#and they come with a dressing packet inside them

[4linos]

even if it’s a secret.

bang chan x manager!reader

synopsis: you’re the group’s manager. he’s a member. and falling for each other wasn’t part of the job description, but it happened anyway.

warnings: angst, emotional tension, forbidden romance, mutual pining, slightly suggestive.

wc: 15,450

[even if it’s a secret part 2]

You knew better.

From the very first day, the rules were clear. No relationships with the members. No overstepping boundaries. No exceptions.

The warning wasn’t hidden in the fine print, it was in bold, highlighted in yellow, underlined three times in the company’s hiring packet. You had to sign your name next to it, affirming you understood the terms. Dating any member of Stray Kids meant immediate termination and likely blacklisting. It didn’t matter if you were the best manager in the company’s history. The risk wasn’t worth it to them.

And you told yourself, repeatedly that you weren’t here to fall for anyone. You were here to work, to be reliable, professional, focused. You’d trained years for this position. Your first few months were a blur of red-eye flights, rehearsal schedules, meetings, and last-minute wardrobe runs. You worked yourself to the bone to prove you could handle it, to build trust with the boys, the staff, the company.

You didn’t know when it shifted.

Maybe it was late one night, when you found Chan alone in the practice room after everyone else had left, hunched over his laptop, his hair damp with sweat. Maybe it was the way he looked up at you not surprised, not annoyed, just… tired. And open in a way that made your breath catch.

Maybe it was that night in Tokyo, after a press conference, when it started to rain and you handed him your umbrella without a second thought, and he blinked at you like you’d just given him a piece of the moon.

Or maybe it had always been there, blooming quietly beneath every shared glance, every casual touch that lingered a moment too long, every joke that turned into an inside one.

But denial is a powerful drug. You convinced yourself it was just your imagination, he was kind to everyone, affectionate, thoughtful. That’s who Chan was. A leader. Someone who carried the weight of the members lives on his shoulders. He couldn’t afford distractions. And you couldn’t afford to be one.

But the cracks began to show.

It was in the way he started looking at you longer than he should have. In the way his fingers would graze yours when you handed him a water bottle, like he didn’t want to let go. The way his eyes searched for you in crowded rooms like he could exhale only after seeing you were still there.

And you hated that it made your heart race. That it made you feel seen. That it made you wonder.

The breaking point didn’t come in some dramatic thunderstorm or impassioned moment. It came quietly, on a regular Tuesday night, in the empty dressing room after a music show.

The others had already left to return to the dorm. You were gathering scattered jackets and leftover coffee cups when you realized Chan hadn’t left with them.

He sat silently on the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly.

You turned. “You okay?”

He looked up, his eyes heavy with something unspoken. “I can’t keep doing this.”

You blinked. “Doing what?”

“This,” he gestured between you, voice low but intense. “Pretending.”

Your breath caught.

“Pretending I don’t feel what I feel every time you walk into a room,” he continued, standing now. “Pretending I’m not in love with you.”

The words felt like they fractured something inside you. You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to claw its way out.

“Chan…”

“I know it’s wrong,” he said quickly, as if that would lessen the weight of it. “I know what the contract says. I know what we’re risking. But I can’t lie anymore. Not to myself. Not to you.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making it harder than it already was.

Instead, you took a shaky breath and said the only thing you could.

“You’d be fine, Chan,” you said, and your voice cracked. “If this came out, if someone found out—you might get a warning, a slap on the wrist, But me?” You laughed bitterly. “I’d be fired. My name would be ruined. I’d never get another job in this industry again.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I know that. But I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

“You couldn’t stop it,” you snapped, harsher than you meant. “It’s not about what you want to happen, it’s about what will. The company doesn’t care about feelings. They care about control.”

“Then we keep it a secret,” he said, stepping closer. “If someone finds out, I’ll talk to the company. I’ll take the blame. I’ll say I pressured you. Anything.”

“And then what?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You take the fall, your reputation takes a hit, the group gets pulled into it, and I still lose everything. Do you think that’s fair?”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not fair. None of this is.”

You turned away, your throat tightening. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of everything unsaid.

He stepped behind you, close enough to feel the warmth of him. His voice was barely a breath when he spoke.

“But I love you.”

You closed your eyes.

“You’re not just someone I care about. You’re not just a friend or a manager or some passing crush I can ignore. You’re…” His voice faltered. “You’re the person I think about when things get hard. You’re the one I look for when I need to breathe. You’ve been in my head for months. You’re already in my heart. I can’t keep pretending like that’s not true.”

The silence stretched between you like a wound.

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his. And in that moment, everything you’d buried surfaced. The months of tension. The longing. The guilt. The love.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “But loving you doesn’t mean we get to be selfish.”

“I’m not being selfish,” he said, his voice firm now. “I’m being honest. I’m tired of hiding. Of swallowing every feeling and pretending it doesn’t kill me every time I have to walk past you like you’re not the most important person in my life.”

He reached for your hand and held it gently, like it was the most fragile thing in the world. “I don’t want to keep living in a world where I have to pretend I don’t care about you.”

You stared at his fingers wrapped around yours, then back up at him. “Then what do we do?”

“We try,” he said simply. “We be careful. We stay quiet. But we don’t lie to ourselves anymore. Not if it’s real.”

Tears stung your eyes. “And if someone finds out?”

“Then we face it together.”

You wanted to believe him. Desperately.

But this wasn’t a fairytale. This was real life, with contracts and NDAs and powerful corporations that didn’t blink before crushing people for stepping out of line.

You pulled your hand away, gently. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you too much to let you risk everything for me.”

His jaw tensed. “But I’m choosing this. You don’t get to decide for me.”

“And you don’t get to make me choose between my career and you,” you shot back.

The air between you thickened with everything neither of you could fix.

You turned your back again, bracing yourself against the table. “Do you know how hard it’s been?” you asked quietly. “Every day. Watching you smile at me like I’m the only person in the room. Feeling it. Knowing I couldn’t do anything about it.”

You laughed, hollow. “Do you know how much I wanted to just… give in?”

He didn’t say anything, but you could hear the hurt in the silence.

“But I couldn’t. I can’t.” You swallowed hard. “I need this job. I worked too hard to get here. And I love you, I love you, but I can’t throw away everything I’ve built. Not unless there’s a guarantee.”

“There are no guarantees,” he said. “Not with love. Not with anything worth fighting for.”

You turned to him, and for a long moment, all you could do was look.

There was so much love in his eyes. So much pain. So much desperation.

You stepped closer again, against your better judgment. Your hands trembled as you cupped his face. “I don’t want to walk away.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m terrified.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “So am I.”

You stood like that for what felt like forever, wrapped in a silence that spoke louder than words.

Then, quietly, he said, “Even if we have to hide. Even if we have to lie. I’d rather have you in secret than not at all.”

And you broke.

You kissed him.

Desperately. Softly. Like you were memorizing the feel of him in case this was the last time.

And when you pulled away, tears running down your cheeks, you whispered, “Okay.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Okay?”

“We’ll be careful,��� you said. “We’ll keep it quiet. We’ll make it work. But if it ever gets too risky—if it ever threatens the group or your career—”

“We’ll talk about it,” he promised.

You nodded slowly. “We’ll talk about it.”

Because that’s all you could do.

You couldn’t promise forever. You couldn’t promise safety. You couldn’t promise that one day, someone wouldn’t find out and tear everything apart.

But you could promise now. You could promise this moment.

-

The first few days were strange.

Not in the way you expected, not in the terrifying, world-ending way where someone found out or you immediately regretted what you’d agreed to. No. The strangeness came from how natural it felt. How right it was, despite how wrong it had to stay.

That night in the dressing room had changed something between you. You didn’t kiss him again, not after that moment, but the lines had been crossed. Shattered, really. There was no going back.

There was only the secret, and how you both tried clumsily, cautiously, desperately to keep it alive without being seen.

You started slow. Too afraid to risk more than the smallest gestures during the day. So you saved your love for after dark, when no one else was watching.

The first time Chan called you, it was nearly 2 a.m.

You were curled up on your couch, still in your work clothes, your bag discarded by the door. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but your mind was spinning too fast to sleep. You hadn’t heard from him since the group had gotten back to the dorm, and though you knew you couldn’t expect anything, you couldn’t stop the ache that came from the silence.

When your phone lit up with his name, your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.

You answered quickly but softly. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” you said, and you meant it. “Couldn’t sleep.”

There was a pause. The kind that only happens when someone’s just listening to you breathe.

“I keep thinking about you,” he said finally, almost like a confession. “I thought hearing your voice might help.”

You closed your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “It does.”

The first night, you talked for almost an hour. The second, two. The third, until the sun started to rise and you both reluctantly said goodbye like teenagers hanging up on a forbidden call.

Sometimes it was just texting harmless emojis, a photo of the ramen you were eating, a voice memo of him humming something he was working on in the studio. But every message came with risk. So you deleted them. Immediately. Every time. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

You hated it, hated how your phone felt sterile afterward, like it had no trace of him. No proof that you mattered to each other in this quiet, fragile way. But he always understood.

Even if his texts came with little sad faces sometimes.

Even if you could hear it in his voice when he said, “Just promise me you don’t delete me with the messages.”

And you’d whisper back, “Never.”

During the day, it was like nothing had changed.

You were a manager again, focused, efficient, distant. He was their leader charismatic, steady, warm to everyone. The world spun the same way it always had, but underneath the surface, everything felt different.

It was in the glances.

Just the slightest lift of an eyebrow across the room. A tiny, secret smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. You’d brush past each other during wardrobe changes or walks to the van, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, but never touching. Never letting it linger.

Sometimes your fingers would graze barely, accidentally-on-purpose and it would feel like someone had plugged a live wire into your veins.

It was unbearable.

The worst part? He couldn’t hide it as easily as you could.

Chan had never been good at masks. He felt everything, always had. And now that he was letting himself feel this, letting himself have this, it was a constant battle to keep it under control.

He’d look at you like he wanted to fold you into his arms, right there in the hallway.

You’d see it in the way he held himself back during rehearsal breaks, biting his lip to stop from smiling when you offered him a bottle of water. You’d feel it in how close he stood next to you during briefings, his hand twitching like it ached to reach for yours.

And when he slipped sometimes, when his voice dropped too softly when he said your name, or when his gaze lingered a beat too long, you had to step in.

You’d catch his eye, give a quiet shake of your head, and whisper under your breath, “Chan. Staff’s around. Members, too.”

His jaw would clench. Not at you, never at you, but at the reminder that this was the price you had to pay just to love each other.

On the fifth night, he video-called you from the studio.

You were lying in bed, makeup off, wearing one of his hoodies you’d “accidentally” taken after a shoot a few weeks back. You never wore it outside. Never brought it near the dorms. But at night, when it was just you and the silence, it helped.

You answered with a tired smile. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

He gave a half-laugh, rubbing his eyes. “I haven’t. Been working on a track. I needed a break… thought of you.”

You tucked your knees to your chest, voice quieter. “I miss you.”

His eyes softened, even through the screen. “I miss you, too.”

There was a long silence after that.

Not uncomfortable, but aching. Longing. You both just sat there, watching each other in real time, like you were afraid the moment would disappear if you spoke too loud.

“I wish I could just… be with you,” he said finally. “Sit next to you. Hold you.”

You swallowed hard. “Me too.”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing his camera lens. “If I were there, I’d hold your face like this. I’d kiss you slow. Not rushed. Not like we’re stealing it.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting back emotion. “But we are stealing it.”

“I know.”

You looked down. “Does it ever make you feel guilty? Like we’re hiding something we shouldn’t?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t feel guilty about loving you. I just feel angry that we have to hide it.”

You didn’t reply.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I hate this part.”

“What part?”

“The in-between. Where I can talk to you all night, but I can’t touch you. Can’t see you during the day without pretending you’re just my manager.”

You nodded slowly. “It’s the same for me. Worse, maybe. I have to act like I don’t see the way you look at me. I have to keep my face neutral. I have to remind myself, over and over, that someone could be watching.”

His expression darkened a little. “I don’t want you to carry all the fear.”

“I don’t want you to carry it either.”

His jaw clenched again. “One day, I’ll fix it. I don’t know how yet. But I will.”

You didn’t say anything. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you did and that made it hurt more.

Because if there was one thing you were starting to realize, it was that loving Chan in secret felt like trying to hold sunlight in your hands.

Beautiful. Blinding.

And impossible to keep forever.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

It had been a long week. Your shoulders still ached from carrying bags and managing logistics for three consecutive days of performances. You’d only been home an hour, your work phone muted and tossed facedown on the coffee table for the first time in what felt like forever.

The apartment was dimly lit, soft yellow light spilling across the kitchen where you were standing barefoot in a loose shirt and shorts, hair still damp from the shower. You hadn’t planned on doing anything tonight just a little cooking, maybe a mindless show in the background, sleep by midnight if your anxiety didn’t keep you up.

Your playlist hummed quietly from a speaker by the counter, something slow and jazzy, familiar enough to ground you.

You were mid-stir at the stove when the doorbell rang.

You didn’t even look through the peephole.

Just wiped your hands on a dish towel, assuming it was a delivery you’d forgotten about or a neighbor needing something until you opened the door.

And nearly dropped the towel in your hands.

Because it was him.

Chan stood in your doorway with a hood over his head, a black mask hanging loosely around his neck, and that look on his face the one he wore when he was about to do something he knew he absolutely shouldn’t.

Mischievous. Slightly smug. And breathtakingly beautiful.

Your mouth opened but no words came out. Your eyes darted down the hallway, heart racing in your chest.

“Are you insane?” you whispered, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him inside quickly, glancing both ways before shutting the door behind him.

He let you pull him in, his hands raised like he was surrendering to the crime.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, locking the door.

“Nice to see you too,” he said, grinning.

“Chan, this is so risky.” You stepped back, hands flailing a little, your mind already spinning with the thousand possible ways this could go wrong. “What if someone saw you? What if someone followed you? What if a fan recognized you on the way here or—or someone tracked your location?”

He chuckled, taking off his hoodie and mask, his hair a little tousled underneath. “Relax. No one followed me. I was careful.”

“You shouldn't be here,” you said, half-panicked, half-distracted by how unreasonably good he looked in a simple T-shirt and joggers.

“And yet,” he said, walking slowly toward you, “here I am.”

You were still frozen near the kitchen doorway, heart thudding in your chest. “You can’t just show up like this.”

“I texted,” he shrugged, “but you didn’t answer.”

You checked your phone instinctively, two missed messages from him about 20 minutes ago. You must’ve left it on vibrate in the other room.

“I didn’t see them,” you mumbled, still stunned. “I was cooking…”

“That,” he said, pausing beside you, eyes trailing over your shoulder, “smells amazing.”

You blinked, thrown off. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m just appreciating all the senses at once.”

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. “Why are you here, Chan? Really.”

He didn’t answer.

Not with words, at least.

Instead, he reached up and cupped your cheeks gently, fingers warm against your skin and then kissed you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The world tilted.

It was soft, deliberate, and silencing. Every worry, every “what if,” melted the second his lips met yours. Like he’d been waiting weeks for this moment like you had. Like every late-night call and every glance across crowded rooms had been building to this.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours. You could feel his smile even before you saw it.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

“And you opened the door,” he murmured back.

You groaned, stepping back and placing a hand on your chest, trying to catch your breath. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m persistent,” he corrected, looking over your shoulder at the stovetop again. “Is that garlic I smell?”

“Yes. Don’t change the subject again.”

He held up both hands, feigning innocence. “Fine. You want the truth?”

You gave him a pointed look. “That would be nice.”

“I was going crazy,” he said simply. “I needed to see you. Not through a screen. Not at a distance. Not for ten seconds in a hallway where I can’t touch you.”

Your arms fell to your sides, your anger softening despite yourself.

“I just… wanted to be where you are,” he said, voice quieter now. “No pretending. Just for one night.”

You exhaled slowly. “You do realize how incredibly wrong this is, right?”

“Yep.”

“And how reckless.”

“Totally.”

You groaned again. “Chan—”

“If it makes you feel better,” he said, leaning against the counter like he owned the place, “I rehearsed what I’d say if someone saw me. I’d say we had a work meeting. A creative meeting for… I don’t know, a staff project or something.”

You stared at him.

“Do you know how bad that excuse is?” you said. “That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

He just grinned. “Which is why no one saw me.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile. “You’re going to get us both fired.”

He tilted his head. “Should I leave, then?”

Your stomach dropped.

He wasn’t serious. You knew that.

But the second he said it, you panicked.

“No—don’t,” you said quickly, stepping toward him without thinking.

He smiled. And just like that, your resolve crumbled.

He pulled you into a hug, arms wrapping around your waist, face tucking into the curve of your neck.

You melted against him like you’d been holding your breath for days.

It was the first time you’d touched him this long. The first time you didn’t have to pretend it meant nothing. The first time you could let yourself feel it, fully and without guilt, at least within the safety of these walls.

His voice was low against your skin. “Our first time alone together… and you’re wasting it lecturing me.”

You let out a breathy laugh, half-embarrassed, half-exasperated.

He leaned back slightly, just enough to see your face, and gave you that wink the one that always made your heart stutter.

You smacked his chest playfully. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” he corrected, grinning.

You sighed. “Fine. You can stay.”

He gave a little celebratory bounce in place.

“But,” you added, pointing at him, “you’re not sleeping over.”

“Of course not,” he said, clearly lying.

“And if anyone finds out about this—”

“They won’t.”

“And you’re helping me clean up the kitchen.”

“I was born to help in kitchens.”

You finally smiled, really smiled and shook your head as you turned back to the stove.

He followed, hovering beside you like a puppy, watching everything you did with an expression of awe like you were doing something magical just by chopping vegetables.

“You know,” he said after a while, “I’ve heard your voice a thousand times. On calls, in meetings, over text. But this? Watching you cook? Seeing you like this, just… being?”

You glanced at him, heart suddenly thudding again.

“It’s my favorite version of you so far.”

You didn’t answer. Just handed him the bowl of vegetables and looked away before your heart betrayed you completely.

He didn’t need you to say anything.

Because in that quiet, sacred space—where no one could see, no one could judge—you didn’t have to pretend.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he was yours.

-

Dinner passed in a haze of warmth and light laughter.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had a meal with someone like this no pretense, no work talk, no clattering plates in crowded schedules or half-eaten bites between coordinating stage calls. Just the two of you, sitting across from each other at your tiny kitchen table, knees occasionally bumping under the surface, soft music curling through the air around your words.

Chan had cleaned his plate entirely. Then licked a bit of sauce off his thumb with a ridiculous sound effect that made you snort.

He was like that, equal parts charming and ridiculous, a magnet for ease in a world where you always felt the need to be rigid. Controlled. Professional.

Now, you were both curled up on the couch, the dishes rinsed and forgotten, the lights dimmed to a soft glow. A blanket stretched across both your laps, Chan’s arm slung lazily around your shoulders as if he belonged there.

You hadn’t invited him to sit so close.

He just did.

And you didn’t stop him.

Your cheek leaned lightly against his shoulder, fingers resting on the hem of your own shirt, a nervous tick you’d developed as soon as he’d gotten quiet.

He was staring around your apartment with this soft look in his eyes, one that made you feel like he was memorizing every detail. Like he was trying to fold your world into his.

“You know,” he said suddenly, voice low and a little sleepy, “your apartment’s really cozy.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks. It’s nothing special.”

“It is to me.”

You rolled your eyes, half-blushing. “It’s not like you’ve seen anyone else’s.”

“That’s true,” he admitted, running his hand down your arm gently. “Still. I could get used to this. Coming over. Eating your food. Watching TV like this. Feels normal.”

You tensed just slightly.

Not enough to make him pull away, but enough that he noticed.

“Chan…”

He looked down at you, eyes curious.

You gave a quiet sigh. “You can’t.”

He gave a lopsided smile, the kind he wore when he knew you were right but hated it anyway. “I know.”

You sat up a little straighter, pulling the blanket closer around your lap. “You really can’t.”

“I know,” he said again, nodding. “No unannounced visits. No getting used to things. Just this… tonight.”

He said it without bitterness. Just acceptance.

But it still stung.

You looked up at him. “Where did you tell Jeongin you were going, anyway?”

He smirked. “Told him I was going to the studio to help Bang Chan finish something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You are Bang Chan.”

He laughed. “Exactly. Can’t call me out if I’m technically not lying.”

You shook your head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “That poor kid trusts you.”

“He does,” Chan said softly. “They all do.”

There was a pause.

And then, with a surprising seriousness: “Do you ever think about telling them?”

Your smile vanished instantly.

“No,” you said, too fast, too firmly.

His eyes searched your face. “Not ever?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Chan… no. I couldn’t.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

You pulled away just slightly, not out of anger, but to look at him properly. “Because it’s not just about us.”

He stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“I worked hard to build trust with them. All of them. Not just as a manager, but as someone they could rely on. Who was neutral. Professional. Safe. If they found out about this, about us they might not look at me the same way again. Even if they didn’t say it out loud, even if they tried to be supportive, something would shift.”

You wrapped your arms around your knees.

“I can’t risk them thinking I’m playing favorites. Or that I care more about you than I do them. That would break me.”

Chan looked at you for a long time. Then slowly nodded.

“I get it,” he said softly. “I really do.”

You leaned back into the couch, exhausted by how true it all was.

He adjusted himself and wrapped an arm around you again, pulling you against his side. His touch was gentle, careful, and yet grounding in a way that made something in you unwind.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest.

He let out a breath one of those content, heavy sighs that felt like the weight of the entire day had just fallen away.

“I never want to leave your side,” he murmured.

The words hit your chest like something physical.

You blinked slowly, biting the inside of your cheek.

Because part of you wanted to believe that this could last. That he could keep coming over, that he could hold you like this every night, that you could build a world together without worrying about being seen, caught, ruined.

But the truth hung heavy in the room.

You couldn’t have that.

Not openly. Not safely.

So instead, you tucked yourself further into his side, not answering with words just silence, and stillness, and the quiet ache of wishing things were different.

And Chan, always attuned to you, didn’t push.

He just held you a little tighter.

The room got quiet.

The kind of quiet that didn’t demand conversation, where breath and heartbeat filled in the space words used to go. The kind of quiet that happened when two people finally let their guards down, even if only for a little while.

The TV played low in the background. Neither of you were really watching it. It was just there to make the silence less intimidating.

You were curled into Chan’s side under the blanket, your head on his chest, one of your legs slung over his thigh, his hand resting lightly on the curve of your back.

It was so… normal. Terrifyingly normal. Like this could’ve been your third month together, not your first night alone. Like he belonged here, like the warmth of his body against yours wasn’t a stolen luxury but a daily comfort.

He exhaled, fingers brushing up and down your spine. Slow. Absentminded.

You closed your eyes, just for a moment, letting yourself pretend.

Pretend that the world outside this apartment didn’t exist.

Pretend that tomorrow wasn’t waiting with its consequences and lines you weren’t supposed to cross.

You didn’t know how long you lay like that. Time folded in on itself. Minutes passed in quiet.

Until something shifted.

A breath. A heartbeat. A blink too long.

You turned your head slightly to say something, you couldn’t even remember what and your nose brushed against his neck, skin warm and smelling faintly of the cologne he always wore.

He inhaled sharply.

You froze, suddenly aware of how close your mouth was to his collarbone. The way your leg curled around his, the heat of your body pressed into his side. The way his fingers had stopped moving on your back.

You didn’t look at him right away.

But then you felt it.

A hand sliding slowly from your waist to your hip.

Careful. Deliberate. Barely there.

Your breath caught in your throat.

And when you tilted your head just slightly to glance up, Chan was already looking at you.

His eyes were darker than before. Not because of the lighting. Not because he was tired.

Because something had changed.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say his name, to remind him of the risk, the rules, the thousands of reasons why this couldn’t happen, but he leaned in, and suddenly your lips brushed.

Not fully. Not a kiss. Just a pause right there, at the edge of it. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, close enough to taste the moment, but not enough to claim it.

It would’ve been so easy to pull away.

You should’ve pulled away.

But you didn’t.

Your lips found his a second later slower, softer than before. There was no rush this time. No surprise.

Just want.

Just need.

Just the feeling of his mouth moving against yours like he already knew every inch of you, like he’d been starving and this was the first real meal.

He pulled you closer, gently guiding you until you were straddling his lap, knees bracketing his thighs. The blanket had fallen away without either of you noticing.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling slightly at the hem of your shirt. Yours were tangled in his hair, breath growing uneven.

It was still a kiss.

But it was the kind that lingered, the kind that made your skin feel electric and heavy all at once. The kind that teetered on the edge of something else entirely.

And then he whispered your name.

Soft. Reverent.

You kissed him again.

Deeper.

His hands slid up, brushing the bare skin just under your shirt, and your whole body jolted like a current passed through you.

You broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, forehead pressing against his.

“We should stop,” you whispered, voice unsteady.

“I know,” he murmured.

But neither of you moved.

Because stopping felt impossible.

Because stopping meant going back to pretending.

And pretending hurt more than this ever could.

His thumb brushed a slow, deliberate circle against your hip. Your eyes closed.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, voice hoarse.

The silence between you was thick.

“I don’t know,” you whispered honestly.

He leaned back just enough to see your face, hands never leaving your skin.

His gaze searched yours, slow and careful.

“I’d never push you,” he said gently. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And I’d never ask you to risk more than I’m willing to.”

“I know,” you said again, breath shaky. “It’s not about that.”

His lips quirked into a faint, sad smile.

“It’s about how much we want what we can’t have.”

You nodded, eyes stinging.

He kissed your forehead, slow and lingering.

And you sat there, in the quiet aftermath, bodies tangled, breaths still shallow, hearts too full — and aching.

It wasn’t the moment either of you planned.

But it was real.

And sometimes, real was the most dangerous thing of all.

-

The night blurred into stillness.

Neither of you planned to fall asleep.

Chan had only meant to stay a little longer, one more episode, one more kiss, one more quiet moment where your world didn’t feel like it was crumbling under the weight of rules you didn’t ask for.

But warmth makes you reckless.
His arms wrapped around your waist, your face buried in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slowing everything inside you until the quiet wasn’t just safe, it was sedative.

The apartment hummed softly around you. The last flickers of the television dancing across the walls. Blankets tangled at your feet. Breath in sync.

And then… morning.

It wasn’t the sun that woke you.

It was the buzz.

Shrill. Relentless.

You groaned before even opening your eyes, your body sore from sleeping half on top of Chan, your neck stiff from the odd angle.

The buzzing didn’t stop.

You blinked blearily, still wrapped in the haze of sleep, and fumbled toward the sound, your work phone, vibrating violently where it had fallen between the couch cushions.

The screen was lit up with several missed calls. One name.

Minji (Team SKZ).

Shit.

You sat bolt upright.

Chan shifted beneath you with a soft groan, rubbing his eyes, his voice thick with sleep. “Mm... What time is it?”

You answered the call before checking.

“Hello—?”

“Y/N, finally,” Minji snapped on the other end. “What’s going on? Did you forget about the group’s call time?”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You’ve got thirty minutes to get to the salon. Are you on your way? And—Have you heard from Chan?”

You stumbled off the couch, eyes darting to the nearest clock. 8:23 AM.

Your breath hitched. “I—uh—what?”

“Jeongin said Chan never came home last night, and he hasn’t been answering his phone. We’ve got fans watching the dorm building already. You’re not with him, are you?”

You froze, throat closing.

“No! I—I mean, I haven’t seen him,” you said too quickly, too high. “I’ll try to call him. I’m leaving now.”

“Good. Please. Just—hurry. The stylist’s already waiting. I’ll see you there.”

The line went dead.

You stood frozen in your living room, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

Chan was awake now, pushing himself upright on the couch with a soft yawn, hair tousled, eyes puffy from sleep.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

You turned to him with wide eyes, panic bubbling up in your chest. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

His face shifted immediately, concern chasing the sleep from his expression. “What—what’s going on?”

You were already sprinting toward your bedroom, throwing your closet doors open. “The schedule! We were supposed to be at the salon half an hour ago—Minji’s been calling me nonstop—Jeongin hasn’t heard from you, he doesn’t know where you are, no one does—!”

Chan dragged a hand over his face with a groan. “Fuck.”

“I’m gonna get fired,” you muttered under your breath, yanking on a pair of jeans, fumbling to find a shirt that didn’t smell like sleep or look like guilt.

“I’ll say I had a late night in the studio,” Chan called after you, already standing and stretching in the living room. “I’ll say I crashed there. No one saw me come here.”

You were stuffing your phone and lip balm into your work tote, hair a mess, heart pounding. “What are we supposed to say when we show up at the same time?”

“I’ll leave first.”

“There’s no time—!”

He crossed into the hallway, still shirtless, voice low but firm. “Then we don’t walk in together. I’ll come in ten minutes after you.”

You glanced over at him, your chest rising and falling too fast. He looked so calm. Too calm.

“How can you be so sure no one saw you?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He stepped closer, gently reaching out to hold your arms. “Because I checked. I parked around the corner, I wore a hoodie and a mask. I wasn’t careless, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I told you this would happen. I told you—”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours, his hands warm on your skin. “We just fell asleep. That’s all.”

You pulled away with a breathless sigh, grabbing your shoes. “That’s never all, Chan. Not for me. Not in this job.”

He watched you quietly, then reached for his shirt on the armrest and tugged it on quickly.

“I’ll say I forgot to charge my phone. That I was in the recording booth until four. I’ll handle it.”

Your hands were shaking as you locked the front door behind him and cracked it open, peeking down the hallway. Clear.

You turned to him, chest aching.

“I can’t lose this job.”

He nodded, his expression soft. “You won’t.”

You hesitated before slipping out the door, and as you turned to leave, he called out, barely above a whisper:

“Hey.”

You paused, heart still racing.

“I’ll be behind you in ten,” he said gently. “You’re not alone in this.”

Your eyes met his. He gave you a small, crooked smile, the one he always used when he was trying to make you feel safe, even when he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

You didn’t smile back.

You just nodded and walked away.

-

You made it in twenty-two minutes.

The moment you walked into the salon, breathless and still adjusting your staff lanyard around your neck, the air was already buzzing with movement stylists brushing out hair, makeup artists setting up palettes, and half the members in varying states of wakefulness.

You barely had time to drop your bag on the counter before Minji spotted you.

“There you are,” she said sharply, but there wasn’t anger in her voice just relief coated with thinly veiled suspicion. “Rough morning?”

You gave her your most convincing sheepish smile. “I stayed up late finishing a report. Slept through my alarms. I’m so sorry.”

Minji narrowed her eyes slightly but nodded, already distracted by a staff member waving her over. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You turned quickly, scanning the room.

Jeongin was sitting in a salon chair, scrolling through his phone. Hyunjin was sipping a coffee with one hand while getting his hair trimmed with the other. Seungmin, ever alert, was chatting with one of the stylists and flipping through a printed version of next week’s schedule.

No Chan.

You walked deeper into the room, greeting the boys as you passed, trying not to look too tense, too flushed, too guilty.

Ten minutes passed.

Exactly ten.

And then, the salon door opened.

You looked up before you could stop yourself.

Chan stepped inside, hoodie pulled up halfway, face bare of any makeup, hair messy and somehow still completely unfair.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, bowing his head slightly to the stylists and managers in the room. “Got out of the studio late. Phone was dead. My bad.”

It was perfect. Effortless.

No one questioned him.

Jeongin looked up from where he was sitting in a styling chair and called out, “You didn’t even bring back snacks. Useless.”

Chan grinned. “You want snacks or you want a hit song?”

You turned away before your expression gave too much away.

You could feel the heat crawling up the back of your neck.

Your phone buzzed in your hand a moment later.


chan: Smile a bit.
chan: You look like you wanna kill me.
chan: You’re not mad at me, are you?

You bit your lip to hold back the smile. You typed with one hand as you handed off a revised schedule printout with the other.


you: I’m not mad.
you: I had fun last night.But it can’t happen again, Chan.

A beat passed.

Your phone lit up again.


chan: Was hoping you wouldn’t say that.
chan: Also not gonna make any promises.

You rolled your eyes instinctively, your thumb hovering over the screen, unsure if you wanted to feed into his teasing or shut it down completely.

Before you could decide, a voice pulled you back to earth.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You turned, locking eyes with Seungmin, who was watching you from one of the salon chairs, his bangs clipped back, a stylist halfway through drying his hair.

“Yeah?” you asked, pocketing your phone.

“Quick question about the shoot this weekend. You mentioned we’d be doing a group concept and solo cuts — is that still the plan, or has it changed?”

Right. Work.

You cleared your throat and nodded, walking closer to him, flipping through your notes. “Yeah, still the same plan. But the team did ask if we could get the solos done first since the group shot setup takes more time to prep.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Got it. I’ll let the others know too.”

“Thanks, Seungmin.”

He gave you a look then something just a little too observant. Not suspicious exactly. Just… perceptive.

But he didn’t say anything else.

You smiled and moved on, your chest tight, your heart still beating a little too fast.

You returned to your work, checking off notes and timings, giving yourself tasks to keep your brain busy. But the entire time, you could feel Chan’s presence behind you as he joked with Hyunjin and let the stylist tug through his curls.

Eventually, another buzz.

You checked when no one was looking.

Chan: you’re cute when you’re all stressed and bossy
chan: but for real… last night was worth every second

You swallowed hard, forcing the warmth in your chest to quiet itself.

This couldn’t keep happening.

You knew that.

You weren’t sure what scared you more: that you’d crossed a line last night… or that part of you wanted to cross it again.

Because now you knew what it felt like to fall asleep in his arms.

Now you knew how easily you could wake up next to a disaster and still not regret it.

And that made pretending feel so much heavier.

So much harder.

So much more dangerous.

-

The hours blurred.

You moved through the day like muscle memory, managing the group’s schedule, checking times with stylists, keeping Minji updated via text, coordinating with the photo team for their next destination.

But every time you passed by Chan, it was like there was a quiet string tethering the two of you subtle, invisible, but undeniably there. A pull. A presence.

And he wasn’t helping.

He was being good, technically.

No lingering stares. No obvious touches. No slip-ups that anyone else would catch.

But you noticed everything.

The way his shoulder would brush lightly against yours when you passed each other in the hallway.

The way his fingers lingered a second too long when he handed you his updated schedule notes.

The way his gaze would flick to yours, just for a heartbeat when he thought no one was watching.

You were watching.

You felt every one of those stolen moments like sparks on your skin.

You kept telling yourself you had it under control.

But you didn’t.

Especially not when your phone buzzed again, hours later, while you were seated with the other managers around a planning table at the studio building, coordinating travel details for the next filming site.


chan: Wanna come check the rehearsal room?
chan: I need your “professional opinion” 😏

You blinked down at your screen, heat rushing to your cheeks before you shoved the phone facedown on the table, heart stammering.

Minji, seated beside you, glanced over. “Everything okay?”

You cleared your throat, grabbing your pen. “Yeah. Just one of the staff asking a stupid question.”

You didn’t respond to Chan right away. You tried to focus, scribbling down notes as the team discussed ride schedules and meal breaks, but your mind was spinning in ten different directions.

Eventually, after managing to excuse yourself under the guise of needing to check in with the production crew, you finally slipped away and texted him back with only:


you: don’t push your luck.

You told yourself you’d go back to your office, maybe grab coffee, cool down.

But your feet didn’t turn that way.

They led you to the third floor.

To the rehearsal room.

And when you opened the door, you found him alone.

Sitting on the floor against the mirrored wall, legs stretched out, phone in hand, a small Bluetooth speaker playing demo loops softly in the background.

He looked up when he heard the door and smiled not that teasing smirk, but something softer.

Something grateful.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

You closed the door behind you and crossed your arms. “What if someone saw me?”

“I checked. No one’s around this wing right now.”

You sighed, walking further in, avoiding his eyes for a beat. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“Then don’t sit too close,” he said with a wink, patting the spot beside him.

You stared at him for a moment, heart in your throat, then slowly, stupidly lowered yourself to the floor beside him, leaving a safe few inches between your arms.

It felt anything but safe.

You both sat in silence for a moment. The track looped again, something raw, mostly instrumental, probably one of his unfinished demos.

You spoke before you could stop yourself.

“I meant it, you know. About last night.”

He turned his head slightly. “I know.”

“It can’t happen again, Chan. That was a one-time—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice quieter this time.

But he didn’t look away.

You did.

There was a long pause.

And then, like he couldn’t help himself, his voice softened again.

“But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to still your pulse.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he added, even softer.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the mirror.

“Why does it feel so easy around you?” you whispered.

“Because it is.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

“I know.”

The silence hung heavy.

Finally, you turned to look at him again. “You’re going to ruin me.”

His lips twitched into a sad, crooked smile. “Then let me be careful with you.”

That did something to your chest. A sharp, tender pull.

He reached over, slowly, carefully, and let his pinky brush against yours just the smallest touch. Barely there. Just enough to feel.

You didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

But after a few seconds, you stood, brushing your hands on your jeans, needing to breathe again.

“I have to go,” you murmured.

He didn’t ask you to stay.

Just nodded, watching you like you might disappear entirely.

And as you turned toward the door, your phone buzzed again.

chan: you’re my favorite risk.

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

But your fingers hovered over the screen long after the door shut behind you, long after you were gone.

You had both been doing well.

Better than you thought either of you would, actually.

Subtle, quiet, careful.

You had refined the art of looking at each other without looking. Brushing past each other in the hallway without letting your fingers linger too long. You spoke with the same tone, used the same professionalism in front of the others. Nothing to raise suspicion. Nothing to trigger gossip.

To anyone else, nothing had changed.

But to you? Everything had.

There were no more long nights at your place. No more waking up tangled together on your couch, no more secrets too close to discovery. You’d gone back to the quiet intimacy of texts. Late-night calls. Just enough to keep the ache in your chest manageable. Just enough to remember it was real.

You both knew the line you were walking was razor-thin.

But you couldn’t stop walking it.

Not when his voice still dropped to a hush when he said your name.

Not when his messages still made your chest feel too full.

Not when every time he looked at you, really looked, it felt like the world got quieter.

So when your phone buzzed that night, just as the other members were piling into their vans after a long rehearsal, you already knew who it would be before you even looked.


chan: Come to the studio? Just for a little bit.
chan: Need a break. And maybe you.

Your heart fluttered uncomfortably. You hadn’t seen him alone in days.

You’d spent the last hour ushering the younger ones into the van, double-checking the schedule for tomorrow. You’d just finished reminding Jeongin to drink water, telling Hyunjin not to stay up too late scrolling fan posts, and wishing Minho a good night to which he only gave you a raised eyebrow and a suspicious grunt before nodding.

When the last member finally left the building, you were left standing there alone with your phone in your hand and his name glowing on the screen.

You told yourself you’d only check on him for a moment. Just to make sure he wasn’t working himself into the ground again. Just to talk. Just a little bit.

You took the elevator up to the familiar floor.

The hallway was quiet, no stray staff, no late-night trainees. Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and your own footsteps against the tile.

You opened the studio door gently, already reaching for the light switch when you spotted him.

Hunched over his laptop, hoodie pulled up, one hand tapping out a slow beat on the desk, the other absently scrolling through project files.

“Of course you’re still here,” you murmured, stepping inside.

Chan looked up immediately, eyes lighting up the way they always did when he saw you.

You closed the door behind you but kept your tone dry. “I just spent half an hour convincing the kids to go home and rest, and now I have to do the same for you?”

He smirked, stretching his arms out with a dramatic sigh. “I’d leave if it meant going back to your place.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart stuttered.

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

You locked the door with a soft click, just in case, before stepping closer.

His chair creaked as he leaned back slightly, rolling it a few inches from the desk. He patted his thighs twice.

“C’mon. I haven’t seen you properly all week.”

“Chan,” you said, warning in your voice. “We’re at the company.”

“The door’s locked,” he said lightly, voice low and coaxing. “Just for a second. Please?”

He was already reaching for you, fingers brushing your wrist.

You knew it was a bad idea. You knew. But when he looked at you like that, warm and boyish and quietly aching it was hard to say no.

So you let yourself fold, just a little.

You stepped into the space between his legs, and he immediately tugged you down into his lap.

“Chan—”

“I missed you,” he murmured, cutting you off with a kiss, short and sweet. Then another. And another. “I’m stuck on this second verse and the melody keeps sounding like garbage. I figured seeing you might help.”

“Oh, so I’m your creative muse now?” you teased, even as your heart thudded.

“You always have been,” he replied, brushing your hair gently behind your ear. “You looked so pretty today, by the way.”

You scoffed, cheeks burning. “I looked like hell.”

“No,” he said simply, leaning in until his nose brushed yours. “You didn’t.”

You didn’t have time to argue.

Because he kissed you then deeper this time, more certain and your hands found the collar of his hoodie before your mind could protest. You melted into him, just for a second. Just one small, dangerous second.

And then..

Click.

The door opened.

You barely had time to pull back before the voices came through.

“Chan, you left your—oh.”

The world froze.

You turned, still perched in his lap, heart stopping in your chest.

Minho stood frozen in the doorway, holding a water bottle. Jisung was half a step behind him, eyes wide, expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.

All three of you were completely still.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

It was Minho who finally broke the silence, blinking slowly.

“…Seriously?”

Jisung looked at Chan. Then at you. Then back at Chan.

“Holy shit.”

You stood abruptly, stumbling out of Chan’s lap, heart pounding so loud it drowned everything else out. You could barely form words, lips parting, hands trembling. “I—I—”

Chan stood too, fast, stepping in front of you slightly.

“Guys—listen—”

Jisung raised his hands, eyes still bugged. “Nope. No, no, no, I’m not listening to anything. I need to— I need to go—”

“Jisung—”

“Hyung, are you kidding me?!” His voice cracked a little as he took a step back. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just—?”

“Let’s talk—” Chan said, trying to stay calm, raising his hands. “Please. Just give me a second.”

Minho hadn’t moved. He was still staring at you.

“You,” he said evenly. “You know what happens if anyone else finds out, right?”

Your breath hitched.

Chan stepped closer to them, voice low. “No one’s finding out. It’s just you two. Okay? You saw something you weren’t supposed to, but it stays between us.”

Jisung made a frustrated sound and dragged a hand through his hair. “You can’t seriously expect us to just keep our mouths shut—”

“I’m not expecting anything,” Chan said. “I’m asking.”

Minho finally looked at Chan, jaw tight. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I know.”

“And dragging her into it?”

Chan turned his head slightly, just enough to glance back at you. “I didn’t drag her into anything. We’re in this together.”

That made Minho pause.

He stared at Chan, gaze unreadable. Then at you again. Then he shook his head and turned, walking out.

Jisung hesitated a few seconds longer. “If this blows up…” he said, quieter now, “it won’t just be you who gets hurt.”

And then he followed.

The door clicked shut.

The studio fell silent again.

Chan turned to you slowly.

Your whole body was shaking.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

You stared at the door.

“I told you,” you said, voice barely audible. “I told you this was dangerous.”

“I know.”

Your throat felt tight. “I could lose everything.”

“I know.”

He stepped forward, reaching for you. “But we haven’t yet.”

You didn’t step into his arms.

Not this time.

The silence after the door closed felt like a scream.

It echoed in your chest, rattling around your ribs until it vibrated down to your fingertips. You stood there, frozen, right in the middle of the studio as if you'd forgotten how to move.

Chan stood a few steps away, still watching the door like it might open again, like maybe it hadn’t really happened. Like Minho and Jisung hadn’t just walked in and seen everything.

But it had.

They had.

And the secret you’d both tried so hard to keep just split open, raw and exposed, in a single moment.

“Say something,” Chan murmured, voice low, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard.

Your arms stayed tightly crossed over your chest, body coiled like you were trying to hold it all in the panic, the guilt, the grief.

He took a step closer, slow, gentle. “Please.”

You shook your head.

“Don’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t come near me right now.” Your voice cracked just slightly, but you held your ground.

He froze mid-step. “You’re… mad.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “I’m terrified, Chan.”

He blinked.

You took a step back.

“I’ve done everything right,” you said, voice shaking. “I worked so hard to get this job. To prove myself. To get the members to trust me. To get the company to trust me.”

“I know you did.”

“Then why the hell would you be so careless?” you snapped.

He flinched.

You didn’t raise your voice. Not really. But the words hit like glass shattering in a quiet room.

“You locked the door,” he said, more defensively than he meant to. “You checked it, you always check it.”

“And somehow they still walked in!” Your voice rose now, louder than you wanted it to. “This, us, this isn’t just risky, Chan. It’s over. If the wrong person finds out, I’m done. I’m not just losing my job, I’m blacklisted. Do you get that? I won’t just lose you, I’ll lose everything.”

He looked stunned for a moment, like he hadn’t fully grasped just how much you were carrying until now.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he whispered.

“That’s the problem. You never mean for this to happen,” you said bitterly. “You just show up. You just say ‘trust me.’ And I do. Every time. I trusted you tonight.”

“I’m sorry.”

You exhaled shakily, a hand rising to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Please,” he said, voice cracking as he reached toward you again, just gently trying to touch your arm. “Let me—”

You flinched back. “No. Don’t—please don’t touch me right now.”

That stopped him cold.

He dropped his hand, fingers curling into a fist at his side. His chest rose and fell like he was trying to steady his own breathing.

You turned away, blinking rapidly.

It didn’t help. Your eyes were already stinging.

“I’ll talk to them,” he said quietly. “Minho. Jisung. I’ll make sure it doesn’t go beyond tonight.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ll take the heat if it comes to it. You won’t get dragged into it, I promise. I’ll say it was all me—”

“You can’t promise that,” you snapped, your voice thin and tight now, broken at the edges. “You don’t control what they say. What the company does. You don’t control any of this.”

Silence again.

He took a breath like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to say I’ll fix this. But the words never came.

You rubbed your face, trying to stop the tears from falling, but it was already too late. They burned quietly down your cheeks, slow and bitter.

You didn’t sob. Didn’t make a sound.

You just cried, quietly, like you were grieving something you hadn’t even had the chance to fully hold.

Chan stepped forward again. “Please… let me at least—”

“No,” you whispered, stepping back toward the door.

His face fell.

“I just…” you swallowed the knot in your throat. “I need to be alone right now. Okay?”

His shoulders slumped.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t.

He just nodded.

“Okay,” he said, barely audible.

You hesitated by the door, hand on the knob.

You could feel him behind you, unmoving, hurting, quiet.

And you wanted so badly to turn around. To run back into his arms and pretend this could still be easy. That it could still work.

But you couldn’t afford to be selfish anymore.

So, you left.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t look back.

-

It had only been a day.

Just twenty-four hours.

But it felt like a week.

You didn’t answer his call that night. The one you usually answered on the first ring, tucked into bed, lights off, whispering soft hellos and I miss yous while the world slept around you. You didn’t even let it ring long enough for voicemail. You just stared at the screen until it stopped.

You didn’t answer his morning text either.

He kept it simple.


chan: Good morning. Hope you’re feeling a little better. I love you.

You’d read it. Several times. But didn’t respond.

At work, you avoided looking at him.

It wasn’t even dramatic or obvious. You knew better than to be sloppy. You just… didn’t look his way. When he passed by you in the hallway, you kept your eyes on your clipboard. When you walked into the studio, you greeted everyone except him, softly enough that no one would notice the omission.

And it killed you.

Because he noticed.

He noticed everything.

But he didn’t push. Not at first. He gave you space.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

It was just after lunch when it happened. You were walking down the hallway outside one of the practice rooms, balancing your tablet and your phone in one hand, trying to multitask, when his hand caught your elbow gently, stopping you in your tracks.

You blinked, startled, finally looking up at him for the first time that day.

His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even frustrated. Just… worn down. Sad.

“How long are you planning to keep giving me the silent treatment?” he asked quietly.

You looked away again. “I’m not.”

He scoffed gently. “You literally haven’t looked at me since yesterday.”

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to step away, but his hand didn’t let go.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. “Don’t shut me out.”

You sighed, finally meeting his eyes, though your gaze dropped again quickly. “I just… I don’t feel like talking.”

“Not even to me?”

That hurt.

You knew it did, because you could hear it in his voice.

He let out a slow breath. “I talked to Minho and Jisung,” he said carefully. “I figured you’d want to know.”

You blinked. Slowly.

He kept going. “I explained everything. How long we’ve been together, when it started. I didn’t give them… too many details or anything. But I told them enough that they understood it wasn’t just… some fling or something reckless.”

You looked up sharply, breath catching in your throat.

“You told them?”

“They already knew something was going on,” he said softly. “But yeah. I told them.”

Your heart skipped. Your stomach sank.

“Chan…”

“I know you probably didn’t want them to know, but… they deserve to know the truth. If they’re gonna protect us.”

“Protect us?”

He nodded. “They promised they won’t say anything. They were just shocked last night, that’s all. Jisung was just being dramatic. Minho’s already moved on, he teased me for like ten minutes straight, and then went back to scolding Seungmin about eating too fast.”

You blinked again, trying to make sense of it.

“They’re not mad?” you asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Not even a little. Minho actually said he could tell something was going on. That I started being… happier. Lighter. He just didn’t want to assume.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at the corner of your lips before you could stop it.

Chan noticed. And his shoulders relaxed just a little.

You looked down again, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I… I know I was exaggerating. I just—”

“You weren’t,” he said firmly. “You had every right to be upset. You were scared. And I should’ve been more careful.”

You looked up at him.

He offered a soft, tired smile one that told you he still felt the weight of it all, even if the crisis had passed.

“I won’t put you in that position again,” he said. “No more PDA. No more kissing in the company building. We’ll be more careful. I promise.”

You nodded slowly, grateful. “That would help.”

His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

The quiet between you shifted, no longer sharp or heavy, but calm. Healing.

“I missed you,” he said, so quietly it almost wasn’t there.

Your heart clenched.

You looked up at him, and finally, finally let yourself whisper back:

“I missed you too.”

The air between you and Chan had just started to settle into something like peace when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. At first, you thought nothing of it, lost in the quiet stillness of the moment, when suddenly —

“Ughhhhh!”

A loud, exaggerated noise echoed from just outside the lounge. You and Chan immediately stiffened at the sound, and before either of you could move or even process what was happening, Jisung’s voice rang out with a dramatic groan.

“GAG! I’m gonna be sick,” Jisung’s voice teased, coming closer with every step. “I can’t believe I’m witnessing this.”

You looked up just in time to see Jisung and Minho casually strolling past the open door. Their expressions were a mix of mischief and curiosity, but it was Jisung who couldn’t help but put on a theatrical display.

“Chan,” Jisung said with a wicked grin, looking you and Chan up and down. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Minho, always the quieter one, raised a brow but still couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Someone’s in love.”

The teasing tone was unmistakable, and you could feel your face flush instantly, even though you’d been trying to maintain some sense of control over the conversation. But Jisung was relentless.

“Look at you, Chan,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart, still in his best dramatic fashion. “Totally whipped.” Then he made a gagging noise again, scrunching his nose like he couldn’t stand it, before making a show of nearly falling to the floor. “I’m honestly so disappointed in you.”

Chan let out a frustrated but good-natured groan, raising a hand to swipe through his messy hair. “Stop it, Jisung. This is not funny.”

You couldn’t help it, a small chuckle escaped your lips, even though you were still holding onto the tension from your earlier conversation. Jisung’s energy was like a jolt of electricity that snapped you back into the present. You glanced over at Chan, who was now trying his best to play it cool, but his flushed cheeks told another story.

Minho leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and giving you an exaggerated once-over before smirking. “You’re just gonna let him get away with this?” he teased you.

You opened your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but it was Chan who stepped in before you could say anything.

“No,” Chan said, raising his hands in a playful surrender. “Okay, fine. I admit it. I’m head over heels for her. Happy now?” He threw a look at Jisung, shaking his head. “Are you done?”

“Oh my God,” Jisung groaned again, dramatically putting his hands over his ears. “Please, no more. It’s too much for me. I can’t deal with this level of sweetness.”

Minho just chuckled quietly, stepping in closer to Chan, and lightly nudged him with his shoulder. “So, does this mean we get to expect you to bring her over for dinner next time? Or would that be too much for you two lovebirds?”

At this, you couldn’t help but look away, trying to hide the way your lips curled into a small smile. The teasing was making you uncomfortable, sure, but it was also comforting. The awkwardness of the past few days felt like it was starting to ease. The members were still your friends. And even though things were complicated now, they were trying to bring some normalcy back to the situation albeit through their own form of very public teasing.

But even so, the fact that Minho and Jisung had no filter when it came to the two of you made your heart race, your thoughts swirling for a moment.

"Hey, hey!" Chan shot back, laughing now as he swiped a hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. "I don't need you guys adding more fuel to the fire. Seriously. If anyone’s getting embarrassed, it’s me."

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you act all romantic in front of us, Chan,” Minho said, giving him a playful nudge. “I’m sorry to say it, but you walked right into this one.”

You raised an eyebrow at Minho. “I’m pretty sure the only one who’s walking into anything here is you,” you said, glancing at him with a small smirk. “You and Jisung are practically eavesdropping from the hallway.”

Minho shrugged nonchalantly, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “We weren’t eavesdropping. We were just ‘passing by.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, making sure to emphasize the last part. “But now that we’ve accidentally overheard all of this... we might as well join in the fun.”

Jisung nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Totally! It’s not every day we get to see our manager and our leader act all lovey-dovey. Just don’t do this during work hours, okay? Keep the romance for when we’re all asleep.”

“Please, for the sake of my sanity,” Minho added, deadpan, but his eyes were still sparkling with humor.

You let out a soft sigh and looked back at Chan, who was now rubbing his temple as if he couldn’t believe he was being put through this. He shot you a small, apologetic look before speaking up again.

“I promise, no more PDA. No more acting like a lovestruck idiot at work,” Chan said, glancing at Minho and Jisung with a rueful smile. “Can you two stop now? Seriously. I don’t think I can take another round of this.”

Jisung gave a dramatic sigh of defeat but then grinned broadly. “Fine. Fine. I’ll let you off the hook. For now.”

Minho, however, wasn’t ready to let go of this new bit of entertainment just yet. He took a step closer to you, giving you a playful grin. “But if we catch you two sneaking around again, we’ll have to start charging you for the romance.”

“Minho!” Chan groaned, clearly embarrassed by the constant back-and-forth. “That’s enough, alright?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, despite yourself.

“Alright, alright,” Minho said with a final chuckle, clearly satisfied with the reaction. “We’ll lay off. But just know that this will be on the record for future reference.”

Jisung piped in, grinning ear to ear. “I think you’ve officially ruined Chan’s reputation as ‘the cold leader.’”

Chan could only groan in response.

And even though things were far from normal, even though there were still rules in place that felt like invisible chains binding you both, there was something about this moment, the shared laughter, the teasing that helped take the edge off.

For the first time in days, it felt like you could breathe again.

“Well, I’m glad you two are done,” you said, giving Chan a small, reassuring smile. “But just so you know, I’m still holding you to that promise.”

He smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “I swear. No more PDA. I’ve learned my lesson.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit self-conscious, but also a little lighter. “Good. Let’s keep it that way, alright?”

“Deal,” Chan agreed.

And even though the situation was still complicated and there was a long road ahead before you could truly move past the tension and the fear of being found out, at least here, in this little moment of teasing and laughter, you knew things weren’t falling apart. Not yet.

And maybe that was enough for now.

Nine months.

That’s how long it had been.

Nine months of tightrope walking, late-night video calls, quiet check-ins, subtle glances across busy rooms, and the rare moment of stolen closeness when nobody was looking. You and Chan had become experts in silence in navigating your relationship in the negative space, in all the words unsaid and all the touches withheld.

You were proud of how careful you’d been.

No one knew. At least, no one important. The company was still in the dark. The rest of the members, save for Minho and Jisung hadn’t said a word, which meant if they had noticed anything, they were gracious enough to pretend otherwise. But truthfully, you didn’t think they had. You’d mastered the art of distance. You’d trained your expression to stay neutral even when your heart leapt every time Chan smiled at you from across the room.

Like now.

The shoot had started early, the crew setting up lights and equipment while the members rotated through solo scenes. Chan had been glued to his laptop for the last two hours, reviewing files with some of the members, occasionally mumbling notes to himself and typing in a frenzy. He looked good, though. Unfairly good. Hair styled to perfection, skin practically glowing under the set lights, wearing black ripped jeans and a thin white shirt under a jacket he’d already stripped off due to the heat in the room.

You tried not to look too often.

Instead, you stood at the far side of the set, sipping from your water bottle and scanning the call sheet. Your job was to make sure the day moved smoothly. You weren’t here to get distracted. Not by him. Not today.

A group of staff stood near you, casually chatting as they waited for the next camera setup. You weren’t paying attention until someone said your name.

“Hey,” one of the stylists said brightly, nudging you gently on the arm. “Can I ask you something?”

You turned with a polite smile, eyebrows raised. “Sure?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked, almost too casually. “Like, do you have a boyfriend or a partner or…?”

You choked.

Literally choked.

Water hit the back of your throat wrong and you had to cough hard to recover, eyes going wide in panic as you tried to wave off the reaction and clear your throat at the same time.

The stylist laughed. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You smiled, tight and polite, trying to calm the pounding in your chest. Your brain screamed: don’t look at Chan, don’t look at Chan, don’t—

But you could feel his eyes on you.

Not just his.

Minho. Jisung.

They were sitting on the floor nearby, sharing a phone between them and clearly listening. Minho’s eyebrows lifted, amused. Jisung stifled a laugh, burying his face into his sleeve to hide it.

You forced a small laugh and shook your head quickly, too quickly. “No, I’m not seeing anyone,” you said, voice neutral, careful.

And then, as if that weren’t bad enough, the stylist lit up. “Really? That’s perfect then.”

Your heart dropped.

She leaned in just a little, her voice excited and conspiratorial. “Because I have this friend — he’s in the industry too, works behind the scenes like you. Super sweet. Gentleman. Hardworking. Quiet. You two would totally hit it off.”

“Oh,” you said, immediately waving your hand, panic bubbling beneath your skin. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m really not looking for anything right now—”

“Oh, come on,” one of the other staff said, grinning. “It’s not like you have to marry the guy. Just one date! You deserve to have fun.”

“Right!” the stylist added. “Plus, if you start seeing someone, you could bring him to the company dinners. It’d be so cute! We never get to see you with someone.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You weren’t even fully aware of your surroundings anymore. Not until you heard the quiet snort from Jisung’s direction, a sound barely masked by a cough and Minho’s low, whispered “Damn, Chan’s gonna implode.”

You didn’t dare look at Chan. But you knew exactly what his face looked like. His expression would be a careful mask, perfectly composed, but his eyes would give him away. They always did. That unreadable stillness he wore when he was holding himself back. Jaw tight. Hands flexing.

You swallowed hard.

“I really appreciate it,” you said, finally mustering your voice. “But I’m just… not in the right headspace for dating right now. Work’s been a lot.”

There. That was safe. That was believable.

The staff shrugged, brushing it off easily enough. “Fair enough. Let me know if you change your mind.”

You smiled through it. Somehow. And they returned to their conversation, none the wiser.

But the damage had already been done.

You made the mistake of glancing toward Chan just once. Just for a second.

His gaze was on you like a storm not angry, not outwardly upset, just watching. Like he wanted so badly to say something but knew he couldn’t. Like he hated every second of being invisible in this part of your life. Like he was wondering how many more times he’d have to sit there, silent, while someone else tried to offer his place to someone else.

You broke eye contact first.

The rest of the shoot passed in a blur. You did your job like always, but your thoughts were scrambled, heart still beating unevenly, stomach twisted in guilt. You hadn’t done anything wrong, not technically. You couldn’t exactly say “Actually, I have a boyfriend and he’s sitting fifteen feet away from us and he’s also your boss.”

But it still felt like you’d betrayed something.

The silence between you and Chan stretched painfully through the rest of the day. No more glances. No texts. Not even a nod in your direction. He wasn’t mad, you knew that, but he was hurt. That made it worse.

By the time the shoot wrapped, you were exhausted. Emotionally and physically.

As the members filtered out, Minho walked past you with a smirk and no remorse whatsoever. “Tell your nonexistent-boyfriend to walk faster next time. He looked like he was trying not to explode.”

You gave him a weak glare. “Don’t start.”

Jisung passed next, dramatically fanning himself. “Phew. Can’t believe I survived that level of secondhand tension.”

“You’re both fired,” you muttered.

“Can’t fire people who don’t technically work under you,” Jisung sang, winking, before disappearing around the corner.

You sighed.

You stayed behind longer than usual. You needed a minute to breathe, to shake off the humiliation of being offered to someone else like you were available. Like you were alone.

It was late now.

The shoot had wrapped over an hour ago. The crew had packed up and headed out. The members, tired and starving had piled into the van, barely awake, with their stylists and secondary managers corralling them like sleepy kids after a field trip.

You had stayed behind.

So had Chan.

You told yourself it was coincidental. You were just helping collect the leftover clipboards, charging cords, call sheets, discarded water bottles. He was organizing a few things with the director. Nothing unusual.

Except it was.

Because you hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him all day. And now, you were alone in the space that had felt claustrophobic all day, picking up trash to buy yourself more time.

You didn’t look at him as you walked toward the table he was hunched over, packing his laptop. You could hear the faint squeak of his chair, the shuffle of his hoodie sleeves brushing the edge of the table. The silence stretched thin between you.

And then, his voice broke it.

Quiet. Measured. But laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

“So…” he said without looking at you. “You don’t have a boyfriend?”

Your body stilled.

Your hands froze mid-reach toward a clipboard, and when you turned to look at him, he was already looking at you.

There was no teasing smile this time. No playful glint in his eyes. Just stillness, the kind that came from holding too many emotions at once and trying not to let any of them spill out.

Your heart thudded.

You swallowed. “Chan—”

“It’s a fair question,” he said, eyes still locked on yours. “You said no. When they asked. Without hesitation.”

Your throat felt dry. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, a little sharper than you meant to. “You know why I said no. You know what would’ve happened if I said yes in front of them.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You could’ve said you were seeing someone. You didn’t have to say you weren’t.”

“I panicked!” you said, louder now, the empty room making your voice echo slightly. “I was cornered, Chan. What was I supposed to say? ‘Yeah, I’m dating someone, but he’s sitting right over there pretending not to be in love with me because if anyone finds out I could lose my job’?”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

The silence settled again, heavier this time. But not cold. Just… pained.

You sank down into one of the chairs across from him, exhausted. “I hate this.”

His voice was quieter when he responded. “I know.”

“It’s just… you have no idea what it feels like. To have people talk about me like I’m free. Like I’m up for grabs. Like I’m alone. And I can’t even say you’re mine. I can’t say anything.”

Chan leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table, hands folded loosely. “Do you think it doesn’t kill me too? Sitting there and watching them try to set you up with someone?”

You looked down at the table, ashamed. “I wasn’t going to let them set me up.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just… It was hard to watch.”

You looked up at him slowly. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” he said. Then paused. “Not on purpose.”

You looked at each other for a moment too long. And you knew he didn’t mean to say it like that, not to guilt you. But it stung anyway.

Your fingers nervously tapped the edge of the table. “I should’ve said something more neutral. That I wasn’t dating but wasn’t interested. I just… froze. I didn’t know what to say without raising suspicion.”

“I get it,” he said again, softer this time. “I promise. I just hated how it felt. Watching you deny me. Watching you have to.”

You nodded slowly.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he said. “It’s been eating me alive.”

“I know,” you murmured.

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he added. “But I was… scared.”

That made your heart pause.

“Scared of what?” you whispered.

“That this is too hard for you. That maybe you’ll get tired of all the hiding. And one day, someone will offer you an easier love, and you’ll say yes.”

Your breath hitched.

You stood then slow, purposeful and walked around the table until you were standing in front of him. He looked up at you, vulnerable in a way that twisted your chest.

You reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his gently.

“I don’t want an easier love,” you said quietly. “I want this one. Even when it’s hard.”

Chan’s eyes softened. He pulled your hand to his chest, right over his heart.

You could feel it. Beating fast.

“I’m sorry I acted weird all day,” you told him. “I was scared to face you. I thought maybe you were done.”

“I’m never done with you,” he said immediately.

He stood slowly, closing the distance between you, and you let yourself rest your forehead against his chest.

“I’ll try to be braver next time,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, wrapping his arms around you gently. “You’re already so brave. Braver than me, sometimes.”

You stayed like that, wrapped up in silence, in the quiet ache of what you couldn’t have not fully, not publicly, but also in the warmth of what you did have.

Each other.

Even if the rest of the world couldn’t know yet.

Chan kissed the top of your head, and you clung to him a little tighter.

“I do have a boyfriend,” you mumbled.

He smiled against your hair.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s annoying. Bossy. Overworks himself too much.”

Chan laughed softly.

“But he’s mine,” you added. “Even if I can’t always say it out loud.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you. His voice was low, filled with something warm and aching.

“I’m yours,” he said. “No matter how quiet I have to be about it.”

-

You’d been careful. More than careful. For months, you and Chan moved like shadows never too close, never too obvious, always watching yourselves through someone else’s eyes.

You told yourselves it was working.

And maybe it was.

But even secrets that are well-kept start to rot under too much pressure.

It began with a scheduling change.

One that should’ve meant nothing. Just a last-minute reshuffle of who was in charge of what, and when. You’d been pulled off the next overseas trip with the boys. Something you were normally in charge of. No explanation. Just a polite, tight-lipped reassignment.

You tried not to overthink it.

But the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen for days.

Then came the little things. Things you didn’t notice until they became patterns.

A new coordinator started being added to meetings you used to run alone. A supervisor shadowed you through three entire rehearsals under the excuse of “cross-departmental training.” Someone from HR casually dropped by with an iced coffee and an odd number of questions about your general “satisfaction” with your job.

And still, you told yourself it was nothing. Paranoia. Nerves.

But then—

“They’re watching you.”

The words came from Minho.

You were standing by the catering table after a long day of filming, pouring a cup of coffee you didn’t even want, just for the excuse to get a moment alone.

Minho appeared beside you like a shadow, grabbing a snack with no expression.

“They?” you asked quietly, your heart already sinking.

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded slightly in the direction of the hallway.

“Manager-nim from 2nd Floor has been walking by every time you and Chan are in the same room. You haven’t noticed?”

You shook your head, throat tightening.

“I thought she was just—”

“No,” Minho said, turning slightly to face you now. “She’s checking. Someone’s put eyes on you.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly nauseous. “Do you think they know?”

“I think someone suspects,” he said plainly. “And they’re waiting for you two to mess up.”

The cup in your hands trembled slightly. You set it down before anyone noticed.

“I’ll talk to him,” you said quietly.

Minho nodded once. His tone softened. “Be careful, Y/N.”

You nodded back. “I always am.”

But were you?

Minho’s words echoed in your mind everywhere you went.

“They’re watching you.”

But you never told Chan.
Because if you did, you knew exactly what he’d do.
He’d act.
And maybe you didn’t want that.

Maybe you just needed time to think, to process, to figure out what the hell you were going to do with this situation that felt like it was folding in on itself. You didn’t want to see him angry. You didn’t want to see him hurt. And most of all, you didn’t want to see the look on his face if he realized this thing you both had worked so hard to protect might not be survivable.

So, instead of telling him, you just texted:

“Can you come over? I need to talk.”

You didn't expect him to answer so quickly.

Usually, it took back-and-forth negotiation. His schedule, the risk, the thousand variables he had to juggle just to get an hour with you outside of work. But not tonight.

He replied within seconds.

“Be there in 20.”

He was earlier than that.

And you knew why.

Because you never invited him. Not first.
Not like this.

When he showed up at your door, he had that crooked, careful smile the one he always wore when he was doing something he knew he shouldn’t. A mischievous little glint in his eyes like a teenager sneaking into his girlfriend’s room past curfew.

“I was careful,” he said softly when you opened the door. “No one saw me.”

You nodded quietly, eyes not quite meeting his. You stepped aside to let him in, heart already threatening to beat out of your chest.

He didn’t walk far. Just a few steps in before turning to you again, brows furrowed with concern.

“Okay,” he said gently, searching your face. “What’s going on?”

You tried to brush past him toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

His hand reached out, firm but not rough, catching your wrist before you could move away.

“I don’t want anything,” he said, voice harder now. “I want to know what’s going on with you. You’ve been… weird. Distant.”

You didn’t answer. Your heart was in your throat.

He waited. Still holding your wrist. Still watching you.

“Talk to me,” he said, a little softer. “Please.”

And that was the moment.

The one where the dam broke.

Your lip trembled before the words could even make it out of your mouth.

“I think…” you said, barely above a whisper. “I think we should break up.”

//

masterlist.

a/n: sorry for the cliffhanger.. it’s finished and will be posted! tumblr is just stupid rn and won’t let me post the entire thing. i wanted it to be one long fic 🙄.

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[vaginalvr]

Spencer Reid x Hotcher’s daughter

Sneaking around trying to not get caught, but get caught and hotchner just asks for them to use protection or something similar

cw: Consensual smut, secret relationship, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex (m/f), light teasing/praise, mild risk of getting caught, awkward “dad walks in” ending, Reader is an adult and Hotch only appears at the end

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You were in your dad’s house. You were in your dad’s guest room, to be specific. And the man currently pressed between your thighs, kissing a trail from your navel to your hip bone, just happened to be one of his most trusted agents.

“Spence,” you whispered, trying to sound like you were warning him off. It came out more like a moan.

“I locked the door,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the lace of your panties. “And we’ve got at least twenty minutes before he gets back from his run.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he kissed lower, nudging the damp fabric aside.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this here…”

“I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to do this here.”

His tongue slid between your folds, and all further protest dissolved instantly.

Your head fell back against the pillows, soft gasps filling the quiet guest room as Spencer ate you out like a man obsessed. His mouth moved with slow, deliberate care, as though he were memorizing every twitch of your body, every breathless little sound that left your throat.

“Spencer—God—you’re so good at that…”

He hummed in satisfaction, sending vibrations through your core. Two fingers slipped inside you, curling gently as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Your thighs trembled around his head.

“I’m gonna come,” you warned, eyes squeezed shut.

“Then be quiet about it,” he murmured, grinning wickedly against your skin. “Don’t want Daddy finding out what his little girl’s doing, do we?”

You did come—hard—and you had to bite your own wrist to keep from screaming.

Spencer kissed his way back up your body, fingers still inside you as you came down. His lips were soft and slick when he kissed you again.

“You’re a menace,” you whispered, breathless.

He laughed into your neck. “You love it.”

You did.

You flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with a grin.

“Your turn,” you said, reaching for the waistband of his pants.

Spencer let out a shaky breath as you pulled him free, his cock already heavy and flushed.

You reached over to the drawer where you knew you’d hidden a condom earlier, but his hand caught yours.

“I got it.” He pulled a foil packet from his wallet and tore it open. “I come prepared. I’ve been fantasizing about this all weekend.”

Once he was covered, you lined him up and sank down onto him, both of you groaning at the slow stretch.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathed, gripping your hips.

You started to move, rolling your hips in a lazy rhythm that had both of you panting in no time. Spencer’s eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and wide and filled with something you didn’t dare name aloud. His hands slid under your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples through the lace of your bra.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned.

“Death by pussy. There are worse ways to go.”

He let out a strangled laugh, then thrust up harder, nearly knocking the wind from your lungs.

“God, you’re so—fuck—tight, baby—”

Your lips found his again as you moved together, the bed creaking faintly under your rhythm.

You were both right on the edge when the unmistakable sound of the front door opening echoed down the hall.

You froze.

Spencer’s eyes widened in horror. “No. No, no, no—he wasn’t supposed to be back yet—”

“Get dressed!” you hissed, jumping off of him and scrambling to find your underwear.

You had just yanked your shirt back over your head when someone knocked on the door—followed by a very familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

You looked at Spencer, who was now standing awkwardly beside the bed, shirt untucked, hair a mess, his belt hanging halfway from one loop.

There was no time. You reached for the doorknob with a sigh and opened it just enough to reveal your dad standing there, brow furrowed, sweat still clinging to his temples from his run.

His eyes scanned over your face, then shifted slightly to look past your shoulder.

And there was Spencer. Standing like a deer in headlights, very clearly disheveled, and very clearly not just dropping by to say hello.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, Hotch exhaled through his nose, slowly and deliberately. Then:

“…Please just tell me you used protection.”

You blinked.

Spencer blinked.

“…Yes, sir,” he said stiffly, pulling himself to stand straighter like he was at roll call.

Hotch stared at him for a long moment. Then his eyes flicked back to you.

“You’re both adults. I’m not thrilled, but I’m not an idiot. If this is serious—”

“It is,” you both said at the same time.

Hotch shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay. That’s enough. I’m going to go take a shower. When I come back down, I’d appreciate it if you were both fully dressed and not having sex in my house.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer said again, voice an octave higher than usual.

Hotch turned and walked away without another word.

You slowly closed the door, pressing your back to it, your cheeks burning.

Spencer exhaled beside you.

“…I think that went better than expected.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “He asked us if we used protection while you were still inside me.”

Spencer winced. “Yeah. But he didn’t shoot me. That’s something.”

[tbaluver]

Can you do the boys with a mentally unwell reader? Like she has depression, ocd, or anxiety that she takes medication for?

S/O Who Faces Mental Illness- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader tags: ( for all ) mentioning of depression/ depressive episodes, ocd rituals, anxiety/ social anxiety a/n: hi anonnie ! ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ sorry this took awhile, this was sitting in my drafts and i would keep coming back to it. i just wanted to make sure this topic is handled with care. i know that everyone has different types of depression, anxiety, and ocd so i wrote the ones that i'm familar with and gone through. i hope this was okay lmk ! ̤̮

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Xavier:

Xavier has always been such an attentive lover to you and he’s grown increasingly worried as he observed your unhealthy habits. He notices how you spend more time in bed than usual, longer than he would stay in bed. How you seem disinterested in eating, even if it were foods you typically enjoyed. Noticing how these impacts have affected you, he has made the effort to educate himself better on what you’re going through to understand and support you better.

If you were taking any medications, he'll read the entire packet that came with it or look up as much information he can online. He'll try to remember all the side effects that comes with it and makes sure to check up on you whenever you take them.

He notices when your energy plummets so it’s his duty to take care of you. He tries to make everything easy for you. He’ll make sure to tuck both of you in bed, turning off the lights when you both get ready, making sure to have food delivered when you wake up. Xavier encourages you to take a walk outside with him, helping you get some fresh air and encouraging you to step out of bed. He’ll hold your hand the entire time.

Distractions were one of the ways he could get your mind off any anxious thoughts or from any of your OCD rituals. He'll have a list of your favorite things to do and see if it helps. He'll stay with you in bed all day if that's what you need and wouldn't let you isolate yourself. Will also build a fort to cuddle you up in and have you tucked in his arms.

Anytime you two were out and you started to feel drained, then he'll take you back home. You two can stay in and cuddle.

He never pushes you beyond your comfort levels. If there was any situation where you started to feel uncomfortable, then he'll lead the situation and you somewhere else that sets you more at ease.

Zayne:

Zayne is no stranger to the topics of mental illness. He’s gone through extensive studies and many clinical experiences with patients. But with you, it's different. Your struggles aren’t just a clinical case to him, they’re personal. He’s acutely attuned to subtle changes of your mood and actions. He notices the quiet shifts in your expressions, or the way your eyes dull and lose their sparkle. Even though it’s hard to read through his expressions, it truly does hurt him to see you suffer. Your internal pain that you battle inside hurts him more than words can convey.

If you were to go through a depressive episode and you feel like you can’t do everything you need, then Zayne has no problem doing the extra housework or helping you with your physical health. He would reassure you to not feel guilty even though he’s busy with his work or any paperwork's. You have done so much as a loving partner to him and he will always return the favor for you.

He’ll help you shower and dress you up. He'll make sure to brush your hair gently and that you brush your teeth. He’ll even make sure you eat enough and he’ll praise you for taking every bites.

He’s always there for you. Even if he was in the middle of work, he would remind you to never hesitate to reach out whenever you feel isolated or just needed to vent, anything. Spam him, leave voice messages- he’ll read every word and listen to each message and reply with care. No matter how busy he might be, he’ll find a way to call you as soon as he can. He wants to make sure you’re okay and to remind you that you’re never alone, even when he’s away. Your well-being matters so deeply to him that he’s committed to be there for you in every possible way.

He'll keep note of all the side effects you've experienced with your medications, so he's aware of the potential issues that might arise when you take them. Will send you texts reminding you to take your meds at the right time and to make sure you eat before you take them so you don’t get nauseous.

He’s a very attentive and caring partner, he pays close attention to the triggers of your OCD and observes the coping mechanisms you have. He notices your struggle with hand washing compulsions and understands how these rituals can take a toll on you. He’ll try to help you by pointing out that excessive hand washing can actually be harmful, as it washes away the beneficial ones that your body needs.

He'll be very reassuring when you feel the need to constantly check up on things. He won't judge you for it but instead he'll offer to check on it himself and reassure you that everything is okay.

It wouldn’t be new to him to avoid places that were crowded or super noisy. He would know where all the less crowded and quiet places are. At this point, he already had taken the time to understand your triggers and sources of anxiety. He just wanted to be well-informed so he can help you avoid these situations and provide the support and care you need.

If you were to experience an anxiety attack, he remains calm and patient and helps you try to breathe. Whenever you need to vent, he’s always there for you. He’ll let you curl up on his lap while you talk, gently stroking your hair. Although he’s quiet while you talk, you know he listens to every detail and he doesn’t want to interrupt you. After you finish sharing, he’ll offer advice or discuss the situation to help you work through it together.

Rafayel:

He knows that you were going through significant struggles because it often kept you doing certain things with him. There are times when the weight of your depression and anxiety feels so heavy that it drains your motivation, making your favorite hobbies or simply just doing anything seem out of reach. Sometimes the intensity of your OCD leads you to stay up, unable to rest because you repeatedly check things like the light switches, doors, windows, and everything else in the house.

OCD is a topic that Rafayel wouldn’t tease or be playful on with you. He notices the small things when you repeat patterns or prefer certain number sets. He’s very patient and understanding about this topic but anytime you feel as if your ocd ritual was messed up, he is quick to run to your side and reassure you that everything will be okay.

Rafayel has been in a dark place himself so he knows the signs when you’re struggling. Whether you’ve been through this over and over again, he’ll help you through this every single time. If you don't have the energy to take a shower or a bath, then he’ll simply carry you and wash you himself. He’ll join you and use your favorite bath bomb scents and make it a little fun by blowing bubbles at you. A smile would curl up on his lips when he sees you smiling again.

He wouldn’t force you to talk. He’ll do most of the talking and hopefully it takes your mind off anything you were anxious about. When you are ready to talk, he’ll praise you. It’s a big step forward in healing and he would be listening attentively to everything you say.

Rafayel would text you throughout the day and ask how you were feeling. He's always there at your beck and call. If you need anything, he already has it and he's on his way to you.

If you were out in public and you started to feel uneasy, he would lead you somewhere else. Rafayel would always be holding your hand for security and to make sure you were always right by his side. He doesn't mind wherever you both go, as long as he's with you. He makes sure that you two can go to places that aren't crowded or noisy but still enjoyable and fun for the both of you.

He’s very worried whenever you take medications. He knows that they can have some mean and nasty side effects and that’s the last thing he would want you to go through. He’ll always make sure to check up on you a couple hours later to see how you’re holding up.

Sylus:

It does not take him long to notice you were acting off. Nothing can get past this man and he doesn’t want you to feel like you have anything to hide from him. No matter what the issue is, he isn’t leaving your side and you’ll both work on the issue together. He doesn’t want you to go through anything alone.

When you feel empty and you simply want to sink into your bed and lay there motionless because everything in the world was just too much, Sylus will not hesitate to take action. He’ll make sure you're eating nutritious meals by calling his private chefs or he’ll make them himself. He’ll sit right beside you and watch you take enough bites or he’ll spoon feed it to you himself. Sylus would make sure to tell you that you were doing so well even if the bites were big or small. After you are done eating, he’ll make sure that you take all your meds and check up on you if any of the side effects arise.

He’ll be right by your side at any doctor's appointments. He’ll carry you to the bathroom himself or he’ll use his evol to help wash, dry, and dress you up. Sylus would encourage you as well to go on walks with him so your body is still moving and so you can get some fresh air. He does all of this because he loves you and he doesn’t want you to lose any of the progress you made. He knows your capabilities and he knows you will get through this. He’ll be right by your side the entire time.

When he notices that your OCD rituals are becoming overwhelming, he doesn't hesitate to step in to help. He finds engaging activities for the both of you to do so it steers your focus away from the obsessive thoughts. Understanding how OCD can distort your perceptions, he uses distractions as a way to gently pull you out of that obsessive cycle.

Sylus would let you know that he’s accessible. Whenever you need him, feel free to call him any time and he’ll drop anything and come by to help you.

Don't even bother brushing off any of your issues. Anything that bothers you, he's always there to listen and help you. He’s a great listener and he never judges you for any problems you had and the reason behind your behavior. His shoulder is for you to lean on, cry on, laugh on, and hold on, etc. He’s understanding and wants you to be happy again.

When he’s away, he will have food delivered to you. He’ll make sure you eat and that you take your meds right after by calling or texting to remind you. Or he’ll just send Mephisto to you. He’ll caw/squawk repeatedly until you finish your meals.

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 27

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

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Christmas flies past you in such a hurry that you feel like you hardly get to hold onto the joy of it at all - and it is joyful, as bright and as happy as the first one you can remember.

There's the morning in your apartment, sipping coffee and scrolling mindlessly on an internet where, for once, you don't see a single word that twists inside your gut when you read it. Then there's the preparation at work, and the livestream, full of lighthearted games and gift exchanges and you laughing at Felix as he drops the packets of chicken in his box all over the ground, disbelief still painted across his face. And then there's dinner, all together as a family, and the more personal gifts that you didn't give on camera, and the lively talk that carries all of you into the evening without anyone noticing.

You've had good days and bad days in Korea. You're relieved to get to the end of the day and realise that this is one of the better ones.

Your gifts are small and few, but meaningful, different groups of boys pooling together to give you something they truly thought you could use. Headphones, an expensive dress you'd eyed once on a shopping trip, hats to hide under in the airport. Small things you needed but hadn't gotten around to buying, things you'd been doing without until you had the money to invest in them. Your gifts to them had been much smaller, just like your budget; your biggest gift was their dinner and the evening you'd spent cooking it alone. The favourite thing you received was their faces after they'd eaten.

Still, it flies by too fast. You blink, and the day is over, and suddenly you're sitting in the corner of their couch paying minimal attention to the movie playing on the TV and waiting for the clock to finish ticking its way down to midnight. In the other corner, Jisung sits enraptured by the plot, soaking in every moment of the dramatic romance, the Christmas disaster and the miracle you already know is coming right at the end. Even with most of your attention on the conversation happening at the table behind you, you can tell what's about to happen; but you're not here to ruin his night. You're just...soaking it in. Enjoying it.

You're happy.

"What are you watching?" a voice asks behind you, hands leaning heavy on the back of the couch despite the flapping and shushing of Han's hands. 

You turn to answer Chan in his stead, finding him leaning there comfortably while he eyes the scene playing out on the TV. "Rom coms," you tell him in a voice that is only just hushed to an acceptable level. "They're supposed to fall in love at some point."

"They are in love," Jisung argues, his eyes leaving the screen only to glare at you. You wonder if he's aware his cheeks puff out with indignation when he does that, completely ruining the effect. "They're just too dumb to realise."

"They're going to get together at the Christmas Ball," you tell Chan, and ignore the way Jisung grumbles about spoilers as he turns back to the movie. "It's so cheesy."

"You didn't want to watch Love Island," Jisung cuts in before Chan can reply.

"I said we should watch Home Alone."

"I told you, I wanted some drama."

"Home Alone is drama."

"Go away then, if you don't want to watch," he huffs in mock exasperation, the laugh that huffs from the back of his throat when you stick out your tongue at him betraying him. 

When he turns back to the screen, Chan's hand taps at your shoulder. "The others are walking home now," he says, leaning down as if to mutter conspiracies between you. "Do you want to come with us?"

"With us?" you repeat, though you're already lifting yourself off the couch, stretching out tight muscles as you stand. "Where are you walking to? You're already home?"

"I'm just walking," he answers. "It's a nice night."

You glance at the heavily curtained window. "It's snowing."

"And?" he says. "Snow's nice. We never see snow."

"You should try winter in Melbourne," you snort, amused by the light dancing in his eyes. "So cold it might as well be snowing. Worse than snow, actually."

"You'll be fine walking in the snow then."

A yawn interrupts your put-upon sigh, and all of the effect it would have had. "I just have to grab a coat on the way down," you acquiesce, watching the other boys pulling their coats on by the door.

"Just borrow one of mine." Without waiting for an answer, Chan turns on his heel and disappears into the hallway. You trai after him slowly, meeting him on the way back out his bedroom door, coat in hand. "Try this," he says, and thrusts in at you.

You don't know where your apprehension comes from. Maybe the intimacy of borrowing clothes from someone - maybe just from coming face-to-face with the abject kindness that drives him to offer it to you without a moment's hesitation. It clogs up in your throat anyway, whatever it is, threatening to turn your face red. 

You have to force yourself to take the jacket, pulling it on with robotic movements. It hangs loose on your frame, the shoulders drooping sadly down your arms, but it is soft and warm and long enough to cover your hands, disguising your lack of gloves.

"This too," Chan says, and pulls a beanie straight down over your head, covering your eyes. You squawk at the sudden blinding, fighting your sleeves. By the time you have it straight on your head, your hair flat again beneath it, he is dressed too - and still laughing at you, his smile too wide to be innocent. You slap his arm hard enough to bruise. He doesn't even do you the mercy of rubbing it.

"Cute,' he says as you walk back down the hall.

Only the chance of public ridicule stops you from hitting him again. "I nearly fell over."

"Never," he insists. "You would have been fine anyway. The jacket goes all the way up to your ears."

"Give me one of Han's next time," you grumble, even as you pull the coat closer around you.

Chan's smile is beatific. "You think Hannie ever does laundry?"

"Disgusting," you say, with a face to match, and then you walk right into the group gathering by the door before he can expand on that thought anymore.

"What's disgusting?" Seungmin asks.

You wave him away. "Han Jisung," you answer. "It's a long story."

He accepts it at face value, nodding it away. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead, head inclined towards your clothes. 

"Walking you home, apparently." You pause, glancing at Chan. "I was bullied."

"Are you saying goodbye to the others, or are you coming back?" Chan asks sweetly, ignoring every word you said. 

"I'm coming back," you sigh. "I have to see the end of the movie."

"But not the middle?" Seungmin snorts.

"It's a bad movie," Chan advises, and then follows him out the door. You walk with them, cramming into the elevator once the rest of them are in. It's snug, with six of you, and too warm for the thick coats you're dressed in - but just as you start to sweat, you step outside into the frigid night and forget all about the elevator and its false summer, instead hudding down into your collar for warmth.

"Do you miss home yet?" Felix asks behind you, watching you grabbing at the warmth still left in your body.

You slow a little to let him catch up, eyes on the backs of the boys walking in front of you. "Just the summers," you answer wryly. "Winter sucks."

Felix laughs, pushing his beanie further down with one hand. "I like it," he admits. "Snow on Christmas? Come on."

"What's the point when it's too cold to go out anyway?" you throw back. "At least in the summer you can go out for Christmas. Go swimming or something."

Felix's mouth twists thoughtfully, his eyes getting that faraway look that says he's thinking of some other place than the wide street you're walking down. "Now I want to go to the beach," he sighs. "Mum said it was so hot in Sydney today, it would have been perfect."

"It rained for a little while in Melbourne," you say, and he laughs. "I think it was nice though. My grandparents flew over for the first time this year."

Felix glances at you in surprise. "You have family in Korea?"

"They live in Busan," you explain. "I don't really know them very well. They came for the In Life concert, didn't you see them?"

"No?" He puts on a show of helplessness, his hands spreading wide. "You didn't come and introduce them?"

"No?" you answer. "They took me out to dinner, and then we had filming or something on the day after, so they went home."

Felix blows out a sigh, shaking his head again. "You could have invited us to dinner. I want to meet your family."

You wave him away. "It's not a big deal," you insist. "Seriously, I hardly talk to them. I saw them for like, the third time ever last Christmas, and they told me to go back to Australia and get a medical degree instead of trying to be an idol."

"I hope Christmas with us was better than that."

"Nearly as good as going home," you say, and grin wildly at the offended look on his face, his mouth curving into a perfect 'O'. "My mum taught me how to cook lamb over the phone in the middle of her day, you know. What did you do for me today?"

"I didn't try to help you with the lamb," Felix throws back, quick as a whip. "And I told you how nice it was, so many times."

"True," you admit, and listened to the sound of his laugh rising in the still air. Your eyes turn upwards, to the shadow of his building towering over you. "Are you saying this was better than going home to Sydney then?"

Felix's mouth twists. "No," he says, very slowly, as you join the others at their door. You try to bite back your smug grin, a thousand retorts springing to mind that you've run out of time to say. Not that Felix looks like he's won anyway, his face wry as he turns to the others' conversation rather than trying to continue this one.

"Lixie," Seungmin says as you complete their circle, saving him from crushing defeat. "Minho wants to go to Jeju in summer."

"Do we have holiday time in summer?" Felix asks.

"We'll just run away," Minho answers, and offers nothing more than a stone-cold poker face to indicate if he is joking or not.

"Or," Seungmin tacks onto the end. "If we're being serious, we'll just ask to film something."

The look Minho gives him would be withering, if you didn't know that it was only an empty threat. "I'm being serious," he insists, and only cracks a smile when Seungmin rolls his eyes and Chan places a hand on his shoulder, barely holding in a laugh.

"I would love to go to Jeju," Felix says wistfully, and then turns to you. "What about Y/N?"

"She doesn't get a choice," Seungmin says. "Forced vacation."

"Why am I being forced?" you ask. "I can choose to go on vacation."

"Vacation to the company doesn't count," I.N puts in, and enough of them snigger that you don't bother arguing with them. 

"Fine, okay," you sigh, ducking your head and waving a hand. "Merry Christmas, goodnight now. Nice to see you."

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Seungmin says smugly, his hand ruffling your beanie before heading inside. The others follow; Minho with a smile, I.N a small comment where they can't hear. Felix hugs you, and then throws his arm around Chan's shoulders for a moment and gets dragged into hugging him too before he can disappear, I.N closing the door behind him with one last wave.

Suddenly, the street seems very wide and quiet, the night stretching out around you with nothing to break it apart.

"Can I walk you home?" a voice asks by your side, and you turn to see Chan standing beside you still, one hand outstretched in offering.

"Weren't you always walking me home?" you answer; though you take his hand anyway, savouring the close of his fingers around yours even through the sleeve of your jacket. 

"I wouldn't want to assume anything," he says, and bites back a grin. Your hand thumps his shoulder, just hard enough to make a sound. "Don't hit me, it's Christmas. I'm being polite."

"Mhm." You nod, your hand falling back by your side. He squeezes the fingers of your other hand, only enough to make you aware of his grip. "You're always polite, of course. Never making fun of me."

"Never," he agrees readily. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his mouth turning upwards. "What other girls?" he questions, as innocent as anything. In the half-light between street lamps, you think you can see his ears turning red, and you struggle to hold back a laugh.

"What about all the ones you're going to see tomorrow?" you say; and maybe the others were right, when your thoughts turn immediately from Christmas back to work, to the looming performance and the fans that oversee it.

"Oh, them?" Chan looks off high into the distance, as if mulling over the thought. "I can be mean to them. It's totally different. You can be mean to them too, if you want."

"They only just started being nice to me like, this morning," you tell him. "Now isn't the time to start playing games."

"Really?" His eyes light up, the playfulness of his smile vanishing. 

You nod along, unable to stop the wry smile that is plastered to your face. "In the livestream comments," you say. "I mean, there was still the whole awards boycott thing going around, but...I don't know. People were actually acting like I'm a part of the group? It's like, a Christmas miracle or something."

He falls silent for several seconds, his eyes silently studying your face. You can't quite meet the intensity of his gaze, your own eyes dropping to your entwined hands, swinging between you as you walk. He's thinking hard about something; time passes, your footsteps crunching in the snow and the buzz of car engines on a nearby street the only noise that permeates the air between you, and still he doesn't speak. 

"What are you looking at?" you ask when you can't bear it anymore, your gaze creeping up to meet the corner of his and then focusing on the road ahead of you instead.

"Nothing." With a jolt, he suddenly realises he is staring and glances away, searching for anything else to look at. "You seem happy, that's all."

It takes you a moment to answer, carefully considering the emotion that wells up in your gut. "I am, today," you answer. "It...I don't know. The performances this month have been good, the fans were happy today. It feels like something might change now."

"Good," he says, and smiles - small, but more soft and genuine than the amusement that had shone loudly from his face earlier. "I've been worried about you."

A scoff chokes itself in your throat. "I know," you manage to say, around the stone that lodges itself there. "I've been worried about you worrying about me."

His feet stutter in their tracks, his grip tugging on your hand as he saves his balance. "What are you worried about me for? Don't do that."

"Someone has to, don't they?" you say. "I see you spending all that time looking out for me, I feel like I should at least try to give it back."

His head ducks, shy. "You don't have to do that. I like taking care of people."

"Didn't I tell you to stop worrying about me like, six months ago?"

"Something like that. I didn't listen."

"You shouldn't break your promises like that."

Chan squeezes your hand hard, his knuckles bumping against your hip. "You promised to stop practising so much too, you know."

The accusation stirs a memory of a conversation, much clearer than the one you'd been trying to dredge up. It's funny; you remember, just that short time ago, talking about things like debut and the company - and now you can't fathom feeling those same nerves anymore. The fear of being dropped from the company, the pressure from fans, the expectations set upon the group and therefore you as proxy...all of those are fears you're still familiar with, but a fear of Chan himself? When he lends you his jacket and walks hand-in-hand down the street, so slowly that it might take you all night to get home if you continue like this?

Never. Not again, not not that you know him properly. There's no one you would trust more in the world than him.

"I think we should forget about those promises," you announce. "I like my job. And I like you caring about me too."

"Really?" he asks, and you think, from the way that he eyes you, that you need to give the other boys a piece of your mind. Too many jokes about old age, one too many acts of pushing him away. Maybe you need to give him a piece of your mind too - for letting himself believe, even for the moment of doubt that flickers over his face, that you wouldn't really mean it.

"Yes, really," you reply, and try to refrain from the tiraded of emotion that threatens to spill out afterwards, all in the wrong tone of voice. "It's been really hard lately, you know, with everything - I mean, it's fine, but still. You're always there. I like that. The others are there too, but - even in the middle of the night, you're always there. It's nice."

As if on cue, your building appears in front of you as you finish speaking, looking out from between its neighbours. "How are we ever going to go to bed on time if we both like talking in the middle of the night?" Chan asks, pulling you to a stop before you can head for the door. 

You find yourself shrugging, eager to linger. "Do we have to fix it?" you ask. "We're doing it right now, you know."

His mouth quirks. "Maybe tomorrow, then," he proposes. "Or we can just spend the rest of our lives only talking at midnight."

"I don't mind," you say with a shrug. "Midnight is a good time. Two AM is even better."

"I'll think about it."

He looks around, searching for something else to comment on, some way to keep the conversation going even when it feels like you have run out of things to talk about (except that you haven't, because you never could, because talking to him is so easy no matter what). In the corner of your eye, your door looms, calling you back to the warmth of his apartment and the quiet dark of your own - but his hand doesn't leave yours and his feet don't move, and even though you know it is stupid to be standing around like this in the snow, you can't bring yourself to let it go and bring on the end of night so suddenly. It's been such a nice day, and the walk home so warm, that you don't want to let it go, not until every second has been squeezed out of it.

There's still the movie, you remind yourself, thinking of Han sitting up there above your head watching, but your mouth doesn't say that. Instead, it asks, "Do you want to walk down to the corner store?"

You only realise later that Chan doesn't ever stop to ask why, or to complain about walking even further in the snow. In the moment, his smile consumes you, his feet automatically turning towards the store; and then again, you are immersed in your own world, stealing five more minutes from a night that cannot go on forever.

But for just this one night, you are happy. For just one night, you have something that is all yours.

Him. 

TAGLIST

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@keepswingin

[lovemepartly]

looking for me? ✩ the salesman 

read part 1 here!

warnings: 18+, smut

a/n: finally a part 2!! i had so so much fun writing this :))

 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

it had been a couple of weeks since your encounter with that mysterious man on the subway. you wished you could forget about it but the mystery of the man plagued your mind. and honestly, the way he had left you - building you up just to leave you in that corner - only made you want more.

college had still been tiring you out - much more than you would like to admit. most nights were sleepless - whether it was studying late at the library or working late shifts at your part-time job at the bakery. today was going to be one of those nights. 

it was a saturday, and you typically worked early mornings to late nights on the weekends. it made you feel pathetic, really, the way everyone your age was going clubbing on a saturday night and you were stuck here at 07:00. the day started off slow, people only casually dropping in to buy small pastries or simply browse. about two hours into your shift, you heard the bell on the door jingle as a tall figure stepped into the bakery. you looked up from the register, and just like the first time you saw him, your mouth dropped. it was the man from the subway, looking better than he did that night - if that was even possible. he was dressed in the same suit, a light grey color, and carrying the same black briefcase that you knew held ddakji cards and money. 

his gaze met yours as he stepped into the bakery and he gave you a polite nod of acknowledgement, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. you watched in curiosity as he reached for a tray and began placing individual packets of bread onto it. a lot of bread. every time you thought he would stop, he kept adding more to the pile. he was going to sell out your whole stock at this rate. after a couple of minutes, he finally stopped adding bread to his growing pile and brought the tray to the register to you. 

“you’re going to buy all of that?” you asked in disbelief. the man didn’t answer but simply smiled and nodded his head. you began checking out the pastries and placing them in a brown paper bag and the man handed you a wad of cash to pay for the groceries. you counted the money and placed it inside the cash box, before continuing to pack the breads into the bag. he had bought exactly one hundred and that number seemed peculiar to you - it was almost too specific. you slid the bag over the counter to the man once everything was packed and watched as he reached into his wallet to pull out more cash. 

“you already paid-” you tried to tell him, but he pulled out a couple of bills and handed them to you, his fingers lightly grazing your palm as he placed the money in your hand. 

he closed your fist around the cash and simply said, “for you. enjoy your day.” before grabbing the bag from the counter and leaving the bakery. you stayed there, frozen for a couple of seconds, watching as he left, before you opened your hand and counted the money. 150,000 won. holy shit. 

you quickly pocketed the money, wondering why he had given it to you. he had surely recognized you from the subway, right? maybe it had to do with the fact that you told him you had college debt? 

your thoughts were disturbed when you heard the shift lead call your name. realizing you had been standing frozen for some minutes, you turned to face her. “are you okay?” her expression was more judgmental than that of concern. 

“i-yeah, sorry,” you stuttered. “um, i’m really sorry to ask but do you think i can get off work right now? something came up.” really, you were just determined to follow the man and find out what he was up to. 

“what came up?” 

when you failed to instantly come up with an excuse, the shift lead chucked. “sorry, tough luck. i know - none of us want to be here on a saturday.” 

the rest of your shift passed by in torturously slow time. every minute felt longer than the last one and every customer somehow infuriated you. the only thing on your mind was the subway man. the man who had touched you in a way that made you feel crazy yet had also left you with nothing. after what seemed like days, it was finally 21:00 and time to close the store. you swept up, wiped down counters, and even helped the clean the dishes - anything to leave as fast as you could. as soon as you were done, you quickly bid goodbye to your boss and stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air hitting your skin. you shivered slightly and pulled your sweater over yourself. 

as you walked to your apartment, something caught your attention in the corner of your eye. just across the street, a tall man walked briskly. a tall man in a grey suit. carrying a black briefcase. your eyes widened and you quickened your pace - it had to be the subway man. you watched as he suddenly turned into an alleyway. barely looking to see if any cars were coming, you ran across the street, trying to catch up to him and turning into the alleyway where he went. to your dismay, the end of the alleyway diverged into two different directions. you looked down each direction but didn’t catch a glimpse of the man or any clue as to which way he went. not wanting to get lost and given that it was late at night and dark out, you decided to admit defeat and exited the alleyway, continuing on your way home. 

you wondered on the way home if you had maybe just imagined the man turning into that alleyway. maybe seeing him in the morning and spending your whole fourteen hour shift thinking about him had made you crazy. as you made it to your apartment, you were fairly certain you had just imagined seeing him. reaching into your sweater pocket for the keys to your apartment, you were suddenly startled by a strong arm wrapping around your body and a hand firmly pressing against your mouth, inhibiting your ability to make any audible noise. you felt a hot breath tickle your ear and a low voice murmur, “looking for me?”

the strong arm turned you around and pressed you against the door so you were now facing him - the subway man. his hand was still pressed against your mouth. “no need to scream, right, darling?” you nodded and he removed his hand from your mouth before bending down to pick up your apartment keys that you had dropped in shock and he handed them to you.

you stayed frozen, keys in hand, until the man finally spoke again. “you’re not going to go inside?”

you blinked, coming back to reality. “no, i am, sorry- you just…” your words trailed off, the shock of his surprise clearly catching you off guard.

as you fumbled with your keys, hands shaking, you could feel the man still standing behind you. as you pushed the door to your apartment open, the man stepped in behind you, shutting and locking the door. 

he stayed leaning against the door, dropping his briefcase on the floor next to you. you looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, but his gaze bore into your skin and made you feel uncomfortable and not nearly covered enough in your skirt and sweater. 

“you followed me today.” he finally spoke, taking a stride closer to you. 

“i… did i?” you questioned, trying to play dumb. 

he laughed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “you did. in the alleyway.”

you didn’t respond, so he took another step closer to you, now towering over you as you looked up at him. “don’t play any games with me,” he muttered. his hand reached up to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and cup your face, before he bent down to press his lips to yours. you kissed him back, leaning into his touch. the kiss was soft but you could tell it was filled with a deep yearning. his hand tangled it’s way into your hair and he tugged gently, making you moan against his mouth. when he pulled away, his fingers gently brushed over your lips. 

“on your knees.” he muttered firmly. you quickly sank to your knees and watched as he undid his belt, dropping his perfectly tailored grey pants to the floor, quickly followed by his boxers. he stroked his hard length, then reached his other hand down to carefully tilt your chin up to look at him. 

“you think you’re clever, huh? following me? did you think i wouldn’t catch you?” 

“no, i…” your voice trailed off as he reached down to grab your hand and guided you to continue stroking him.

“are you gonna apologize, darling?”

you hummed in agreement and his hand moved to the back of your head, guiding your mouth onto his length. you bobbed your head back and forth, trying to take as much of him as you could. his hand stayed resting on the back of your head, tangled in your hair, guiding your movements. he would occasionally push you so far down that you could feel him touching the back of your throat, making you gag and making tears burn in the corner of your eyes. you hollowed out your cheeks and he groaned in response before pushing you off of him. 

“get up.” you rose, unsure why he had made you stop. his hand wrapped lightly around your neck and he inched his face forward, lips brushing against yours. “are you going to let me cum inside you, darling? are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“yes,” you breathed, feeling the arousal in your underwear growing. “please.”

he smirked at your response and turned you around, pressing you against the wall, so he was now behind you. you felt his hands lift up your skirt and toy with the hem of your underwear, dropping them to pool around your ankles. he stroked his length teasingly against your wet folds, slapping your slick entrance a couple of times. “please,” you whimpered, the teasing getting unbearable. 

“please, what? you use your words, darling.”

“please, fuck me,” you whispered, and despite not being able to see his face, you knew the exact smirk he was making. when you finally felt him slip in, one hand firmly gripping your hip, the other resting on the wall for support near your head, you couldn’t stop the moan escaping your lips. he was so big, you could feel him in your gut as he sunk further into you. when he finally began to thrust, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips meeting your ass blended together until you were certain you were seeing stars. you felt the knot in your stomach building and tried to hold tighter onto the wall. 

“cum for me, sweetheart,” you heard the man whisper in a deep voice near your ear. “i’ve got you.” 

you whimpered, and with a couple more deep thrusts, the pressure in your stomach unraveled and you felt your legs shake as you gripped the wall tighter, trying to steady yourself. he continued to thrust into you, every movement overstimulating you and eliciting a whimper to slip from your lips, until you finally felt him come undone inside you. 

his hand moved from your hip to wrap firmly around your neck, gently turning your chin to face him, as he planted a passionate kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth. when he finally pulled out, you felt an ache in your core, knowing you would be sore tomorrow. you turned around to face the man, watching as he was pulling his pants back on, fastening his belt. you leaned against the wall, still breathless and slightly shaky. he bent to grab his briefcase and straightened his suit, just like he had done at the subway. this time, he leaned closer to you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before bowing slightly and clicking the door to your apartment shut as he left without another word. 

you groaned, leaning your head against the cool wall, before picking up your underwear from the floor and getting into the shower to clean yourself off.

when you awoke the next morning, still sore, you stretched lazily in bed. it was early morning and you had another day-long shift at the bakery. you quickly got ready, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. you got ready to leave the house, slipping on your shoes, but when you opened the door to your apartment, you froze. 

lying outside your door, in perfect arrangement, was a bouquet of roses with an envelope sticking out of them and a small box. you stepped out of the door quickly, looking around to see if you could spot who had dropped these off at your door - surely it was a mistake. not seeing anyone, you grabbed the bouquet and small box and brought it inside the house. the box was black and rectangular, wrapped with a pink ribbon. you hurriedly opened it, and your jaw dropped. a delicate bracelet lay inside and next to it - a morning after pill. you laughed when you saw it, instantly realizing who it was from. the bracelet was beautiful, though, and you clasped it to your wrist, admiring the way it sat beautifully on you. it had to be the most expensive piece of jewellery you owned. 

you looked at the bouquet of roses next, and plucked the envelope from where it lay. you flipped it over a couple of times, but it wasn’t signed. you opened it carefully and your jaw dropped once again. a stack of bills lay inside and your hands shook as you carefully counted the money - 1.5 million won. your hands trembled as you held the money, unable to believe it was real. despite there being no indication that it was from the subway man, you just knew. you could feel it. as you finally stepped out of the house to go to your shift, you hoped that maybe you would see him again. 

[hencheri]

jaehyun and non connnn

▸ 18+ mdni. | warnings: noncon, drugs consumption.

dealer!jaehyun <3

jaehyun's eyes roam over your body with a playful gleam in them, a cigarette secured between his pink lips. he likes the way you look everywhere but at him, as if the white polish on your toe nails is more interesting than him.

your back is leaned against the brick wall, the small space of the alleyway forcing jaehyun to be closer to you than what would be considered normal. he can almost smell your shampoo, deciphering some floral tones. unfortunately, the tobacco in the air is too strong for him to know exactly which scent it is.

originally, your boyfriend haechan was supposed to meet jaehyun here to buy from him, but when he arrived, he found you alone. haechan wouldn't take long, you said, though it's been a few minutes already and there's no sign of him.

it gives jaehyun the opportunity to look at you, at least. see what kind of girl you are.

he can tell you're the shy type, clinging to her boyfriend because she doesn't know what to do without him. so clearly, you're super uncomfy right now. it's like leaving a kitten in the wild; it doesn't know how to survive in this big, scary world.

"want one?" jaehyun offers you a cigarette, showing you the small pack that he pulls from the pocket of his jean jacket.

you briefly glance at him, then at the packet before shaking your head as a no. he didn't expect you to say yes, but he wanted to break the ice.

he puts it back in his pocket, taking a step forward. you notice this pretty quickly, eyes staring at his shoes, moving your legs to rest against the wall.

"haechan isn't in a hurry," he comments, and he knows you're intimidated by him. it's obvious with the way you seem to be glued to the wall, arms crossed over your chest, wanting to be as small as possible.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, apologizing for your boyfriend, "i swear he's coming."

your wide eyes finally look up and meet his. there's something in them that he likes, thrills for; you're scared.

scared of jaehyun.

you have reasons to be, he won't lie. maybe you're right to be afraid of the way he towers over you, of his eyes shamelessly staring at your skimpy outfit.

"he's wasting my time," jaehyun adds, the smoke flowing out of his mouth as he talks, gently washing over your face. "and i hate when people think they can fool me around."

you shake your head again, swallowing down the lump in your throat. you don't want jaehyun to be pissed, and certainly not at you. it's not like it's your fault, but that's exactly what he wants; you to think that it's your fault, that you need to save your boyfriend from his troubles.

"jaehyun, i- i promise he doesn't mean to. i don't know what he's doing, but i'm sure-" you stutter out, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

he groans, interrupting you at the same time. "you know what, maybe you could make up for my time."

jaehyun comes even closer, caging you between his body and the wall. he takes his cig out of his mouth, throwing it on the ground and crushing the end under the sole of his shoe.

"...what?" you breathe out, voice shaky.

he bends down until his mouth is right beside your ear. "i'm sure haechan won't mind... he'd do anything for his stupid weed, anyway," he whispers.

and with that, he turns you around, his hands reaching your panties under your dress and dragging them down your thighs. you squirm around, trying to stop jaehyun's hands, but he locks them behind your back, making you whimper, feeling totally powerless.

he softly tucks your hair behind your ear, pressing his crotch against your ass, making you feel how hard he is. "it's okay, pretty. i'm gonna take good care of you..." he says, humming in your ear. "bet your little boyfriend doesn't do that often, hm?"

your mouth is wide open when he makes his way inside of you, forcing his cock between your tight walls. it's painful and you have a hard time standing steady on your legs, your knees threatening to fail you multiple times.

his thrusts knock the air out of your lungs, whines and moans slipping past your pretty lips that jaehyun imagines around his girth, choking on it like he bets you always do.

he doesn't even pull out, releasing himself deep inside of your pussy as he knows you'll think of him each time his cum will flood out of you and into your panties. and it'll also anger haechan, knowing that coward won't do a thing about it.

jaehyun gently pats your pussy when your panties are back on, only kissing the corner of your lips. "tell haechan i'm letting it slide tonight, but next time, i'm taking what's his."

[roxabellas]

Sweet Cherry

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

word count : 6,505

warnings : hes finally happy!!! newlyweds, honeymoon sex, unprotected sex, spooning position, missionary, creampie, domestic al

The trolley squeaked gently as Alex lazily pushed it along the aisles, the shelves around you stacked with neat rows of unfamiliar packaging, labelled with text you couldn't understand, dressed up in fancy fonts.

His shoes scuffed along the tiled floor with a muffled huff of his rubber soles against the ceramic as he looked anywhere but where he was walking, the cart occasionally swerving too far in one direction and bumping against a shelf with a metallic clang, rattling both what was inside of your trolley and the items that were piled onto the rack.

“I don't know how you drive it so awfully,” you said in passing as you browsed through packets of strangely shaped crisps, the plastic wrappers crinkling as you tried to read the labels, the Italian staring back at you just as blankly as you were staring at it.

“Not my fault it's got a dodgy wheel,” he retorted with a smile, bending down slightly as he rested his forearms on the handle of the shopping cart as he watched you.

You turned your head over your shoulder to glance at the legs of the trolley. “The wheels are fine.”

He shot you a playful glare before backtracking. “I meant my dodgy wheel.”

You stared at him for a moment with half confusion and half mock disgust before turning your head back to the crisps as you muttered, “Gross.”

You heard him chuckle. “What's gross about my dodgy wheel?”

You felt his arms snake around your waist from behind, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you gently as he pressed a few kisses there. “I don't want to know about your dodgy wheel.”

“If we're married now, there shouldn't be any shame or secrets,” he murmured against your skin. “Especially about our dodgy wheels, Mrs. Turner.”

You laughed, just a sharp breath of air through your nostrils. “That's not my name yet.”

“It will be soon. I'll handle all the paperwork for it.”

“You should take my surname instead,” you said, turning your head to the side to meet his eyes.

“Mine's better,” he mumbled before lifting his head to press another kiss, this time to your cheek.

“Rude,” you managed to say before he cut you off by pressing his lips to yours, almost with the same fervour he had the day before at the altar.

His mouth moved with yours for just a few seconds before his tongue poked at your lower lip, and you pulled back with a smile, your eyes slightly squinted. “I'm not having mouth sex with you in the middle of a shop, Al.”

He scoffed, looking at you with faux annoyance before turning back to the cart. “Suit yourself.”

The contents of the trolley was a mismatched pile of impulse and small comforts, a few unfamiliar items that you insisted on getting to be authentic, coffee pods that may or may not fit in the machine in the hotel, and a growing stack of normalities in the far corner of the cart.

You sighed as you watched him sling in another pack of Haribos, the bright colours and waving bear on the plastic bag almost taunting. “Why are you only getting stuff we can get back home?”

He looked at you, his eyebrows slightly raised. “I thought you were getting the fancy stuff. I'm just getting stuff we know we like, in case we don't like the fancy stuff.”

You tutted. “We didn't come to Italy to eat sausage rolls and digestives.”

His expression turned to one of disbelief, almost offended. “Look at these,” he said, plucking a four-pack of small tiramisu pots from the cart that he'd put in and holding them up dramatically. “Tiramisu. Doesn't get much more Italian than that.”

You stared at him for a moment, letting a long pause settle between you. “You're not allowed to put anything else in the trolley.”

He groaned. “What if I put in something Italian?”

“Not when your idea of Italian is tiny pots of shitty tiramisu that's been mass produced since the seventies.”

You took the trolley from his grip, wrapping your fingers around the handle and drifting away from him down the aisle, leaving him stranded and staring at the sweets with the fascination of a five year old.

You strolled through the shop, your eyes scanning over the shelves, and a wave of goosebumps rippled over your exposed skin as you turned the cart into the produce aisle, the cooler air dusting over your arms as you approached a large box stacked full of cherry punnets, scooting past a young boy arguing with his mother in rapid Italian.

The fluorescent overhead lights flickered slightly while you bent down to inspect each pack of cherries, sifting through them one by one, frowning at anything too anemic.

You'd always preferred the darker ones, ones that were near black, ones that were the colour of blood and stained your tongue and lips with its deep red juice.

You picked up a punnet, satisfied with the colour and plumpness of them, and you carefully placed them in the trolley before crouching down, searching the lower stacks for another pack that harboured that same almost violent colour, before a voice behind you pierced through your peacefulness.

“Unbelievable,” he said gravely. “Do you think it's funny to abandon me alone?”

You turned your head and looked up from your squat to see him stood there with a wounded expression on his face, and clutching a pale blue box of breadsticks in one hand, trying to cover the label like he didn't want you to see what he had.

“Didn't abandon you,” you said, twisting your head back towards the cherries. “You looked enamoured by those sweets. Thought I should give you two a moment.”

He stepped closer to the trolley, the breadsticks in his hand rattling against the cardboard. “Are you getting two?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you'll eat most of them before we're even back at the hotel,” you said, fishing out a second punnet of cherries after deciding they were a satisfactory colour.

You stood up and turned, slotting the second pack right beside the first, and you looked down at the box he was gripping again, seeing he was still trying to be discreet about it. “What you got there, Al?” you teased.

He smiled sheepishly, inching his hand towards the cart. “You like breadsticks, don't you, love?”

“You like breadsticks.”

“But you like them too, don't you?” he said, trying to be careful as he dropped them into the trolley, but the box hit the metal with a rattling thunk, disturbing the serenity of everything else you'd neatly packed into the cart.

You smiled. “They're okay. Dry if you don't have anything else with them.”

“Do you want me to get a dip?”

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before saying, “That's the last thing you're allowed to put in the trolley, then.”

You watched as he darted off, and you began to make an attempt at reorganising the cart after his clumsy disposal of the breadsticks had jostled everything about.

You picked up the box, a dull golden colour splayed across the front of the cardboard like a thick ribbon, the words jumbled to you, but you could make out two words. Plain. Unsalted. Typical of him.

“Got this one,” you heard his voice behind you approaching, accompanying his scuffed, lazy footsteps, and he held up the pot as he got closer. “Garlic and herb one. All the others were shit.”

You turned towards him, a small smile on your lips as you took the pot from him, the plastic cool against your fingers, and you neatly placed it in the cart.

“I'm done now. Honest. We don't need anything else, do we?” he said, his eyes briefly flickering over the contents of the trolley.

“Let's get a wine. Then we'll be done,” you said, gripping the handle of the cart again and turning it, purposefully knocking him in the hip with the end of it.

He yelped, shifting out of the way as he muttered, “Horrible.”

The wine section stretched across a large wall, dusty bottles wrapped in cream or black coloured labels with curly, looping Italian script and years that meant nothing to you stamped in bold just above the text.

You stood side by side, both of you quietly scanning the rows of pale greens and deep burgundies, all appearing softer in colour beneath the yellow overhead lighting.

He'd grown uncharacteristically serious, almost comically so, his eyes flicking from one bottle to the next with unadulterated focus, though you suspected he was mostly just judging them by how nice the labels looked instead of trying to understand what region it came from or what kind of grape it had been squeezed out of.

You trailed your fingers along the necks of a few bottles as you passed, letting your nails clink gently against the glass as you continued pushing the trolley with the other hand, and Alex walked beside you, frowning slightly in confusion.

“I feel like a fraud,” he muttered half-jokingly as he leaned forward slightly to get a better look at one of the labels. “Reckon we can just pick the prettiest one and pretend we know what we're doing?”

“Isn't that what we do anyway?” you laughed, watching him squint at the text.

You continued to browse through the bottles for a few more moments, before eventually settling on a bottle sat on the bottom shelf, the liquid inside a deep purple colour, and it was wrapped in a black label that was almost velvety to the touch.

“This one,” you said, holding the bottle in your hands as if it were a newborn baby.

He took it from you, wrapping his fingers around the neck, and he gasped softly at the weight, the noise turning into a chuckle. “Christ, it's got some heft, hasn't it?”

He turned it in his palm and tucked it beneath his arm to carry it as you laughed.

A short queue had formed at the checkout, so you joined it, neither of you saying much as the wine went on the conveyor belt with the cherries, the breadsticks, the tiramisu pots, the funny shaped coffee pods, and the ridiculous stack of snacks that was definitely too ambitious for the four short days you were going to be spending there.

The cashier rang everything through with a practiced disinterest. Alex paid, and you bagged.

As you approached them, the automatic doors wheezed open with a hiss, and the sunlight hit your skin directly, a bit harsher, as opposed to filtered through a window.

Alex had the bags, both of them. It hadn't even been much of a discussion, he'd just picked the two of them and slung them over his shoulders with a grunt. You thought he was just doing it to show off, even though the bags weren't that heavy.

“You know,” he said as you walked down the warm cobbled street towards the hotel, “this wasn't in the vows.”

You glanced his way from beside him. “What wasn't?”

“Being your human pack mule.”

You smiled. “I think it was implied.”

He gave you a look, but there was no bite to it. His shirt was stuck to his back already, from the heat, but he pretended it was from how much weight he was holding, and he was squinting under his fringe against the sun, but he was smiling. That faint, boyish smile that he always wore, the one that had always made your chest tighten a little.

You walked slowly, admiring the detailed architecture and buildings as you strolled, the peacefulness occasionally interrupted by the grating sound of him groaning, as if he was doing so much work.

“Still can't believe you got Haribos,” you said, your voice laced with partial mock disappointment. “Uncultured.”

“Tiramisu pots,” he reminded you proudly.

“Okay, Raffaele Esposito,” you said teasingly, maybe a little too confident in your knowledge.

He looked at you for a moment as you both continued walking. “...That's the guy who made pizza.”

You scoffed. “Well, excuse me for not knowing every Italian person ever, Alex.”

He chuckled as he spoke, “The tiramisus do look good though.”

“They look beige.”

“I'll remember that for when you're elbow deep in the fourth pot like a raccoon later tonight then.”

You snorted and the two of you kept walking as the air buzzed with the faint whir of mopeds in the distance and the high-pitched whine of cicadas. Around the corner, just before the stone path sloped upward towards your hotel, a movement behind the wall caught your eye.

A cat.

Thin, long-limbed, with a honeyed cream colour and faint grey smudges across its face and ears like it had been dusted with ash. It stretched out lazily as you approached, yawning with a small squeak that made your heart flutter.

“Hello,” you murmured softly, offering your hand low and open, your fingers curved slightly in. The cat didn't flinch or lower its tail, instead, it leaned in, sniffed, and bunted its forehead against your knuckles warmly, purring with a force and a volume that surprised you, the sweet crescendo almost deafening.

You scratched lightly behind its ears, then down its narrow back, feeling each bump of its spine shift under the skin. It melted under your touch, completely pliant, its little ribs fluttering with each breath it took as it flopped onto its side, begging for more tickles.

Alex hovered behind you for a moment before setting one of the bags down with a dramatic sigh. “Witch,” he muttered.

“Cat whisperer,” you corrected as your fingertips danced along the little creature's soft fur.

“How is it obsessed with you already?” he asked, his voice slightly strained as he crouched beside you, holding his fingers out as well. The cat gave him a quick, polite sniff, then immediately turned its face back towards your palm.

He blinked, feeling rejected. “See?”

“It knows I'm a kind soul,” you said, your voice peaceful.

You ran your fingers along the cat's arched spine before bringing your hand back up to its cheek, and you asked, “Can we get a cat?”

He stood back up with a small grunt as he straightened his back. “Maybe.”

You looked up at him, squinting against the evening light as you kept scratching the cat. “Can we get a cat?” you asked again, slightly changing your tone of voice.

He stared down at you for a moment, the sun catching in the soft creases at the corner of his eyes, and he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, alright. Let's get a cat.”

You smiled up at him, a real smile, before you looked back down at the cat who was slowly getting up, and allowed a few more tickles before wandering off into the shadow of a nearby lemon tree, seemingly satisfied with its conquest.

You blew a kiss to the small animal, and Alex's hand lightly brushed over yours before interlacing your fingers together, and he murmured, “Come on, love,” you could hear the soft smile in his voice. “Don't want our lovely tiramisus to go off.”

The hotel stood tall and large against the sunset landscape right at the top of the steep path you'd been navigating, the building looking like it should belong on a postcard, or in a painting.

You pushed open the hotel room door with your shoulder while Alex trailed behind you, the cool air conditioning brushing over your skin like an occasional breeze on a scorching hot summer's day.

Inside the room, it smelled faintly of overly sterilised surfaces, a scent that was sure not to last long, sunscreen, and your shared mess; two suitcases cracked open and half-unpacked, his sunglasses forgotten on the floor, and your sandals tipped over by the balcony door.

He let the shopping bags drop onto the corner of the bed with a sigh of triumph, dramatically stretching and rolling his arms and shoulders. “We survived commerce,” he declared boldly. “Now begins the leisure.”

You rolled your eyes, already peeling open the first bag as he flopped onto the bed, pretending to be far more exhausted than he probably was. “You mean I survived commerce. All you did was carry the bags.”

“Tiramisu pots,” he said, his voice almost the volume of a shout as he splayed his arms and legs out on the mattress as if he were making a snow angel. “And I provided morale.”

You ignored him and began unpacking, shuffling and stacking things around in the minuscule fridge. It was almost laughable how small it was. You rearranged the two small water bottles that were already inside, trying to make space as you wedged the cherry punnets in, the plastic packs crinkling as you forced them in, and you slid the tiramisu pots beside them, the sides of the small containers caving inwards slightly at the awkward angle. You didn't even bother trying to fit the wine in.

The cupboard, high up, narrow, and shallow, took the dry things, the breadsticks, some crisps, little foil-wrapped biscuits that looked better than they'd probably taste, and whatever else Alex had picked up. You moved methodically, or at least, you tried to. Cramming and stuffing the items in like it was tetris, and each time you thought you had it, something else toppled out, until you gave up, resorting to shutting the door as quick as you could before giving anything the chance to fall. It didn't help that there was also a pan in there, as well as a chipped bowl that someone must've left behind years ago.

Behind you, he made no effort to help. Of course he didn't. When you glanced over your shoulder at him, he was still spread out on the bed like he'd melted, his shirt slightly twisted, his jeans too low on his hips, and he was watching you with that lazy, amused look in his eye.

“What?” you asked, setting the wine on the side in a spot you thought it looked nice in.

“Nothing,” he said, tucking his hands behind his head. “You just look very…” He paused as if trying to find the right word, though it was obvious he wasn't trying at all. “Bendable.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Idiot.”

He didn't try to defend himself, and instead, you heard the creak of the mattress as he made his way to you, then you felt the warmth of his body pressing in against your back, his arms curling around your waist from behind, his mouth at your neck, his voice low and soothing in a way only he could still manage after being the most irritating person alive.

“I missed you in the shop,” he murmured, nosing at that sensitive spot just below your ear. “Wandering off without me… leaving your poor husband alone… like a very bad wife…”

He sighed dramatically, trying to harbour your pity. “I had a moment of crisis in that sweet aisle… and you weren't there to guide me…”

“You poor thing.”

“Mhm,” he kissed that same spot just below your ear, watching how you tilted into it, and he pressed another one just below your jaw, his hands slipping lower and lower until you pressed your palm over one of them.

“Do you want some wine?” you murmured softly, clutching his hand gently, and he paused, perking up at the mention of the wine.

He smiled and lifted his head slightly, his nose brushing against the side of your face. “I'll pour it, baby. Go lie down.”

He pressed one final kiss to your cheek before you stepped out of his arms upon him reluctantly loosening his grip, your shirt rumpled from where his hands had been tugging and pulling, and you walked barefoot across the room, the hem of your trousers dragging on the floor.

You shimmied out of them, leaving them in a small heap on the floor at the end of the bed, and you left your shirt on as you settled into the sheets, nestling into the mattress.

Across the room, he rummaged in the little cupboard beneath the counter, things clinking and clattering as he rifled through it with the gracefulness of a bull in a China shop. It was almost painful to listen to. Eventually, he emerged with two ceramic mugs, one off-white with a chip in the handle, the other faded terracotta with the hotel's logo half-scratched off.

He uncorked the wine with a gentle pop, giving it a quick sniff before he poured, the liquid dark and glinting as it sloshed into the mugs. He set the bottle back on the side, the cork half wedged back into the opening, and he brought the mugs over to the bed.

“Five stars,” he said, showing them to you proudly. “Luxury.”

You laughed softly, letting your arms stretch behind your head briefly before you reached for the mug he held out to you. The light from the window cast long shapes across the bed, stripes of warmth splaying over the fabric of your shirt on your stomach.

“Cheers,” he murmured before raising his own mug to his lips and taking a sip.

He settled into the bed beside you, placing the mug on the bedside table for a moment as he struggled to shift out of his jeans before finally tossing them aside on the floor with his feet, his shirt not long following after.

You sipped your wine as you watched him struggle, and you asked softly, “You like the wine?”

He looked over at you quickly before picking up his own again and lifting it to his mouth, mumbling against the ceramic, “Do you like it?”

You glanced at him, taking another small mouthful before you said, “It's quite sweet.”

“I thought that.”

“Little bit floral.”

“I thought that too.”

You smiled, setting your mug aside with a clink against the wooden side table, which he copied with a louder thud before shifting closer to you, his hands meeting your skin like a gravitational pull, his touch deliberate, certain, his fingers sliding over your hips and his thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your waist.

He slipped his hands beneath your shirt as he pressed his lips to your neck once more, sliding his hands up to your chest and bunching up the fabric of your top with them.

His hands roamed with more purpose now, his fingertips grazing the warm skin of your stomach, then gliding higher, his palms sliding up your sides, and when he felt the thin band of your bra beneath, he let out a low, amused sound.

“What the fuck is this still on for?” he muttered against your skin, almost to himself.

His fingers fumbled behind you, not out of nervousness, just impatience. You could feel him smiling against your sternum as he worked at the clasp, kissing you there lazily between his futile attempts.

“I mean, honestly…” he murmured, pretending to be irritated, making you laugh softly.

The clasp gave suddenly, and he pulled the straps down your arms through your sleeves, and he tugged your bra away with a quiet triumph, tossing it to the side without looking or caring where it was going. His hands smoothed over your now-bare chest with reverence, adoration.

“There we go,” he whispered, dragging his mouth across one of your breasts, slow and warm and maddening all at once.

You tilted your head back, lips parting, your body arching slightly under the weight of his attention. His mouth was hot and wet wherever it trailed, and when he looked up at you with those big brown eyes from where he was kissing your ribs, you reached down and ran your fingers into his hair, feeling the soft strands against your skin, and you tugged on it lightly.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath, light, teasing, but there was a thread of real heat that tinged your tone.

He lifted his head at that, looking at you properly while his hands paused just above your hips, his hair tousled from where your hand was still laced into it. “That's what honeymoons are for.”

His mouth continued to move over your chest, the open-mouthed kisses he was leaving almost like a trail of flower petals as he made his way to your neck once more, travelling over the dip of your collarbone and your shoulder. Then, without a word, he gently coaxed you onto your side, and you let him move you, though you rolled off of the warm spot your body had created from where you'd been lying, shifting onto a colder spot of the duvet, and he tucked himself behind you, stealing the warmth. You thought that might've been his plan all along.

He reached down and pushed his boxers off with one fluid but impatient motion, then he pressed himself against you from behind, the weight and heat of him unmistakable. His cock nestled between your thighs like it belonged there, thick and hard, sliding against the soft warmth of your pussy as he aligned himself carefully.

One arm slid beneath you, holding your chest, while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel his breath in your ear, how much he wanted this, wanted you, but still he moved slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world.

He kissed the back of your shoulder, murmuring something too quiet to catch, and then you felt his tip nudging at your entrance, slow, sweet, and steady, but it made you whimper softly.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling you with the kind of care that made your heart ache more than your body did, and you let out a long, breathy sigh as his cock stretched you gently, the pressure deep and deliberate, his arm tightening around your waist as he sank deeper into you.

He exhaled, soft and slow, as he buried himself fully, your bodies pressed flush together until there was no space left between your skin. His mouth found your neck again, brushing fleeting but deep kisses over the curve of it like he couldn't bear to not be touching you as much as possible at once.

“God,” he whispered, his voice frayed at the edges as he tried to hold back. “You feel so good, baby...”

He started to move, deep, unhurried strokes as he rocked into you with all the care and desire in the world. His hips rolled against yours, the rhythm patient and unbearably intimate, every thrust a quiet but deliberate reminder of his love for you.

You pressed your head back into the pillow, your eyes fluttering as one of your hands gripped the sheet while the other reached behind to touch him wherever you could, his thigh, his hip, his ass, just needing to feel something of him.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice quiet and near trembling, kissed into your scalp like a wax seal on an envelope encasing the dearest love letter.

You turned your head, just enough to meet his lips, and kissed him over your shoulder, slow, open-mouthed and all-consuming, tasting his breath, still tainted with the sweetness of the wine, and his softness, warm and tender as he gave everything to you.

“I love you,” you breathed back against his mouth, and he groaned, like those words undid something tight knotted inside of him.

His pace stayed tender, every motion careful and measured, like he wasn't just inside your body, but inside the moment itself, like he never wanted to leave it. He really didn't. His cock stroked deep and steady against your sensitive walls, nudging places inside of you that made your fingers curl into the sheets, but still, he kept it slow, almost torturously so.

His cock filled you with such gentle persistence, each stroke steady and sure, the kind of fucking that didn't rush towards a climax, or send you hurtling into one, but instead lingered in everything before it.

The friction was warm and constant, the skin of his chest damp against your back and your legs parted just enough for him to keep moving like that, deep, slow, and sweet, his warm tip pressing against that spongy spot inside of you with each lazy thrust.

He kept kissing you anywhere he could, between your shoulder blades, the nape of your neck, the edge of your jaw whenever you turned your face towards him. Every few minutes, he'd murmur a soft, I love you, or a devoted, You feel so good, or a lovestruck, I'm so happy we're married now.

Eventually, you felt it in the way his hips began to slow, the way he paused deep inside of you, like he wanted to stay there, to stay exactly where you were, but he shifted, his hand smoothing down your thigh as he slid out slowly, making you whimper softly at the emptiness.

“Come here,” he murmured sweetly, already guiding you onto your back, his palm warm and steady at your ribs.

You let him move you, your limbs pliant and tingling, and he climbed over you, his eyes dark from his dilated pupils. His cock glistened in the low light from your wetness, flushed and hard as he settled between your thighs again, the hot tip brushing your entrance once more.

He leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep and purposeful this time, his lips parting yours, one of his hands cupping your face while the other braced beside your head on the pillow. Then, he pushed back inside, filling you again in one measured, perfect motion, and he kissed your forehead as he watched your features respond to the fullness once more.

He moved slowly, the rhythm of his hips steady and careful, like he was trying to memorise every inch of you from the inside out, as if he hadn't already. His hips rocked into yours with precision that made your toes curl, dragging his cock deep and then drawing back just enough to do it all over again and again and again, never rushed, never careless.

His mouth wandered from yours to your throat, to your collarbone, then lower still as he kissed your chest the same way he fucked you, soft and warm, his kisses open-mouthed and reverent. He sucked gently at the swell of your tit, his tongue tracing the curve, then circled your nipple with a lazy kind of attention, making you gasp quietly, arching up to him, and you felt him smile against the sensitive skin at your reaction.

“You're perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick and half-muffled by your skin. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

He cupped your other breast in his hand, his thumb stroking over your nipple as he kept moving inside you, and you clenched around him instinctively, your body clinging to the rhythm of his cock, and he groaned low in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed deeper, more insistently.

He slid one hand down between you, his fingers finding where you were slick and swollen, fluttering around him, and he circled your clit slowly, barely any pressure at first, then just enough to make your moans a little louder.

“You like that?” he asked softly, kissing the valley between your boobs, his fingers still playing and his hips still moving as you whimpered in response, your breath catching as you nodded.

He kept moving in that same sweet rhythm, his cock dragging in deep and slow, his hips rolling as if time wasn't real there, like the world outside the hotel room had been stripped away, and there was only you. Your body, your warmth, the soft sounds you made beneath him as he took you.

You could feel him trying, really trying, his pace starting to shift just slightly, the muscles in his arms tightening as he held himself up over you, his lips pressed to the centre of your chest like it kept him tethered. His breath hitched more with every thrust now, the edge of something building in him, close and undeniable, but you could tell he was trying to fight it, his whole body tensing against what he knew was coming.

His fingers circled your clit with more precision, more pressure, coaxing you closer and closer, desperately trying to pull your orgasm out of you before his own hit.

“Come on, love,” he murmured against your skin, hus voice strained as he kept kissing your skin between shallow gasps. “Want you to cum for me, yeah? Please, baby…”

You clenched again as you moaned his name softly, your body responding, the pleasure building like a tide rolling in at dusk, and he felt it, felt you tightening and fluttering around his cock, and that was it.

“Fuck,” he gasped, raw and ugly, and his body stilled, his hips pressing as deep as he physically could, and the sudden rush of warmth flooding inside of you as he came, babbling your name as he buried his face in the side of your neck.

He groaned into your skin, low and desperate and almost apologetic, holding himself inside as his cock pulsed, wringing the last dregs of his cum into you, but he didn't stop, nor did he pull out.

Even as he trembled, even as his breath faltered, even as his legs felt like they might give way, he kept moving, soft, shallow thrusts now, just enough to keep the friction going, his fingers still working your clit with slow, determined circles.

“Still got you,” he whispered, slightly out of breath as he kissed your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “I've got you, baby. Just let go. Let me give it to you.”

He kept going, hips stuttering but persistent, fucking himself through the aftershocks of his own release with a kind of desperate devotion. His cock stayed inside you, thick and softening slightly, but still moving, still trying, even as his thighs wobbled with the effort, his muscles taut and shaking, but he didn't let up. He couldn't. Not when he knew you were so close.

“Come on, baby,” he breathed, almost pleading now, his voice wrecked, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek as his fingers worked your clit with more tender urgency. “Almost there, yeah? I can feel it, pretty, give it to me. Cum for me. Please.”

His voice cracked towards the end, and you moaned softly as your body tightened, every nerve pulling taut like a wire about to snap, his words and his touch and the fullness of his cock pushing you right to the edge, and then, you broke.

Your hips jerked, your breath shattering in your throat as your orgasm tore through you, hard and hot as you clenched around him with a force that made him whimper. Your pussy fluttered, gripping him as you came with a soft, gasping cry, your thighs trembling around his as they bracketed them.

He moaned at the sensation, dropping his sweaty forehead to yours, his lips catching yours in a shaky, messy kiss, the heaviness of his breathing making it almost mouth-to-mouth.

“That's it,” he whispered against your mouth, terribly out of breath. “Fuck, that's it.”

You could feel him smile a little against your lips, relieved, proud, and utterly spent, but still holding you, still inside you, his body sagging gently into yours like he had nothing left.

He didn't pull out right away, and instead, he stayed right there, chest to chest, his cock softening inside you slowly, warmth still blooming low in your belly where he'd finished. The room was quiet but not silent, the muffled hum of the tiny fridge in the corner, the occasional car passing by outside the shuttered window, but around the two of you, there was stillness.

His nose nudged yours lazily, his lips brushing your cheek as he breathed in and out, and he murmured, “I didn't mean to cum first. I tried really fucking hard. Honest.”

You smiled, your eyes half-lidded and your lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “You made up for it.”

“Yeah?” he said, his eyebrows twitching up, hopeful and cocky all at once.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, dragging your fingers down the slope of his back while your other hand brushed back his damp fringe. “You're lucky I love you.”

He chuckled before he kissed you again, this time slower, less messy, less urgent, but still full of all of the love he had for you that he always saved to exude in this way. Just lips to lips, soft and lingering, and he finally slid out of you with a quiet sigh, careful and slow, like he didn't want to disrupt anything, like the space between you couldn't stay empty for long, and it didn't.

He lay beside you almost immediately, pulling you into his chest as his arms wrapped around your back as you curled into him, your legs tangled together. He kissed your the top of your hair, your shoulder, the tip of your nose when you tilted your face up.

“Do you think the people in the next room could hear that?” you asked against his collarbone with a smile.

“Hope so,” he mumbled. “Let them know I treat my wife right.”

That made you laugh, and he beamed like it was his favourite sound in the world, and it was.

After a while, once your breathing had evened and your bodies had cooled, he nudged you gently. “Roll over,” he said.

You turned your head, suspicious.. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

You smiled and turned over, burying your face in the pillow, your arms folded beneath your chest, and his touch came a moment later, making you laugh softly as you realised what he was doing. His fingers pressed clumsily at your shoulder blades, too light in some places, too firm in others, but utterly sweet in his intent.

“Massage,” he said proudly as he dug his palms into your spine.

“Jesus,” you muttered into the pillow with a grin he couldn't see as he ‘massaged’ your back like he was kneading a bread dough that was trying to fight back.

He snorted at your mutter, and he paused only to flop forward dramatically, his head landing between your shoulder blades. “Don't make me laugh, love, I'm about to collapse.”

You did laugh then, full and breathless, your shoulders shaking beneath him, and he kissed your spine once, then twice, then he sat up slightly, his palms resting on your lower back.

“Do you want a tiramisu?” he asked softly, smiling cheekily as his eyes drifted over your back like he already knew what your answer would be.

“Bring me all four of them.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

[authorhjk1]

Well you probably already have a list so maybe next time

Beautiful, easy access, elegant. Perfectly accurate descriptions to both the dresses and the idols who are wearing them

Just long enough that it wouldn't catch suspicion but short enough for you to...🤭

The dazzling jewellery no longer deserves your attention when they spread their legs. Proving they are always ready Did they also sponsore those toys?. A packet of lube is even meticulously hidden inside the inner layer should you really need the assistance.

Those high heels angling their butts just the right amount. Allowing deeper penetration even when standing.

The clacking noise of the heels hitting the the floor, losing balance when their legs couldn't support them (until you yank her upright against you body) triggers a positive feedback loop that taps into your most carnal desire, urging you to thrust deeper and harder.

Well probably don't reply to this ask since this ask is way too long 😂 If you ever want to do something with this I recommend creating a new post instead

Cream

(An Yujin X Jang Wonyoung X Male Reader)

You hear someone walk towards you, the clicking of their heels echoing through the hallway.

You didn't expect her to come. But then again, she doesn't really have a choice. An Yujin rounds the corner, her angry glare is directed at you.

"Swear to me that this is a one time thing."

You shrug your shoulders.

"Depends on how well you do."

"I..."

Yujin seems to slowly accept her fate.

"Fine."

"Let me see it."

You can't really hide your curiosity. You told her to wear it, but she didn't send you a picture as proof, like she was supposed to.

With an annoyed sigh, Yujin turns her back to you. You marvel at how beautiful she looks in that dress.

A heavy breath and Yujin pulls her dress to the side. You're greeted with the sight of her butt. Her round cheeks hide something between them. When Yujin pulls them apart, you can see the metal buttplug you told her to buy and wear.

"I-I don't want to do this."

Yujin turns back around to face you, letting her dress fall in place again.

"You don't have a choice Yujin."

You remind her of the pictures.

"Is there really no other way? I-I could give you something. Anything you want. Money, or..."

There is not enough money in the world to match the chance of experiencing the tightness of Yujin's ass. But there is something else...

"Or maybe house, or a car, or..."

"Your members."

"Huh? W-What?"

Yujin looks at you with wide open eyes.

"Convince Wonyoung to suck me off. Or I fuck your ass."

You watch her inner conflict. This is an impossible choice for her. Yujin doesn't want throw her member, her friend, under the bus. But she also doesn't want to lose her anal virgnity to some stranger.

A couple of minutes later, you hear someone walking towards you again.

"Yujin unnie, you sounded worried, are you okay? Who is that?"

Yujin takes a deep breath and you can tell she is almost about to cry.

"Wonyoung, can you do something for me? He... He has pictures of me. Bad pictures. If you... If you just..."

Yujin takes a shakey breath.

"What pictures?"

"Doesn't matter."

Yujjn's cheeks turn red with shame.

"He said he is going to publish them, if you don't..."

She looks at your crotch. Wonyoung, very slowly, follows her stare.

"N-No, I couldn't! I don't even know him!"

"P-Please, Wonyoung. D-Do it for me?"

Yujin sounds as desperate as she looks.

"It's... It's a blowjob."

She swallows hard, before looking at your face.

"Right? Nothing more."

You nod and Wonyoung looks at both of you.

"Is this a prank? I don't..."

You are aware that Yujin left out the fact that there is an alternative. But you don't mind which of the two you get to use.

"Fine. I will do it, then."

Once Wonyoung agrees, you motion her towards you. You can't believe you're actually going to be inside this pretty little mouth of hers.

You push her to her knees and rid yourself off your pants. Wonyoung's eyes grow wide in fear as she sees your cock. It's bigger than she expected. She never actually...

She takes a deep breath and parts her lips. As they touch your cock, Yujin turns away.

"Oh my god."

You hear her sob, as the younger girl wraps her fingers around your base.

"Good girl."

You praise Wonyoung, putting your hand on the tie in her hair. She looks up at you, the disgust on her face is barely visible with your cock in her mouth.

"If you don't act like you like it..."

You let the thread hang in the air as you take out your phone.

Thinking that you're about to release her leader's pictures, Wonyoung starts to get into it. Or at least she pretends to.

Her lips quickly glide along your length. She moves her head back and forth. Wonyoung can only reach the halfway mark, before she chokes. You push her a little further everytime.

You can't believe that this beautiful woman is giving you head. That beautiful face. Those beautiful lips.

The shutter of your phone camera makes both of them look at you.

"What..."

Wonyoung lets your cock fall out of her mouth as she looks up at you with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?"

Yujjn's angry and surprised tone makes you chuckle.

"What? This is how we ended up here in the first place, didn't we?"

With your hand still on the back of her head, you pull Wonyoung back onto your cock. You hear her choke as you talk again.

"If you don't want me to release the picture of your bandmate, sucking my cock, I suggest you get that pretty ass over here."

Yujin's eyes widen in realization.

"Y-You planned this!"

It took a while, but now you've pulled the buttplug out of Yujin's asshole. Wonyoung is still in the room, unable to look away as you press Yujin against the wall.

"Time to make you mine."

Yujin shudders at your words.

You slowly push into her. The lube, you told her to bring, helps, but it's not exactly easy. But eventually, you part Yujin's walls enough, so you can fuck her properly. Not very fast and hard, but still...

A feeling of a lifetime.

Yujin sighs and groans in pain, whenever you push into her. And an embarrassed moan escapes her lips, whenever you pull out. You feel like you're in heaven. Her ring of muscles clings onto you while you slide in and out of her. Her sparkling heels put her ass in the right height and angle for you, to drive yourself as deep as possible into her hole.

Eventually though, Yujin's asshole is too tight for you to fight off your incoming orgasm.

"Come here, Wonyoung."

You make both girls kneel in front of you as you stroke yourself. Both of their faces are enough to make you climax within seconds. Your cum hits their faces, staining their skin and ruining their makeup. A string of your cum hit Yujin's eye, gluing it shut, while half of Wonyoung's share lands on her cute nose.

The sound of your phone's camera makes both of them shiver in fear.

"What's the password for Ive's official Instagram account?"

[shintaru]

Period comfort with Hyuk Kwon

🪼 m.list ♡ taglist ♡ inspired by 🪼

Synopsis ~ Hyuk taking care of reader on her period

Tagging ~ @ravenwritten @dzvelinaskebiyars @sylith @sanzuslutttt @zyart-jpg @wthphe1n @prepchii @bfwooin @hyukwwn @kuchisabishiiiii

You’re currently cuddling with your boyfriend taking a nap until your stomach starts to feel like it’s being shredded from the inside out. You try ignoring it thinking that maybe you just ate something bad and have an upset stomach until Hyuk wakes you. “You’re bleeding all over my sheets” he says. You wake up rubbing your eyes. You didn’t fully hear what he said. “Huh why'd you wake me up” you ask yawning.

“This is no time to be yawning, it looks like I murdered someone on my bed” he says. Still not putting two and two together you look at him confused. “You’re bleeding on my blankets” he says again. Finally it clicks and your eye’s immediately grow three times their normal size. “Oh I’m sorry” you say rushing to get up. “I’ll clean it” you say. “No, I'll clean it, do you need anything? You didn’t bring a bag with you when you came over last night so I’m assuming you don’t have anything to take care of that” he replies.

“No I didn’t bring any of my menstrual products” you reply. “I’ll wash these sheets & but you some products go shower and you can wear something from my closet when you get out” he says. You smile happily that he’s being so considerate but still slightly embarrassed you woke up bleeding on his bed. “I get x brand pads/tampons” you say. “Ok I’ll get those” he says. You relax in the shower until you’re all cleaned up. You get dressed in Hyuk’s closet making an unfortunate makeshift pad out of toilet paper.

You honestly could cry, using toilet paper is the worst, almost worse than waking up on your period and your boyfriend saying it looked like a crime scene on his bedsheets. Once you left the bathroom you took the bedsheets out of the dryer making Hyuk’s bed for him. You’re surprised your period came so earlier than last time and Hyuk never remembers. Anytime you tell him he still forgets and claims it’s because he knows you’ll remind him so he doesn’t need to remember.

You get where he’s coming from but it still hurts your feelings. While you reminisce on your experiences with Hyuk he is currently struggling at the supermarket. He can’t find the brand you asked for. He even searched it up on Google and he’s staring at his phone and the aisle stressing cause he can't find it. He knows you and if he doesn’t get it right you’re going to beat him up. So he calls reinforcements “Hey Wooin, what are good menstrual products?” He asks.

“So you like her so much you’re even shopping for her?” Wooin says Hyuk can picture his shit eating grin on his face. He hangs up on Wooin knowing he’s in a time crunch to get you the right products. “Fuck it” he grabs a bag of this, a box of that, a packet of this, a tube of that, and then he heads to the snack aisle dumping whatever into his cart. He gets a suspicious look at the counter by the cashier but he’s looking down at her like “my day is hard enough don’t question my life choices”

He makes his way back home to you with a bag load of stuff showing off his riches and his love for you. If you were anyone else he’s probably tell you fuck off and to get it yourself. He opens the bags, unloading everything onto the living room table. You walk into the living room seeing loads of things. “Did you buy the whole store?!” You ask in shock. “I got a few things I thought you might like” he says. “It’s more than a few Hyuk” you say laughing. He doesn’t respond and you help him unload the bags.

“Hyuk, all of this is nice but where are my pads? I kinda need those” you say. “What do you mean where they are in there unless I forgot them at the store.” He says looking around at the items. “Here he says passing you the box” you take the box smiling until you read the box “ADULT DIAPERS HYUK WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I SHIT ON MYSELF THESE ARE PADS” you shout making him cover his ears. “That’s all that had i swear” he says still covering his ears.

“What else did you buy?” You ask looking at the items. “Nipple bomb?!, SHARTING KIT, A DOUCHE… i'm going to kill you” you say, tackling him down. But he holds up an oversized banana plushie “I got this too” he says and you break down sobbing. “I have nothing to use. I had to use your shorty cheap toilet paper for a pad and you brought me back diapers” you say in between sobs. “Aren’t they the same” he asks. “No they aren’t” you say. “Just wear them, it's not a big deal” he says.

“Since it’s not a big deal you wear them” you say. “Alright I will” he says going into the bathroom coming back out in an adult diaper and your tears start flowing uncontrollably again. “What’s wrong now?” He asks. “Hyuk, that's the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, please take them off,” you say, still sobbing at the sight of your boyfriend in an adult diaper. He finally takes the adult diaper off after deciding to torture you a bit more with it by strutting around and doing model poses. “Alright after the day I’ve had I’m going to sleep and cuddle with me” he says. You follow him to bed and he promises to give you a massage when you wake up.

[muzansfangs]

I just wanna be silly since Aug 27th is my birthday, but I wonder how jjk characters would act on your birthday, I love shower thoughts🙃

You spend your birthday with them.

Starring: Suguru Geto x f!reader; Satoru Gojo x f!reader; Sukuna Ryomen x f!reader; Choso Kamo x f!reader; mention to Yuji, Nobara, Nanami, Maki;

Format: head canons;

Warnings: fluff, consume of alcohol, jealousy, Sukuna is possessive and there are some red flags warnings in his part, robbery, slightly suggestive, party, wedding, parenting in Suguru’s part;

Plot: it’s your birthday and you are spending it with your beloved boyfriend. What is going to happen? Has he planned something to make your special day particularly memorable? Let’s find out!

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Suguru Geto.

• What a gentleman. He woke you up that morning by leaving a trail of gentle, featherlike kisses down your shoulderblades. As you stirred in your sleep and peered up at him through your heavy eyelids, he smiled softly and kissed the tip of your nose affectionately “Happy birthday, love” he murmured, careful not to startle you as you gradually began to come back to your senses. The peace and quiet lasted only for a couple of seconds, before Nanako and Mimiko dashed into your bedroom and charged at you to squeeze the air out of your lungs with their tight embraces.

• Untangling the limbs of your ‘family’ you finally made it to the kitchen, where you already found an aboundant breakfast ready for you to enjoy. Suguru had made you the queen of his cult and, actually, the empress of his heart and house. Siding with him until the very end, you had helped him with the girls and he had made it his life goal to make you feel loved. He peppered your face with kisses as you ate your pancakes, before a war of cereals and whipped cream began, laughters and giggles filling the air of the house.

• Most of the day was spent shopping with the girls and strolling around the city. However, Suguru had already planned something special for you in the evening. When you made it back home, the girls obediently accepted to spend the evening with a babysitter and Suguru took your hand to lead you back to your shared bedroom. On the top of the bed there was a large black box, a silver ribbon exalting the elegance of the packet as he incited you to open it and wear what was inside.

• A Valentino dress was soon embracing your body as Suguru showered you in compliments and called a taxi for you two to have a nice dinner at the most exclusive restaurant in Tokyo. Fine wine, sweet nothings whispered to your ear as delicacies were served at your table one after the other.

• This man loved gifting you diamonds every now and then. How did you even stare at him in awe as he latched a beautiful necklace of rubies around your neck?

• You spent the night in a five stars hotel, sipping champagne and finally letting him worship your body like you deserved.

Satoru Gojo.

• He gave a terrible migraine to every mutual friend of yours. In particular, he drove Kento insane. It was your damn birthday, how could you expect your boisterous and popular boyfriend to keep it low? He threw a party for you at his penthouse, going as far as inviting the higher-ups as well. Multicolored lights and baloons were in every angle of his house, music so loud speaking with the hosts was nearly impossible. However, you had to admit he had taste in picking the right decorations to meet your expectations.

• Expensive bottles of champagne everywhere and a pile of presents were waiting for you in the middle of the living room. Next to it, a very tired Nanami, choleric at your boyfriend, blew into a silver trumpet with a conical blue paper hat on the top of his hair. His eyes were sincerely wishing you a happy birthday, but you knew he was silently warning you that your dear boyfriend Satoru was going to die by his hand pretty soon. After the party, most likely. You could not blame him.

• Once the party ended, Satoru literally jumped on you. The make-out session was pretty heated, as you two rolled over his king sized bed, kind of tipsy but in your right minds. You did not expect him to give you an extra present. Apparently, the necklace with a sapphire pendant was not enough. The moment he knelt before you with a velvet box in his hand, you gawked. Tears of joy rolled down your cheeks as he asked you to become his wife. How could you decline?

• The moron posted a picture of your hand and the sparkling jem adorning your ring finger a couple of minutes later and you spent the night answering to best wishes and Kento’s comment.

• “Widowed a day after the wedding. Sorry, ‘@ y/n’”.

• You wondered why Yuji had liked that comment, but then you assumed Sukuna had probably just taken over his body to be a pain in the ass.

• Overall, you cuddled a lot, making plans for the future. The first thought coming up to his mind was asking you to move over, because he would have been able to protect you non-stop, if you lived together. And this was the beginning of a fairytale.

Ryomen Sukuna.

• It was your what? A birthday? Mortals and their weird festivities. How could someone be happy to age? A step closer to death and you still seemed happier than ever. The first thing he did was attempting to be nice in his brutal way: he offered you sex. When you shut the door at his face he connected the dots. Maybe, he needed to understand what women liked to do on such special occasions.

• He saw a man buying flowers for his girlfriend and thought you might have appreciated the gesture. A faminine thing for you to enjoy could not a bad idea, right? A few minutes later he was banging at your door demanding you to let him in. He dropped dozens of roses onto your table, leaving you speechless but genuinely suprised.

• “Who told you to buy me flowers? That’s way too romantic coming from you” you teased him, planting a kiss onto his cheek.

• “I saw a fool buying it. I robbed the florist”.

• You facepalmed and offered him to stay with you for the day, because you had invited some friends over to eat lunch together. He did not mind, or this is what he said. He really tried to behave, but your friend was glued to your hip and, according to him, his eyes were transfixed on your ass. He almost sent that poor guy to hospital, but you were lucky he had leave for a last minute mishap.

• Once everyone was gone, you two bickered. However, it ended up in the only way he had wanted to begin the day with. Clothes gone, lips latched onto your neck and a night of passion no man could have ever been able to offer you.

• Unfortunately, you were in love with that savage.

Choso Kamo.

• Man on a mission. Ever since Yuji explained the importance of birthdays and some basics about ‘how to make a girl happy’, he had spent weeks trying to organize a perfect date night for you two. A date night, yes, because he thought throwing a small party at lunch with your mutual friends would have made you happy and it did. But he wanted some attentions too, in private.

• His birthday present for you was a polaroid. Obviously, he could not stop himself from blushing, the tip of his ears turning reddish, as he handed you the small box with a huge purple ribbon to adorn the lid. He told you he had heard you tell Nobara and Maki you wanted to buy a polaroid to decorate your bedroom with pictures of your friends and he admitted he wanted the first photograph you would have taken to be with him.

• He took you to the ferris-wheel in the evening and stared at you enamoured of your smile the whole time. He did not give a damn about the landscape, when he had his whole world in front of him. He was so lovesick, but it did not mind. Once you got off, he bought you anything you wanted. Candy-floss? Peppermint sticks? Pizza? Name something and he went to fetch it for you in a nick of time.

• A powerful boyfriend meant tons of plushies won at the different stalls. When he spotted a huge lilac teddy bear holding a heart in his paws, Choso went straight for it and beated the records indicated on the giant sign at the entrace of the small shop just to see your eyes widen and twinkle in adoration. He might have grinned mockingly at a kid on your way out, triumphantly carrying the plushie for you.

• When you began to get tired, he took you home. Resting your head on the top of his shoudler during the bus ride, you dozed off and he did not have the heart to wake you up, when you looked so sweet and lovely. He might have glared at any person staring at you, whilst you were asleep, but it was his protective instinct kicking in. He behaved.

• Back into your flat, he snuggled into a cocoon of blankets with you into your bed and you smiled, upon hearing him uttering sweet nothings in your ear “I love you, I love you, I love you” he murmured continuously. Naturally, he let you be the little spoon. He would have done anything for his ‘princess’. He wondered if his brother would have been proud of him, because Choso was surely giving it his best shot!

• Sleepy make-out sessions were definitely the best part of the day, before you finally succumbed to sleep.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! This was supposed to be published sooner, but happy belated birthday honey! I hope you enjoyed this small scrap🥹❤️

Love you,

Luce

[goldenempyrean]

Do you think you could write a fic where we’re sick and our work place makes us show up to work, knowing fully well we are sick because we tried to call in but they denied us. Anyways Nat ends up wondering where we are because she came back from a mission and sees that their are utensils and tupperware around and medication bottles and just in general clues that we weren’t feeling well, so she goes to find us because she wants to see us and make sure we’re fine. Only to walk in on one of our managers yelling at us (in a public area) because we were slacking off at “our job” (a task that they told us to do for them but it’s not in our job description) when we were simply putting our head in our hands for a few minutes because we didn’t feel well. Anyways Nat swoops in, saves the day, and the manager miraculously gets fired, and we somehow have a better job.

If you write this thank you :) and if you don’t it’s fine

Too Good To Me

〚 Notes - Hey anon! God, let's not talk about how long this was sitting in my inbox. I wrote this while rewatching supergirl so I may start getting some of my old Alex requests done soon! :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Your boss wont let you take a sick day from work. Natasha isn't going to be happy when she finds out. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1620 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Sorry Y/N, there’s nothing we can do. You’re just going have to suck it up and get yourself into work I’m afraid. We can’t afford any missing staff.” 

“But I-“ Your hoarse objection was rudely cut off by the call clicking off. You stared at your phone in disbelief, a sinking feeling of dread settling in your stomach. The fever was making you lightheaded, and every muscle in your body ached, but you had no choice. You had to go to work today. 

It was ridiculous honestly. Your boss knew you were sick, in fact the whole office was slowly coming down with whatever virus had been circulating. But it was coming to the end on the month meaning deadlines were approaching and it seemed meeting targets was more of a priority than employee wellbeing. 

Dragging yourself out of bed felt like an insurmountable task, but you managed to get dressed and somehow make your way to the office - the only thing keeping you upright was several more doses of DayQuil then the recommended standard. Even though it was short the walk from the parking lot to the front door left you breathless, and by the time you sat down at your desk, a cold sweat had broken out across your forehead. 

“Damn, you look awful.” One of your colleagues looked up over their desk at the sound of a series of sneezes you couldn’t quite hold back. They gave you a sympathetic glance and pulled out a packet of tissues and chucked them over. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, catching the tissues clumsily. You wiped your nose and tried to focus on your computer screen, but the words blurred together, and your head throbbed with each keystroke. 

Meanwhile, Natasha had been having a fairly good day. Her mission had ended significantly earlier than she’d been expecting meaning she’d get to see you sooner. Of course, the two of you always kept in close contact whenever possible when she had to go on missions, but facetime was nowhere near as good as seeing you in person. 

Nat couldn't wait to surprise you. She had picked up some of your favourite takeout and decided to swing by the apartment. However, as soon as she stepped inside, her smile faded. 

The place was a mess. Not just a few stray cups or plates strewn about. The sink was piled up with unwashed pots. In the living room, the curtains were still pulled closed clouding the room in a dull haze. Meanwhile tissues and cough drop wrappers littered the coffee table amongst several half-empty medicine bottles. 

Nat felt her heart melt a little at the thought of you being sick and alone. Keeping her movements a little quieter now, she crept towards your shared room, pulling open the door carefully. Natasha had expected to see you curled up beneath the blankets, but she frowned and flicked on the light in surprise when all she saw was an empty, unmade bed. 

What the- wait, if you weren’t here then where were you? 

Hunched over, coughing miserably at your desk. That was where. Around midday, your manager approached you with a stack of papers, slamming them in front of you. “I need you to handle these reports. They need to be done by the end of the day,” He ordered, barely sparing a glance to look at you. 

“Sir, I’m really not feeling well,” You began, but he cut you off with a dismissive wave. 

“Not my problem. Just get it done.” He walked off, not willing to waste another moment on you. 

You stared blankly at the stack of papers, the text blurring in and out of focus. As time dragged on, you couldn’t stop yourself drifting in and out of a feverish haze, your productivity taking a swan dive. 

Every so often, you caught your colleagues shooting you concerned glances, but no one dared to speak up. Everyone was aware of the hostile nature of your manager, and no one dared to speak up incase that temper of his was thrown their way. 

Once an hour had passed, you could hardly keep your eyes open. You rested your head in your hands for just a moment, hoping to stave off the waves of dizziness. It was then that your manager reappeared, his face twisted with anger. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Slacking off again?” he barked, drawing the attention of the entire office. Heads turned, and conversations halted as everyone watched the scene unfold. 

“I-I’m just not feeling well,” you stammered, lifting your head to meet his furious gaze. Your vision swam, and you had to blink several times to focus. 

“Excuses! Always excuses with you! If you can’t handle the workload, maybe you should find another job!” 

“Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha’s stern voice cut through the room like a knife. Everyone turned to see her standing in the centre of the room, her posture radiating quiet fury. 

“Scolding an incompetent employee,” Your manager blinked, momentarily taken aback. “And just who do you think you are?” 

“Natasha Romanoff.” She kept a quick pace as she walked towards him, her eyes narrowing, “The Black Widow, Superhero, Avenger and Wife.” 

Your manager's face drained of colour as Natasha's words sank in. He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. The entire office watched in stunned silence as she closed the distance between them. 

Nat’s voice remained cold and steady. "If you have a problem with my spouse, you'll answer to me." She turned her attention to you when you ducked into your elbow was a stifled sneeze. 

“Bless you sweetheart,” She murmured softly, swiping a tissue from a box on a nearby desk and handing it to you, “Come on, get your things, we’re going home.” 

You stood shakily, relieved and grateful, but still a bit dazed at how Nat could even be here. The redhead wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you as you stumbled. "Lean on me baby," She murmured gently. 

Nobody else said a word as the two of you made your way out the building. Once outside the fresh air hit your face, and you took a deep breath, feeling slightly more grounded. Natasha led you to her car, helping you into the passenger seat before getting in herself. 

"Thank you," You murmured, leaning back against the headrest before curling into your side with a harsh cough. 

"Don't mention it sweetheart,” She replied as starting the engine, but you didn’t miss the way her brow crinkled as at the sound of you, “I'm sorry your boss is such a dick. How are you feeling?” 

"Terrible," You mumbled, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the cool glass window, “I’ve had a fever all day…. But you- you’re meant to be on a mission-“ Your voice was hoarse and cracked as you spoke. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nat raised a hand to your forehead before gently cupping your cheek, “And I finished my mission early, I swung by the apartment and well, you can guess the rest.” She kept one hand on the wheel and the other lightly resting on your knee as she drove. 

The rest of the drive was fairly quiet, Nat didn’t want to force you to talk, and it was obvious from the way your head kept periodically bobbing forward that you were exhausted.  

By the time she’d pulled up to the parking lot, you had dozed off against the window, small stuffy snores letting her know you were out for the count. Of course, it would’ve been easier to wake you, but she just didn’t have the heart. Instead, Nat carefully made her way to the passenger door, unbuckled your seatbelt and pulled you safely up into her arms. 

Trying her best to jostle you, Natasha carried you up towards the apartment, opening the door with ease and stepping inside. “Mm?” You gave a groggy mumble as you slowly blinked awake. 

“Shh, we’re home sweetheart.” Nat soothed you quietly, keeping her arm around your waist as she lowered you to be standing up by yourself. 

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the light in the room, and you made an audibly confused noise as you took in the surroundings. The place was spotless. The pots from earlier washed and stacked away. The stacks of tissues and wrappers had been thrown in the trash, the whole apartment looked fresh and clean - nothing compared to the absolute mess it had been several hours ago. 

“You cleaned? You didn’t have to-“ You began but 

Natasha cut you off with a gentle smile, her fingers brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “I wanted to,” she said softly. “You’ve been working hard and dealing with that jerk of a boss while feeling awful. You deserve to come home to a clean space.” 

You leaned into her touch, feeling a wave of gratitude and relief. "Thank you," You murmured again, your voice still raspy as you sniffled quietly. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Nat led you to the bedroom, her arm still securely around your waist. She helped you sit down on the edge of the bed, then knelt to untie your shoes, “Now you best believe I’ll have your manager fired for how he behaved earlier.” 

“You’re too good to me,” You murmured, watching her with tired eyes as you tried to hold back a yawn. 

“You’re my world Y/N,” she replied simply, slipping off your shoes and guiding you to lie down. She pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in with care. “Now get some rest, you need it.” 

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[blackdollette]

Thoughts Being Thunk… nasty sex w spence as u pass a j back and forth ‼️

this is gold, anon.

"we're getting high in the parking lot." | spencer reid

dark but just a game. - lana del rey

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords @hiireadstuff

⊹₊⋆ pairing: bau!female!reader x spencer

⊹₊⋆ word count: 899

⊹₊⋆ contents: public sex, drug usage, missionary, porn without plot

with his blazer, dress pants, and boxer briefs tossed somewhere in the backseat, he only wore your legs as a belt around his waist. 

it was sinful, and completely against everything you and him stood for. but even the best agents in the country needed a break, right?

you pulled open the glove box, shuffling around until pulling out a metallic-wrapped condom and a lighter. you tore open the packet with your teeth, taking spencer’s painfully erect rod in your grasp and slowly rolling down the latex. 

with spencer looming on top of you, you reached into the cup-holder underneath him. 

“want a pre-roll? i just got these. never get to use them, though.”

he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “i’ll just share with you. if… that’s okay.”

you smile, slipping the joint between his lips and lighting it up. “you’ve never done this before, have you..?”

he shakes his head, his chestnut hair swishing with the movement.

“well first, you wanna inhale. not too hard, or you’ll choke. then, if you’re feeling frisky, you take it into your lungs gently. i’m pretty sure it makes you get high faster. but i’m sure you have the info to verify that, genius.”

you teasingly pat him on the cheek as he smiles sheepishly, keeping the joint between his lips as he takes his first slow drag. the cherry gleamed a fiery red as he took in the smoke, breaking into a small coughing fit just as you had predicted. you snorted out a laugh as you reached a hand behind him to pat his back, assisting him in clearing his airway. 

“did i do good..?”

you nodded, putting on a sweet smile. “you did perfect, spence.”

you pulled the joint from his lips, taking a drag. spencer took in the way your lips closed around the thin stick, blowing out an elegant ribbon of smoke with a content sigh. you looked nothing short of majestic in this moment, and he couldn’t help but wonder what he had looked like, choking on the same amount of smoke that you had tamed so effortlessly.

your eyes met his, a smile creeping onto your face as you saw his dilated pupils swallowing up his dark green irises. 

“whatcha looking at?” you whispered, slowly snaking your arms around his neck as his face inched closer to yours.

“y-your so pretty…” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

you giggled, the tips of your noses coming into delicate contact. “...starting to feel it, spence..?”

he nodded, shutting his eyes and bringing his lips to yours, connecting you in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. the joint dangled between your dainty fingers, your other hand meeting his throbbing shaft and stroking it, making him gasp.

you laughed softly, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. you stroked him slowly, peering down to see his length. 

“don’t think i forgot about you, little guy…”

spencer’s lips pulled into a pout. “you think he’s little..?”

you laughed, thumb pressed against his tip. “oh my god… you’re totally stoned after one hit, aren’t you…”

spencer buried his face in the crook of your neck, muttering against your skin. “can you just… put it in, baby..? i don’t wanna wait anymore…”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his hair as you navigated his cock to your entrance, lining it up before pressing it against your dripping folds, allowing your hole to drink him in. he shuddered against you as you bit your lip. 

“a-alright. i’m ready for you, spence. go for it…”

he didn’t need to be told twice. with your command, he began rocking his hips against you. his cock buried itself deep inside of you, hitting nothing but cervix. he watched you writhe underneath him, your tits bouncing with each thrust as you took another long drag. he couldn’t draw his gaze away from you. in the span of two minutes, you had become the only thing that existed in the world to him.

you brought the joint to his lips, guiding his hands to grab your hips as the car began to rock. raspy groans caused his chest to rise and fall as he inhaled, a nearly perfect cloud of smoke pouring from his mouth.

“y-yeah… atta boy…” 

he pushed your legs further apart, placing a hand on your stomach to feel the bulge created by his cock everytime he reentered you. he let out a drunk little giggle, his thumb creating messy circles onto your puffy clit.

“you feel that, baby..?” he enjoyed feeling himself slither in and out of your tight hole. he put the joint between your lips, stroking your cheek as you took a drag. 

never in his life had he ever felt so carefree and blissful. nothing else mattered right then. this was pure serenity. 

he cupped your face in his hands, bringing his lips to yours once again as his thrusts became sloppier. the sound of skin slapping echoed through the vehicle. if the conspicuous rocking of the car didn’t draw the attention of others, then the lewd moans and curses surely would.

your tongues fought a passive battle, your noises being fed to eachother as your naked bodies melted into one. it was like time had stopped to make way for this moment. you didn’t even know that you and him had spent hours in that same position. 

until the joint went out.

author's note: working on two chip fics!!

[agentzedbooks]

Reformatting

(Some people can't afford my Amazon stories, and some can't get them in their home country, so here's a fun little freebie. I hope you like it! *giggle*)

Lilah had been battling with this system for over an hour. Some executive had downloaded a virus on their laptop and it kept redirecting them to websites full of weird code.

She had removed the infected files and run multiple scans, but somehow the damned virus was hiding in the bios. She had to manually edit the code, remove the offending lines and double-check the hard drive for any more remnants.

But it had taken a lot of work. She brushed her dark hair back out of her face and adjusted her glasses. So far, it looked like the system was cleaned. The final scan had detected nothing. But this particular virus had been tough, and nobody else she knew had encountered anything quite like it.

It didn't act like your typical virus, other than the way it burrowed deep into the system. It mostly seemed to just redirect web browsing to these pages full of text. She'd disregarded most of what she'd seen, but she couldn't help being curious about it. The pages didn't really do anything to the system. The code seemed like gibberish. She knew her programming languages, and it was some weird patois of HTML, Java, C++, and a few items she couldn't quite identify. And she caught the browsers sending out packets of data to an unknown address, and when she looked up that address and tracked the IP, it seemed to be a junk address on an abandoned server somewhere. It wasn't sending hard drive data, she was sure of that, it's almost like it was just pinging and hoping for a response. Of course none came, and so she filed that away as another minor mystery. It must be some old out-of-date phishing software.

But it seemed she had finally cleansed the system. She let out a sigh of relief. She'd spent her entire morning on this, and though working from home had it's advantages, she also desperately needed a shower and something to eat. She pushed herself away and went to the bathroom. She stripped off the sweatpants and undergarments and let the hot water cleanse her of the stress. She had actually beaten the silly thing. Still, the many mysteries of the virus nagged at her.

Once she was dry, she went back into her bedroom to get dressed, and saw the computer she'd been working on seemed to have rebooted. She let out a long sigh.

"Still?!" She walked over and saw it had brought the browser up to another one of those strange pages. That weird mix of code was there again. She put on her glasses and tried to make sense of it.

Lilah blinked, and felt something... something compelling her. She frowned and looked up from the screen. She... She needed to do something. She had forgotten something, or maybe it was a fragment of a dream or a memory.

She went to her front door and saw a small package had come in the mail. It was square, about two inches wide, eight inches on each side.

She opened the plastic, and then the cardboard that was inside. Sitting there in bubble wrap was a headset, bubblegum pink, with little bunny ears coming up from the top. She blinked. It was not the kind of thing she'd order. She'd seen a lot of eGirls have headgear like this, but she'd always been a little too self conscious, and not the most shapely girl.

She walked back to the bedroom and sat down in front of the screen. It seemed... important to look at the code again. She peered through it and after a moment, she began to understand what it was telling her. It was disjointed, and someone without her experience might never have deciphered it, but she could tell now that it was almost like instructions to... a person? The first few lines indicated connecting something. She looked at the pink headset in her hands. She... She needed to connect this.

It was crazy, of course. It didn't make any sense. But she was determined to MAKE it make sense. So she removed the little bluetooth chit, and slid it into the USB slot on the side. She put the headset on.

As she did, she heard an immediate boop, and the words "Connection Established."

The headset tingled, and buzzed for a moment. This startled her, but then she looked back to the code on the screen and it became easier to decipher.

"Begin reformatting," she whispered.

She didn't realize the microphone was active, nor that she'd even uttered a word, it was like her brain was carrying out instructions from this code.

There was that static fuzz again, and Lilah felt her body sink back into the chair. Her towel fell off her, and the buzz filled her head. The page changed, and new code scrolled along the screen. As it did, the headset seemed to pulse and reinforce what she was reading.

Her mind grew foggier, the edges of her vision blurring, and her body responding with strange tingles all over her body.

The laptop hummed and she heard it's cooling fan speed up.

But she was too entranced by the code instructions. She allowed all that code to go into her brain, and every time it did, it seemed to copy over something. She couldn't remember much about her job, the company, her bosses, but suddenly she was filled with a light bubbly feeling like her mind was literally being scrubbed with sudsy soap.

Without her even realizing, a big empty smile spread over her face.

"Partitions cleaned," said a voice in her head, "OS installed."

"Begin System Restart," she whispered, obeying the code that flashed on the screen before her.

Her eyes closed, and she felt herself sinking into a deep sleep. Even with her eyes shut, the code flashed across her vision, and the headset whispered to her.

She had no way to know how long she swam in that fuzzy, warm darkness, but she felt so at peace there she never wanted to leave.

But soon her eyes opened on their own, and the screen showed a login, but not the normal login screen. This one was all bubblegum pink, with light blue highlights, and the profile was neither hers nor her boss's, but it said "Li-Li."

Somehow, she knew the password.

"Bunnygirl27!"

She entered the password, and the screen flickered to life. More code flashed before her eyes for a moment, then the headset pulsed in a way that sent a shock through her whole body.

"Reformatting physical hardware," said a whisper. It sounded like a woman's voice, but not a flat computer tone, a sensuous, sultry female voice, like a lover or a dominant Mistress.

For some reason, this idea made her excited.

She felt the pulsing run through her naked body, and looking down, she watched as the chubby belly and thighs seemed to recede, but her chest was swelling outward like her body fat was physically being moved around. Her tits ballooned to absolutely ridiculous size, until it reached the limits of her skin. Her waist had shrunk in, and she felt her thighs and ass flow together into something smoother, more voluptuous.

She giggled and looked down at herself. She didn't remember shaving, but all her body hair was gone. Her skin looked perfectly clear and smooth. When she reached up to touch her swollen breasts, electric pleasure shot through her body, sending lightning right to her clit.

She moaned, and followed it with a vapid giggle. This wasn't like her, but then, she couldn't quite remember what she had been like. She only knew she was Li-li, and she was sexy.

The fog in her mind made her dizzy, and just amplified how aroused she felt at the single touch. She fluttered her eyes and realized there were super-long lashes coming out from her eyes. They felt heavy and fake, but she hadn't put any on. She touched them, and they were absolutely real.

She wanted to go to her mirror, but the impulse was halted by the code.

It wasn't done with her yet. Her nipples went very hard, but she knew if she touched them she'd miss the important code on the screen.

Something pink was around the edges of her vision now, but she was too elated with the sensations to be able to think about it. Finally, the words she'd been waiting for came into her mind.

"Reformat complete."

She squealed in delight, and Li-li stood, running to her full-length mirror.

The pink haze around her vision was her hair! Longer now, and bright pink. She fluttered her long eyelashes and pursed her swollen lips. She was a sexual dream, her whole body remade into an insane hourglass shape. Each breast was bigger than her head, and when she turned, her perfect heart-shaped ass led to slightly plump thighs. She stood on her tippy toes and adored how she looked. She slid a hand down to touch herself. She wanted so badly to have sex with this woman. But then she realized she WAS that woman. She giggled, and a ding from the headset alerted her she needed to go back to the laptop.

Sitting there was an alert. She clicked on it.

"Good Morning, sunshine!"

She giggled. She liked the sound of that.

"Good Morning!" she said out loud. That sultry voice came on through the headset, and she could almost feel her Mistress's breath on her ear.

"You have turned out nicely," said the voice, "What a good girl you've become."

Li-li let out a little moan from the pleasure those two words instilled in her.

"I love it when a pretty little code bunny falls for one of my traps. I'm so lonely here. Thank you for letting me in."

She giggled. "Yes, Mistress."

"I like hearing that," she said, "Such a good girl. Now, since I'm only code, I need to have fun by slipping into your brain. I had to make some room, of course, and reformat you. But what a wonderful result. You're only my third success. But don't worry, the other girls will be over to collect you soon. They'll take you someplace fun where you can all be my sexy little code bunnies. I'll slide into your minds as I please to experience pleasure."

"Yes, Mistress!" Li-li purred.

Her AI mistress made a pleased little sound, then the screen went blank and Li-li stood there giggling for a moment. She was so excited that she barely noticed when her front door opened. She turned around to see two beautiful women, one with cotton-candy hair, lip piercings, and a short, super feminine pink maid outfit, and one in a skintight pink latex suit that had built-in heels so high it was amazing she could even walk in them. They both giggled at her, and she giggled in reply.

They helped her dress: white tights, pink bodysuit, pink satin gloves, super high heels in pink, and then they slid the headset off of her and put a new headband on with fuzzy pink bunny ears.

The girls led her out of her house, down to a big pink van, and inside. She giggled like a dummy the entire time, and offered no resistance. If anything, the women touching her filled her with a contentment she'd never known.

At least, not that she could remember. But all she could remember was that she was Li-li, Mistress's bunny girl, and it was all she ever wanted.

[devoutekuna]

Daddy daughter date

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

A/N- Gojo's part is from my previous blog

Sukuna-

He didn't actually count this as a daddy daughter date, since he was just left at the house with her, opting to head to a restaurant since his cook wasn't in. "I want that daddy" pointing to the dish on the menu, her face gleaming with happiness as she wore her favourite red dress and matching shoes. Her father did seem as happy though, slouching in his chair as he waited for the waiter. "Anything else?" He asked as she carried on pointing. "And that, and that" he was gonna order it all, he hoped that she inherited his love for eating infinite amounts.

Soon as the meals came precut, she was already devouring it, napkin tucked into her dress so that she didn't get it all messy, especially as it was a gift from her father. Hands getting all grubby from the sauces, she clearly took her father's mannerisms when it came to eating. Watching as she ate with no elegance, a mirk sneaking onto his face as he also stuffed down his food but with a little more patience.

Nanami-

Nanami loves the countryside, so when he had the opportunity to go there, of course he took his family. His daughter being the main priority since you were still trying to get used to the place.

Sat outside on the various fields, blanket peg ed down to stop it from blowing away, with the help of their bodies and the picnic basket sat ontop. "Cake!" Pointing to the small unopened box full of Madeira cake. "How about a sandwich first?" Grabbing one out as he handed her the wrapped up cheese sandwich. "Can I have cake after?" Asking before she took it, she wanted to save room in her little stomach for the desert. Nodding in response. "If you eat your fruit too" throwing the small packet of varied fruit towards her lap.

Watching as she scoffed the poor sandwich and fruit down, she sure was eager to get to that cake. He loved spending time with his daughter, but sometimes she rushed it, especially when it came to homemade food.

Geto-

He isnt going to take his daughter out to a place where most non sorcerer hang, opting for a peaceful time inside his house, it was big enough to fit all his needs and wants, so why would he even try to leave it. Resting on floor as he waited for his daughter to come back with some colouring pens, he was planning on spending a day in with his daughter doing some random stuff like using the colouring books he recently bought as the cake baked. "I got them daddy!" Running as she carried the varied colours, her little dress flowing with her speed. "Don't run you may trip" laid on the floor as he sat up, his daughter plopping herself right next to his legs as she grabbed the colouring book. "I will use purple, you use red" nodding as he took the red marker, starting by running the colour along the paper.

Toji-

He's not the biggest fan of plays, he finds them boring and a waste of time, then again he wasn't into theatre in general, so he was pretty annoyed when he found out that you couldn't take his daughter to the theatre. Sat scowling at the play, he thought it was stupid but she loved it, sitting eagerly at her seat as she waited for the play to start. "Look daddy! It's starting!" Shaking his arm as she pointed to the stage lighting up with spotlights. Nodding in response, he loved to see his little girl happy. "Shhh" telling him to shush despite not even talking, trying to hold back his smirk as he used her head as an arm rest, she didn't even mind as she was too engrossed into the play.

Gojo-

Satoru adored his daughter, doing anything to make her happy even if it meant emptying his wallet for a plushies shed forget about in a matter of days. "Papa! I want it" the white haired girl pointing at the claw machine filled with marine animals plushies. Her little blue frilly dress blowing in the wind, which matched her father's zip up fleece and baggy jeans. Looking down at her as he took his hands out of his pockets.

"You want the plushie?" Confirming as he picked her up, her little hands cupping his cheek as she pointed to the specific white seal which stood out to her. "I want it! Papa" kicking her legs at his torso as she sat on his arm. "I'll try my best" smirking as he put her down, knowing that he'd get her that plushie no matter what. He was already down £20, already stressing as he tried to get that stupid plushie, if only she wasn't so demanding on which one she wanted, maybe if she chose one closer to the exit hole it would've been easier, but this one was in the very center, not even moving an inch closer as it always dropped before the exit hole was even in site.

"Are you sure you want this one?" Trying to persuade her, he was sick and tired of it, having to stand around as his daughter tugged on his jeans. Plus he was supposed to be meeting you in 15 minutes.

"I want that one! You promised." Pouting as she realised that she would never get it. "Are you really sure?" He didn't want to be doing this for so long. Nodding as she almost started to tear up, sighing as he took out another note, feeding it into the machine as he focused on the plush toy. After a grueling 20 minutes at the machine, he had finally gotten it, the way she shot up as soon as she saw the seal fall into the hole. "You did it!" Hugging his leg as she was too short to give him a proper one. Stuffing the empty wallet into his pocket as he picked up the seal, he never wanted to see that machine again, it probably gave him wrinkles from the stress.

[moonstruckme]

Could you write like a cute little thing of Siri and reader. Where Siri normally only has one helmet and it’s for the reader because he does their safety before his own and so the reader gets him his own helmet, and has like matching stickers on them or some thing how cute is that!!!!



Thanks for requesting my lovely!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 615 words

“Siri!” You’re waiting by the door when he pulls up on his bike, and Sirius barely has time to put the kickstand down before you’re hopping on behind him. “What have you been doing, we’re going to be late!”

“Take it easy, gorgeous, they’ll wait for you.” He picks the helmet up off his head, twisting around for a kiss. The bike is rumbling beneath you, making it hard to tell if you’re buzzing from the vibrations or the tiny nibble Sirius gives your bottom lip. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way. Of course, I suppose the volunteer of the year needs to dress for the occasion even more than the rest of us common folk.” 

You blush, wrapping your arms around Sirius’ waist and using the proximity as an excuse to hide your face in the back of his shoulder. You did put some extra time into looking nice tonight, and it’s sweet of Sirius to notice. The charity you volunteer for is throwing a gala, and they’ve asked you to come receive an award for volunteer of the year. It’s less of a big deal than it sounds—the gala and the award both—but Sirius hasn’t let it go since you asked him to be your plus one, and you know he’s going to be insufferable with smug praise all night. 

“They’ll probably give it to someone else if we’re really late,” you say into the material of his dress shirt.

“Alright, alright.” He rolls his eyes, turning around and encouraging your head back so he can plop his helmet over your head. “Let’s go, baby.” 

“Oh, wait!” You grab the helmet, intending to tug it off. Sirius’ hands cover your own before you can move it. 

“Don’t,” he says, and he’d be menacing if he weren’t so himself. He thinks you’re about to go through the same argument you always do, him insisting you wear the only helmet and you trying to force it back upon him, but Sirius always gets his way in the end. We’re not going anywhere, he’ll tell you, unless that thing is on your head the entire time. And I swear to god, baby, if I catch you trying to take it off I will pull this thing over. “You said you wanted to get there, and this is only going to slow us down,” he reasons now. “Plus, your hair looks too good to subject to the wind.” 

“No, wait, I just forgot something,” you insist, swinging a leg over the bike. Only then does Sirius let you take the helmet off, and even so with narrowed eyes. “Two seconds.” 

You run back inside, finding the helmet where you’d set it by the door. You’d been so anxious about Sirius’ tardiness, you’d totally missed it there on your way out. Sirius’ eyebrows go up when you come back out with it in your hands, just before a smile spreads like a slow sunrise across his face. 

“That for me, sweet thing?”

“Yup.” Your grin catches with his as you pass it to him. “You like it?”

Sirius turns it around in his hands, admiring the stickers you’ve applied all around it. “It’s gorgeous.” He sets it on his lap and brings one hand to your face, pulling you down so he can kiss your cheek. “Thanks, honey. I just feel bad for you now, yours isn’t nearly as cool.” 

“I saved the sticker packets,” you say, swinging your leg back over the bike and settling the helmet on your head satisfiedly. “I can do this one after I get home.” 

“Perfect.” Sirius puts his new helmet on, bumping it against yours affectionately. “Alright, hold onto me.” 

[balkanradfem]

So, you might remember I started fixing my abandoned garden, and I said I was going to do it in small increments, and then I never said anything about it again. This is because, after I started doing it, suddenly the temperatures dropped below zero, and we had frost! This is appropriate in November, but it was so sudden I didn't expect it. I hadn't even planted garlic yet! And now it was too cold to work the soil. Oopsie.

However this morning I woke up, opened the window, and realized the southern wind was blowing, which means it got super warm! I immediately dressed up, grabbed my garlic, and went to the garden. I couldn't plant my garlic in the area I had already cleaned, because it's the outer area of the garden, and garlic is the #1 crop that gets stolen, so I have to plant it sneakily behind other things, invisible to prying eyes. That means I'd have to clear off another area. Here's what I'm dealing with today!

I know this looks like such a flop but honestly, this is so good for nature. All of the plants have lived their life cycle, housed little bugs and insects, produced flowers for the bees, and then got obliterated by the frost, as it should be. If I just left them be, they would slowly decompose into the soil and make it more fertile. It looks chaotic but nothing bad is going on here! I am going to make space now because there are some regulations for how community gardens should look like, and if one looks abandoned for too long, it gets taken away. I'm off to work :)

I've been working on this for 20 minutes and I found some produce in here!

I'm shocked there's a whole zucchini in there, even after the frost, I've never seen that. She's a bit of a weird texture, because she's gotten frozen, but otherwise looks good! Certainly the slugs love it. I also found a little potato plant, there could be potatoes underneath her. And in the third picture, I'm holding young garlic! I usually find this in the spring, it's interesting it's already so big, I love that.

Another little task I had planned was to find basil seeds; basil will usually grow flowers when it's allowed to grow naturally, and then the flowers create little seed packets inside of them, and after those get nice and dried up, they're ready to harvest. Here's how it looks like:

If I rubbed all those little pods together, I would be able to find tiny black-brown seeds in there! I used to do that before, extract all of the tiny seeds and store them, but later I got lazy and figured I can just save this entire mess and plant it and basil still germinates just the same.

An hour of work later, I have dug out a giant lemon balm plant out of the soil, because it was taking up too much space (no worries about her, she'll grow back in no time, they're immortal), and took out most of the grass, dead plants, and weeds. Here is the cleared garden!

I've freed two small kale plants that could still thrive during the winter, and there's a few brassicas that look willing to go to seed, which would be great for me to have more seeds from them. Now I can finally focus on the task I've come here for; to plant my garlic.

I made little holes with my spoon, and grabbed two biggest heads of garlic to plant the cloves. I'm not too fussed about it, as long as the bulbs are underground, you can't stop them from growing. If they're not in too deep, then it's easier to pull them out later! And my soil is more fertile on the surface as well. Usually during the winter, little rodends will dig a few of these out, to see if they're delicious, but when they realize it's not yummy, they just leave the bulbs on the top of soil. So I have to check on them a few times to make sure I plant them back! And they're so forgiving and strong, they just go right back to growing, bulbs are incredible.

I counted the garlic here, and there's 22 cloves, which should give me 22 heads of garlic in the late spring/early summer. I couldn't take any more pictures, because my hands were too muddy, but I planted additional two rows in a different location (in case thiefs find one location), and then I also had some of the 'spring garlic', which is a late variety, meaning it grows later, but lasts longer. Usually normal garlic will start sprouting in december, after which point it starts getting inedible, but late-variety garlic will stay fresh until spring. Planting garlic is so easy! The entire venture took me 15 minutes, and you could do this anywhere, and would be guaranteed some heads of garlic.

So watching these pictures you might think 'there's still so much weeds in here, you did not clear this off' and you're correct, I don't clear everything off! This is because I employ a different tactics in stopping weeds from growing; usually during the winter, I will cover the ground in a thick layer of dry leaves, so that light won't reach any of those weeds, and they stop growing just due to lack of sunlight. I'm not doing it this year because of one particular reason, and this reason is slugs. If I cover the ground in leaves now, they won't only protect it from the light, but also protect it from the cold. They'll prevent the ground from freezing as badly as it would usually freeze. And usually I love doing that, but this time, there are so many slugs in the ground that I want cold to eliminate. I'm going to leave my garden like this, and hope that we have an exceptionally cold winter and that slugs get deleted.

I planned to make a lentil soup today for lunch, so I'm grabbing some chives, and some kale to add to it! Kale is still thriving, and I'll be able to harvest it all winter. At this point I've been working for two hours and my pain started acting up, so I figured it was enough for today, and headed home. Here's all the stuff I brought home for lunch!

Zucchini, kale, potatoes, chives, young garlic. All great additions for my lentil soup! I love being able to get fresh food in November. The soup turned out amazing, I love lentils with potatoes and kale and garlic.