst that seems to have taken over your entire being.

As you glance up, you catch sight of Stray Kids making their way backstage, their presence unmistakable even amidst the bustle of staff and performers. Your eyes immediately land on Bang Chan, and the sight nearly makes you laugh out loud. He looks like he’s seen a ghost—his face flushed a deep red, his wide eyes fixed on you with a mix of shock and something else you can’t quite place. His expression is so unguarded, so raw, that it’s almost endearing. Almost.

You feel a flicker of amusement curl at the edges of your lips. It’s clear he’s still reeling from your performance, and honestly, you can’t blame him. You’d gone all in tonight—left everything on that stage—and judging by his reaction, it had landed exactly where you wanted it to.

Han’s laughter cuts through the air before anyone else can speak. He’s leaning against a nearby table, holding up his phone triumphantly like a trophy. “Did you see their faces?” he cackles, pointing the screen toward you as he replays the footage he captured. “Oh my god, Chan looked like he was about to pass out! This is gold.”

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help smiling as you shake your head. “Put that away before you get us both in trouble,” you say lightly, though there’s no real heat behind your words. Han’s always been like this—chaotic, relentless, and utterly impossible to stay mad at.

“Trouble?” Han grins wider, clearly unbothered. “This is art, cousin. Pure art.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment before Stray Kids finally reach earshot. You straighten up slightly as they approach, wiping the sweat from your brow with the towel slung over your shoulder. Despite the exhaustion still weighing on your limbs, you force yourself to focus.

“Hey, guys,” you greet them with an easy smile, extending a hand in welcome. Your voice is calm—steady—a stark contrast to the whirlwind of energy you’d unleashed on stage just minutes ago. “I’m RIOT. Nice to meet you all properly.”

There’s a beat of silence as they process your words. Felix is the first to step forward, his signature sunshine smile breaking through the tension as he shakes your hand eagerly. “Nice to meet you too! That performance was insane,” he says with genuine enthusiasm, his Australian accent adding an extra layer of warmth to his words.

“Insane is one way to describe it,” Changbin mutters under his breath, though there’s no malice in his tone—just lingering disbelief as he glances between you and Han.

Hyunjin crosses his arms tightly over his chest, his sharp features set in an expression that hovers somewhere between intrigue and irritation. He doesn’t say anything yet but keeps his gaze locked on you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

Lee Know tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable look of his that always seems just a little too knowing. “You’re… calmer than I expected,” he remarks dryly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

You chuckle softly at that and shrug. “The stage brings out a different side of me,” you reply simply.

And then there’s Chan—still standing slightly behind the others as if trying to blend into the background despite being their leader. His hands are stuffed into his pockets now, but it does nothing to hide how tense he is. When your eyes meet again, he quickly looks away, his cheeks flushing even deeper than before.

Before anyone can comment further on Chan’s obvious discomfort—or lack thereof—Han decides it’s time to drop his bombshell.

“Oh!” Han exclaims brightly, clapping a hand on your shoulder with exaggerated flair. “Did I forget to mention? We’re cousins.”

The reaction is immediate and priceless.

“Cousins?” Changbin blurts out incredulously, his jaw practically hitting the floor as he stares at Han like he’s just announced aliens are real.

Felix blinks rapidly in surprise before breaking into another grin. “Wait—you’re related? Like actual cousins?”

Hyunjin uncrosses his arms abruptly and narrows his eyes at Han suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

Lee Know just gives an amused snort and shakes his head as if this revelation somehow explains everything.

Chan looks like someone just pulled the rug out from under him entirely. His mouth opens slightly as if to say something but then closes again when no words come out. He glances between you and Han with wide eyes as though trying—and failing—to reconcile this new information with what he knows about either of you.

“Surprise,” Han says cheerfully, clearly reveling in their reactions.

You chuckle again and raise both hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged,” you say lightly before glancing back at Chan specifically. “Sorry for not mentioning it earlier.”

Chan blinks rapidly at being addressed directly and stammers something unintelligible before finally managing a faint nod. “It’s… fine,” he mumbles awkwardly, though the redness in his face suggests otherwise.

The conversation drifts into small talk after that—Felix asking about your training routine while Changbin peppers Han with questions about why he kept this secret for so long—but your attention keeps drifting back to Chan despite yourself.

He stays quiet for most of it, only chiming in occasionally with polite nods or murmured agreements when prompted by the others. But every now and then, you catch him sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one is looking.

It makes something stir inside you—a spark of curiosity mixed with mischief that refuses to be ignored.

As the group begins to relax around each other again, you find yourself wondering just how far this little game could go…

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As the others continue to pepper Han with questions, you seize the opportunity to pull Bang Chan aside, away from the chaos. Your eyes lock onto his, and with a gentle tug on his arm, you guide him a few steps away from the group. The sudden movement catches him off guard, and for a moment, he looks like he's not sure what to do with himself.

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper that sends a shiver down his spine. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" The words are laced with a flirtatious undertone that you can't help but inject into every syllable.

Chan looks up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and curiosity. The flush on his cheeks deepens, and he nods slightly, his throat working to swallow. You can't help but notice the way his eyes dart around before finally settling on yours, like he's searching for an escape route that doesn't exist.

As you stand there, the air between you feels charged with tension. You let your gaze linger on his face, taking in the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he breathes. It's almost too much to resist.

"Hey, I wanted to check in with you," you say, your tone turning more serious, though the flirtation still simmers just beneath the surface. "Was it okay, putting you in the spotlight like that during the show?" Your eyes hold his, searching for any sign of discomfort or distress.

Chan looks puzzled, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your question. "What do you mean? It was just a performance," he replies, his voice softer than usual, tinged with a hint of confusion.

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. It's hard to keep the sincerity out of your voice as you say, "I kind of admire you, Bang Chan." The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

But instead of catching the underlying tone, he takes it as admiration for his work as a producer. "Oh, thanks," he says with a slight smile, his eyes lighting up with pride. "I appreciate it."

You shake your head gently, a chuckle escaping your lips. It's almost too cute how he misinterprets your intentions. You take a step closer, your voice dropping to a whisper again. "No, Channie," you say softly, using the nickname to make it more intimate. Your hands find their way to his hips, pulling him closer so he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

"I meant every word I sang," you whisper, your breath brushing against his ear. The words are laced with a raw emotion that you can't hide anymore.

You wink at him, the gesture playful yet serious. For a moment, you just hold his gaze, letting him absorb the weight of your words. The air between you crackles with tension, and you can feel his heart racing against your fingertips.

Then, with a final glance that leaves him looking more bewildered than ever, you turn and head towards the changing room.

You knew Han and the rest of the members couldn't stay longer, they had events to go to tomorrow and it was late already. You waved them goodbye and sent a little wink towards Chan's way.

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Months later, same venue. You performed again, your favourite song to perform since last time..

You’re standing on stage, bathed in crimson light, the bassline thrumming through your chest like a second heartbeat. The crowd is a sea of hands and screams, their energy feeding yours as you move with deliberate precision—every sway of your hips, every flick of your wrist calculated to captivate. You’ve always loved this part—the way the stage transforms you, amplifies you into something larger than life. Tonight, though, there’s something different. Someone different.

Your eyes scan the crowd as you sing, and there he is. Bang Chan. Front and center in the platinum section, his face illuminated by the stage lights. He’s watching you with an intensity that sends a jolt straight down your spine. You hadn’t seen him in months—not since that night backstage when you’d left him flustered and red-faced after your little confession. You didn’t have his number, didn’t dare ask Han for it either. But here he is, and god, he looks good—better than you remembered.

You smirk mid-verse, letting your gaze linger on him before turning away with a teasing sway of your hips. The crowd roars louder at the movement, but you’re barely paying attention to them anymore. Your focus keeps drifting back to him. You point in his direction during the chorus, a subtle acknowledgment that’s anything but subtle to him. His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting as if he’s trying to breathe through the moment.

The performance builds to its climax—a whirlwind of sound and movement—and when it ends, you’re drenched in sweat but exhilarated beyond belief. The applause is deafening as you step offstage, grabbing a towel and gulping down water like it’s a lifeline. Your crew buzzes around you, but all you can think about is him.

And then you see him.

Chan stands at the edge of the backstage area, looking hesitant but determined as he waits for you to notice him. You don’t make him wait long. Setting down your water bottle, you stride over with the same confidence you had on stage.

“Platinum ticket?” you tease lightly as you approach, letting your voice drop just enough to make it feel intimate. “Didn’t know I had such dedicated fans.”

Chan’s cheeks flush immediately, just like they did last time. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and laughs softly. “I… uh… thought I’d come see how much better you’ve gotten.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, leaning in closer so he can hear you over the noise of backstage chatter. “Better? You mean I wasn’t already perfect?”

His laugh comes out more nervous this time, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You let yourself take him in for a moment—the way his shirt clings to his frame just right, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead—and then decide to push things further.

“You know,” you say casually, leaning against the wall beside him so your shoulder brushes his lightly, “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Chan shifts under your gaze but doesn’t move away. “I—well—I thought…” He trails off as if searching for words that won’t betray him.

You smile softly at his hesitation and decide to put him out of his misery—just a little.

“It’s been months,” you say quietly, letting some of your own vulnerability seep into your tone. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

His eyes snap back to yours at that, and for a moment he looks almost guilty. “I wanted to,” he admits after a pause. “But… I didn’t know how.”

You nod slowly, understanding more than he probably realizes. Being an idol means living in chaos—constant schedules and expectations that leave little room for personal connections.

“Well,” you say after a beat, letting your voice turn playful again as you step closer to him—close enough that there’s barely any space between you now. “You could’ve asked Han for my number.”

Chan lets out a startled laugh at that and shakes his head quickly. “Yeah… no way.”

You chuckle along with him before letting the moment settle into something quieter again.

“I meant what I said last time,” you say softly, watching his expression shift from amusement to something more serious as he processes your words.

“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.

You smile at him—slowly this time—and reach out to gently rest your hands on his hips before he can pull away or overthink it. The touch is light but deliberate enough to make him freeze under your fingertips.

“Channie,” you murmur, letting the nickname roll off your tongue like honey as your thumbs brush against his sides ever so slightly. “I meant every word I sang.”

His breath catches audibly at that—his eyes wide and searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or some elaborate joke.

You wink at him then—slowly, deliberately—and step back before he can respond or recover from the moment entirely.

“I’ll be in the changing room,” you say lightly over your shoulder as you walk away, leaving him standing there stunned and speechless amidst the chaos of backstage life.

And god—you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before he follows.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ . ✦

That's it for now! Maybe I'll upload the next part tomorrow.. it'll be my first time writing something spicy, so don't judge me too hard!

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Hello Everyone, I am Mosab Suleiman Al Derawi, 28 years old, my wife Nadine Adel A… Mosab Derawi needs your support for Help me saving who's

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Ayato x kitsune! bttm male reader

Content warnings: spanking, anal tongue fucking (receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, creampie , slight predator prey dynamic (if you squint), slight dubcon because reader wasn’t really into the spanking at the start

Note: This fic has been marinating in my inbox for 2 weeks so I hope you enjoy! Also I haven’t played Genshin in a year so this might be a tad bit ooc 😭. Enjoy!

You had always been someone in the background, shadowed and sheltered under the protection of your sister, Guuji Yaemiko. Few to none knew of your actual existence as centuries passed, except for the Raiden Shogun and the clans themselves. Her influence stretched far, wrapping around you like a protective veil.

The Shrine was your haven, but also your cage. Every decision, every move you made, was watched, controlled. It was always for your safety, she would say. The sister who would tease and always play you like a fiddle to her silly whims became firm and unmovable when it came to exploring beyond the Inazuman city. You had been sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, never given the freedom to truly explore it. Yet, that defiant streak within you had only grown stronger. You didn’t want protection. You wanted to live.

However, what your sister could not shield you from was unforeseen. A little crush you had harboured for the Yashiro Commissioner himself, Kamisato Ayato. A man who carried himself with grace and power — a man who like your sister, commanded respect wherever he went. The very man that made the Kamisato name arise from its ashes and make it the prestigious clan today. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nothing better than those maidens who chased after him relentlessly for marriage offers. It stung to think of yourself in that way, to admit that you were drawn to him with the same intensity that they were.

It wasn’t just his power or his elegance. It was the way he moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the sharpness in his gaze that made you feel seen even when you wished to remain hidden. You were drawn to him with a fascination that bordered on obsession, an allure that you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Due of your crush, you found yourself resorting to a silly yet strangely satisfying ritual—stealing Ayato’s clothes. It was an odd way to cope with the intense feelings you harbored for him, but it was the only outlet you could manage. Each stolen item, whether a glove, a ribbon, or a sash, became a cherished possession, a physical connection to him that you could hold onto.

Each piece of clothing was a wishful reminder of him—a way to keep a part of him close, even if you could never have him completely. You would fold his garments carefully, press them to your face, and imagine the moments he had worn them, his scent of sandalwood and rain with the lingering warmth, It was your own secret fantasy. It was harmless really. A secret way of indulging in the hopeless crush you’d harbored for the head of the Kamisato clan.

However, tonight, the air felt different—charged with something you couldn’t quite place. Strangely, there weren’t any guards present that were on patrol. The estate was quiet. A little too quiet.

Still, you pressed on.

The thought of what you were about to do made your fox ears twitch in excitement. Ayato’s chambers were silent as you nudged the door open, the dim light of a single candle casting long shadows over the room.

You crept inside, eyes scanning for something to take. His haori lay draped neatly over a chair, and without hesitation, you reached for it. The silk fabric slipped through your fingers, smooth and cool to the touch. Your breath caught in your throat as you brought it close, imagining, just for a moment, what it would feel like to be wrapped in it—surrounded by him. The thought made your cheeks warm, but you pushed it away, carefully folding the haori over your arm.

It was a ridiculous thought, you knew that.

You allowed yourself a small smile. Another successful heist, another piece of him to add to your collection. You moved toward the door, your escape clear and easy.

But as you turned, something stopped you.

A faint rustle. Barely a sound, but enough to make your ears twitch with alert. You froze, eyes darting toward the corner of the room. Nothing.

You waited, heart racing in your chest, every instinct telling you to bolt but curiosity kept you rooted in place. Slowly, you scanned the room again, your gaze lingering on the bed. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a figure sitting in the shadows.

Ayato.

He was leaning casually against the headboard of his bed, his body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. His lavender eyes, sharp and calculating, met yours with a calm intensity. Those eyes were striking—like shards of amethyst, reflecting the light in a way that made them almost glow. They watched you with a calm amusement, though the glint in them suggested he was far more aware of the situation than you were.

Your heart raced as you took in his appearance. His long, pale blue hair was neatly tied back, save for a few loose strands that framed his angular face. The moonlight accentuated his porcelain skin, making him look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream. Yet there was nothing soft about the way he held himself—he stood with a quiet strength, the grace of a nobleman who knew his power.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost melodic, but there was an edge to it. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the haori tightly. Ayato’s tall, lean frame was still relaxed, but every movement he made was deliberate. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the bed as he spoke, drawing attention to his hands—hands that could command armies or, in this case, one mischievous kitsune.

“I… I didn’t mean—”

Ayato’s lips curled into a faint smirk, revealing a glimpse of his sharp wit. “Didn’t mean to what?” He interrupted, stepping forward, the soft rustle of his clothing barely audible. “You seem to have a habit of taking things that don’t belong to you,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and far too calm.

“Lord Ayato,” You squeaked softly, ears flattening as you clutched the fabric in your hands. He approached, slowly, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name. “What were you planning to do with this, hm?” He gestured toward the ribbon in your hand, his voice soft but laced with authority. “Stealing from me, Yae Miko’s brother no less… What would she say?”

You bristled at the mention of your sister, but there was no escape now. “I just wanted—”

“To see if I’d notice?” Ayato finished for you, his amusement deepening as he tilted his head slightly. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Up close, you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the quiet authority he carried in every word.

His hand reached out, brushing lightly against the fabric of the haori. “I noticed,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers grazed yours, cool to the touch yet searing with the unspoken threat of control.

Ayato’s smile was small but devastatingly confident. “But there’s a price to pay for stealing from the Yashiro Commissioner.”

Your heart raced as he stepped even closer, the close proximity making your tail swish back and forth with nervousness and anticipation. “And I think you know what that means.”

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for just a moment, but the look in his eyes—dark, intense, and utterly unyielding—was enough to make you comply. Your legs gave way almost instinctively as you dropped to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. The rush of adrenaline coursing through you drowned out everything except the sound of your own breathing, loud and uneven in your ears.

He took another step, his movements so fluid that his bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, as though he was one with the shadows. You could feel the heat radiating from him even before he stood directly in front of you, the faint scent of sandalwood and rain lingering in the air—intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of his lips—a smirk that sent a thrill of both fear and excitement rushing through your body. The expression was playful, yet there was something undeniably dangerous in it, like he was silently toying with you, fully aware of the power he held over you. Up close, you could see the cool, detached amusement in his eyes—like a predator toying with prey, knowing full well you were already caught in his web.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. You hesitated again, but the silent disapproving look in his eyes was enough to make you move. You stood up slowly, your hands trembling as you began to undress. Reluctantly, your robes slipped off, leaving you stark naked and cold, shivering in the cold night air. Truth to be told, you were a virgin, never having the chance to even have a sexual outlet besides from fingering yourself and masturbating on rare occasions when your sister wasn’t at the shrine. Even with your crush on Ayato, you were rather reluctant and admittedly, a tad bit fearful.

He watched you, his expression unreadable, but the fire in his piercing eyes made your skin tingle with anticipation. That calm, calculating gaze burned with something primal even though his face remained impassive. When you were done, he simply gestured for you to turn around. You hesitated briefly, but his silent command left no room for question.

Your heart pounded as you moved, his authoritative presence looming behind you. “Hands on the bed,” he demanded, his voice brushing dangerously close to your ear. The soft, commanding tone sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, making you feel small beneath him.

You obeyed, placing your palms flat against the cool surface of the futon. The fabric felt grounding under your trembling fingers. You could hear him moving, the quiet rustle of his robes as he adjusted himself, his body heat brushing ever closer. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension, until—

Without warning, the first blow landed hard across your ass. The sharp, stinging pain rippled through you like a wave. You gasped, your body jerking forward from the sudden impact, your tail instinctively going taut. The burning sensation lingered, intensifying with every passing second, until all you could do was grip the sheets, struggling to steady yourself against the onslaught.

“Ayato, I don’t think I want to — Ah!”

He wasn’t done.

The second blow came even harder, the sharp impact sending a jolt of pain through your body. This time, you couldn’t suppress the cry that escaped your lips, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic taste of blood faint on your tongue as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice dangerously calm. “And call me Sir. Stay still,” he added, the warning in his tone unmistakable, “Or this will be even worse.”

You could feel the power in his command, the unspoken promise that he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience.

“Two, Sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, doing your best to remain still despite the lingering sting.

The next few blows came in quick succession, each one more painful than the last. Your ass was on fire, the pain mingling with the arousal that was building inside you. You could feel yourself getting hard, your body betraying you as it responded to the punishment. The next few blows came in quick succession, each one landing harder than the last. Your skin burned, a searing pain spreading across your ass with every strike, and it felt like your entire body was on fire.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and no matter how hard you fought them back, they kept coming, blurring your vision. You mutely counted the blows between occasional cries of pain and ragged gasps for air. The room spun around you, the sensation too much, too fast.

Each smack to the ass only intensified your horror at your arousal and your arousal. You could feel your dick twitching and getting stiffer as the pain resonated throughout your body. Precum was beginning to pool beneath your cock as the electric sting that the pain brought felt even more pleasurable than the last.

“T-ten,” you whispered shakily, your hands gripping the sheets as you struggled to keep from collapsing under the pressure. Finally, he paused, giving you a moment of respite to catch your breath. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the tension in your body slowly unwinding as the sting of the blows lingered. Your skin was still ablaze with the aftermath.

You could feel his hand resting lightly on your back, his fingers brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier actions. The touch was almost tender, a strange gentleness that sent a confusing wave of emotions through you.

Suddenly, with a swift motion, you found yourself turned around, now facing him. Despite the harsh punishment you had endured, you felt your heart race and then falter as the close proximity of Ayato became overwhelming. Your traitorous tail, betraying your true feelings, swished involuntarily with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

However that did not distract him from the hard on you sported, much to your embarrassment. His slender hand crept down your body and dwarfed your cock. He rhythmically rubbed your length, making you shudder and feel the sparks and the familiar hum of pleasure beginning to ignite.

“Yes,” you gasped as Ayato purposefully tightened his grip around your sensitive tip, never stopping his pace, “Oh—fuck—” as that mischievous hand closed around you, there was a playful air about Ayato as he let out a soft melodic laugh while mumbling something under his breath and then shifting his grip.

The next slide up was a tight, demanding fist. You threw your head back.

“Does that feel good, (Name)?” There was an amused lilt in his voice that made you flush head to toe.

The rush of blood and desire to a point low in your stomach was overwhelming. The movement was growing slicker, better , so tempting to lean fully into. You had never been this turned on.

“I don’t know, ” you cried through a strangled whine, you felt Ayato’s laughter directly through your skin, and somehow that made him suddenly very close.

There was something so exciting and arousing about it the way the man you had dreamt about, the very Yashiro Commissioner, himself was helping pleasure you. The very thought had you moaning, once, and falling slack like a puppet with cut strings.

You were gently pushed back onto your back against the soft surface of the futon with both your legs are hoisted up, hanging against Ayato’s shoulders. Your body folded in half as you saw his head buried in your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin as your tail hairs brushed against his chin.

“Ayato?!” You struggled for the commissioner to release his grasp on your legs, but to no avail, as he tightened his grip to hold you still. You flushed red in embarrassment, the thought of Ayato seeing everything too much to bear.

And then you felt something warm and slimy breach past the ring of muscles, causing you to yelp in surprise.

Holy fuck. Was Ayato actually doing what you thought he was?

You shuddered as waves of pleasure traveled up to your core. Gritting your teeth to try and contain the shameful moans from escaping you, afraid to realise that this was all a dream, afraid that Ayato would be turned off by you.

“Hnnn…Ayato….” You groaned, eyes clenching shut and face wrinkled as you bit back on a pathetic whine. All of a sudden, you jolted.

Ayato’s tongue had prodded at something deep inside you that made you melt into a puddle of arousal and shame. You unconsciously gripped his head tight with your thighs, messing up his perfect tidied hair. He had found your prostrate. And then he stopped, a gossamer thread of saliva connecting his lips to your hole as he retreated.

You couldn’t help but notice the shy mole that hid beneath his spit shiny lips — he was absolutely ethereal even with his messy and tousled hair. An unnatural pink flush decorated his fair and porcelain face and you realised that he was aroused.

By you.

The thick tension hung in the air as he silently gazed at you, the hunger in his amethyst eyes almost engulfing you on the spot like he was a man gone wild.

Shadows danced on his face as he meticulously removed his robes, still carrying himself with the same grace and dignity as if the air wasn’t imbued with the electric undercurrent of arousal and the fact that he had just tongue fucked you. He stood above you, full mast and you felt your breath get stolen away from you.

Ayato had a picture perfect physique, lean, almost like a statue carved out and had come to life. Your eyes immediately dove down to his abdomen, to be greeted with his cock, hard, already pressing against your rim, twitching invitingly. Both hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself.

“We will not stop now, (Name). Your pleas and cries will be unheard. This is a punishment.” He stared at you with an unyielding gaze, one that you were ready to challenge. “This is the lesson you must learn, the price of your rebellion,” he concluded. “One I accept.” You let out a hoarse giggle. His eyes darkened almost simultaneously as what seemed like another amused smile tugged at his lips before he let his actions speak for himself.

He did not give any mercy. Ruthlessly driving into your hips with a force like he wanted to merge into you, you felt his girth stretch and force your walls to mould into its shape. “Huh...?” Your mind went blank with pleasure, and for a while you couldn’t comprehend what happened. Your insides clenched down hard on his cock as slaps of skin punctuated the silent night air.

“Ah! Ggh- Aah! W-wait! Ungh —!” You slurred inaudibly as you felt your body rock to his merciless pace, your cock dribbling endless pre-cum uncontrollably. He promised your pleas and cries would be unheard and he served his promise, not even a single word could leave your raw throat. Only guttural whines and moans would escape your bitten lips as you fell into the throes of pleasure.

Alas, decisions were made and you could not regret what you said. Here you were, getting your deserved punishment in the form of a ruthless fucking.

Everything was too hot, too sticky and hummed with the sound of distant sobs, you groggily thought. Oh. Those were from you. Your skin was sticky with the sheen of sweat and cum and the futon beneath you was drenched. You felt unusually full, like something sloshing in your tummy. Your hole felt sore. And he wasn’t done. But you would never admit defeat….was the last thought that echoed in your muddled mind as you gave into the embrace of sleep.

“(Name)? Learnt your lesson now? Oh. The silly thief has admitted defeat.” He pushed back his sweat soaked hair as he glanced upon your slumbering form. Letting out a grunt, he pulled out of your red, swollen hole as semen immediately began dripping out your gaping rim. Humming an exasperated sigh, a fond expression appeared on his face as his lavender eyes crinkled into crescents as he gently ruffled your hair.

The little kitsune had fallen into his trap.

Sometime ago, Ayato had noticed his belongings going missing. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t deserve the title of Yashiro Commissioner. The thief clearly had no ill intent, but it became particularly vexing when he realized that the pair of gloves Ayaka had gifted him had mysteriously disappeared as well.

Then one day, by sheer coincidence, he noticed the little kitsune who had caught his eye more than once, wearing a familiar ribbon in their hair— his ribbon. And on their hands, the very gloves he had been missing. Amusement flickered in his usually composed gaze as everything clicked into place.

It seemed someone had developed quite the habit. But Ayato wasn’t the type to let such things go unaddressed. Oh no, if this little fox thought they could slip away unnoticed, they were sorely mistaken. Someone was in need of a lesson, and he would be more than happy to provide it.

So he plotted.

note: ajskskskk, I’m finally done 🙏 my first ask so I hope this was done well!

Reblogs are appreciated 🧑‍🍳

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necrozica

1 month ago