#keycoder

[hilacopter]

had a sudden craving to replay miitopia after years. it still is so peak.

[rosesandprosesstuff]

If you text in a language that uses the Roman alphabet that isn't English, I HAVE A QUESTION.

Do you take the time in a text message to use the different accents or special characters on certain letters? Things like ñ, ç, á, ß.

On my American English keyboard, getting the accents is just holding the key down and swiping up for the accented letter. It doesn't take that much effort, but I mostly use the feature for em dashes (—). And English doesn't use a lot of accent punctuation (which does not help with the world's most phonetically inconsistent language, but I digress).

Or does your autocorrect catch this stuff? Like if you type "ca va" on a French smartphone, does it autocorrect to "ça va"?

I just remember in French class using many more accents on letters and memorizing alt key codes for them on a computer. But I never progressed in French to like, have people to text with in French.

I'm just curious. Autocorrect and auto capitalization have contributed to texting being less "lol brb ttyl," but I wondered how far that extended in other languages using the Roman alphabet.

[lilpurplegalaxy]

So i ended up excluding and re-downloading TS3 and that god forbbiden Key code isn't working, i got mine from the "regedit" archive and it didn't work i'm desperate at this rate i maneged to download but can't play!!! 😭😭😭 I need help asap!!

👆This is me after trying 5 different codes from the key generator

[husbo-venus]

had a bad grindr experience gang :/

[theshipsong]

got unicode typing working on linux we're so back ☉☽☿♀♂♃♄♅♆♇

[catnotfound]

Something silly I made last night to cheer myself up~ Keycode might just be a cryptid frfr 🫥

[geffenrecords]

cam nobody read Fucking signs on the doors

[somanysurprises]

Keycode underscore left

docs.nvidia.com/gameworks/content/technologies/mobile/game_controller_android_tv_micro_consoles.htm Microcontrollers

[sw5w]

I Just Happen to Have a Chance Cube Here

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:53:26

[taeminfucks]

@noticemedongsaeng crisis and emergency

231201 WayV_official Twitter Update

[taegimood]

Can we get sub!soobin getting jealous and possessive after you flirt with some guy in front of him

SQUEEEEE i was just telling berrie that i feel guilty for writing soobin too much but this one’s not my fault 🤓☝🏼 THE PEOPLE ASK AND I DELIVER 🗣️

edit: ……i got a little…..…. carried away 😶

ok soobin being such a little SLFNSKFJF he’s so pouty and defensive please

you would never intentionally hurt his feelings, but let’s say he’s been pushing it lately with the stubbornness. borderline brat behavior with how he talks back and whines over the littlest things, trying his luck with the pouty cold shoulder treatment that of course gets him nowhere (which then only makes him more of a baby about it).

at first, you can’t for the life of you understand what’s making him act this way lately; where did your sweet puppy-like soobin go ??? alexa play good boy gone bad

it’s not until he begrudgingly picks you up from work one day that you realize: oh…

he’s jealous.

you hadn’t thought anything of it when your new coworker joined your team a couple weeks ago, nor when he came face to face with your unsuspecting boyfriend who was picking you up from work that day.

sure, this new guy was very friendly, and eager to help where he could as you trained him for the new position, but you didn’t see it as anything more than that — while soobin, apparently, did.

you can see him now from across the room as everything clicks for you.

he’s sitting at the table by the entrance of your café, waiting as you take the last few minutes of your shift to go over a new latte recipe with said coworker, and you can tell from the furrow in his brows and how tightly his lips are pressed together that he is not happy with the current proximity between you and this other man.

like i said before.. you would never intentionally hurt soobin’s feelings. but when you laugh a little too hard at a joke your coworker just told and give his shoulder a light punch in response…

well, your introvert boyfriend is certainly not one for confrontation with a stranger, so needless to say you’re shocked as he immediately stands and stalks right up to the two of you with no hesitation.

“baby?-“

“don’t you think you’re a bit too close to her?”

you gape at him. he’s staring directly down at your coworker, who he towers over now that he’s right in front of him, and the other man’s eyes widen at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“u-uh, well-“

“your shift’s over, let’s go home.” soobin mutters to you then, not looking at either of you now as he takes you by the hand without another word and pulls you out the door of the café.

you’re scolding him in the car the whole drive home, telling him how he can’t just do things like that, how he can’t just start randomly being rude to people and that this is so unlike him, how he’s been acting out so badly lately and he seriously needs to put this attitude to rest —

but soobin is silent the entire time. looking straight ahead, jaw clenched, leg bouncing in his seat.

your eyes flit over to him in concern.

he’s still silent as you both get out of the car, as you go up the elevator to your apartment, as you finally enter the keycode and step inside — and that’s when it all comes out.

you gasp as you’re suddenly pressed to the wall, his lips urgently meeting yours and his hands gripping you as close as they possibly can; you’re so shocked at the sudden display of dominance that you don’t react at first, until he whimpers against your lips, a silent, desperate plea for you to return his fervor.

and so you do.

soobin has you thrown onto the mattress before you know it, clothes ripped off, his body pressed right up against yours, his lips and his tongue and his hands overwhelming you all at once.

“s-soobin-“

“you’re mine. you’re fucking mine.”

you gasp as he bites down on the part of your neck where he was just sucking marks into a moment ago; a dam seems to have broken as he starts babbling now, and finally you understand the reason behind all of his recent behavior.

“hate the way he looks at you… hate the way he follows you around like a lost fucking dog.”

you moan wantonly as his throbbing cock suddenly enters you in one thrust.

“no one else can make you feel as good as i can. no one else can be as good for you as me. you know that, right? right? f-fuck-“

you’re practically drooling as he fucks you hard, his quick, deep strokes overstimulating as his voice breaks and you can tell just how desperate he actually is for your reassurance right now.

“s-soobin- f-fuck, i can’t even think s-straight-“

“i’m your good boy, right?? n-no one else? i always make you feel good? p-please say it..”

his hips are stuttering as he loses his cool, barely able to maintain a steady rhythm as he buries himself over and over again in your dripping cunt, face pressed into the crook of your neck as he desperately tries to make you cum — whether for you or for himself, or both, you aren’t sure.

“b-baby- fuck, baby, of course you do- so fucking good for me, always so fucking good.. my good boy.. fuck, just like that, soobin-!”

you’re fighting to maintain the control of yourself that you know he needs you to have, but it’s so difficult as he pounds your pussy so good that you swear you’re seeing other galaxies.

your words have him whimpering, breaths coming out in short little moans as he clutches you impossibly tighter, begging to hear more —

you gasp at the sudden feeling of his hot cum shooting into you, and a broken cry escapes his lips, pleasure mixed with frustration as he doesn’t stop, his body trembling from sheer overstimulation as he chases down your orgasm.

“b-binnie-! binnie, slow d-“

“w-wanted you to c-cum first, m’sorry, m’sorry, fuck-!“

you feel as if the wind is knocked out of you before you even get the chance to respond, because suddenly his hot tongue is laving roughly over your nipples and his fingers have moved down to draw rapid circles around your clit;

his hips slam into yours, making filthy wet sounds as his cum gushes from your entrance, his teeth marking up your tits, his whines and moans pornographic as you cum hard around his aching cock and his own second load fills your pussy to the brim.

you have to lock your trembling legs tightly around his waist to get him to stop thrusting; you’re both breathing raggedly as his hips finally still and he goes slack on top of you.

he lets out an exhausted little whimper at the feeling of your still-twitching pussy. he doesn’t show any signs of pulling out, and you don’t even know if has the energy to do it himself;

“binnie,” you whisper, reaching up to card your fingers gently through his damp hair.

“mmh…”

“baby, look at me.”

slowly he lifts his head from its hiding place in the crook of your neck.

“you know… normally i’d punish the hell out of you for how bratty you’ve been… but i think i’ll let it slide just this once,” you joke softly.

his lips are already forming into a pout but you’re quick to add; “you don’t ever, ever have to feel threatened by anyone else. you’re absolutely perfect for me, bunny.”

poor sensitive soobin, bro… 🤧 he’s had such an overwhelming day of different emotions that he quickly tears up at your words, sniffling and mumbling explanations and apologies and so many i love you’s as you cuddle him to your chest, cooing over your sweet silly boy and making sure he knows that he’s the only one for you <333

he still gets grumpy when your coworker’s around — but that man will be staying far, far away now. (soobin’s stank face is sure to clear any place out for miles)

[chanelrolls]

heyy hope you’re doing fine!

I saw this hc of Xavier I wanted to know if you could write something about it? (only if you want tho no pressure)

He has a fever and calls MC to like watch out for him, give him medicine and all BUT he gets freaky and then things happens between them

Lovesick | Xavier

synopsis. xavier isn't just in a fever, he's in heat. and he wants you to take care of him.

tags. mdni, nsfw, mature content, mutual pining, tension, so much tension, yearning!xavier, t!t-pleasing, f!ngering during a phone call, etc.

wc. approximately 3.5k

the coffee machine whirred behind you, steaming with the usual early evening chaos. customers murmured by the counter, some tapping impatient fingers, others scrolling on their phones. you were halfway through wiping down a table when your phone buzzed inside your apron.

you shouldn’t have checked it. you weren’t supposed to have phones out, but something about the timing made you glance.

xavier (7:46 PM): You free?

you blinked. the message was simple. no teasing, there were no smartass remarks. simple two words, coming from xavier, and that was practically a cry for help.

you typed back quickly.

: at work. why?

there was a pause. then three dots from his chathead. then nothing.

you hesitated, peeking out at the line of customers forming by the register. your coworker was mid-order, so you ducked into the stockroom and pressed the call button.

he answered after the first ring.

"hey," he said, voice hoarse, lower than usual, softer too.

“xavier? what’s going on?” you asked, keeping your voice down.

“i think i’m dying.”

you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “what kind of dying are we talking about here?”

“i’m... sick,” he muttered. “probably a fever. my head’s spinning. i didn’t eat anything all day.”

you leaned against the shelves, sighing. “did you take anything? medicine?”

“nope.”

“water?”

“forgot.”

“xavier.”

“i—” he paused. “didn’t want to be alone. so i called you.”

that silenced you for a moment. you could hear rustling on the other end, the faint sound of a blanket being dragged over him. you could almost picture it—xavier, curled up in bed, hair a mess, hoodie probably pulled over half his face, looking pitiful in that annoyingly charming way of his.

“i’m at work,” you said softly. “i can’t leave.”

“i know.”

“but i’ll come after.”

“...you will?”

you sighed once more, adjusting your apron. “yeah. just... stay alive until then, okay?”

“noted,” he replied, voice tired but teasing now. and just like that, he hung up.

you stared at your phone for a second longer, then stuffed it back into your apron and headed out to take the next order. but your mind was already somewhere else. or rather, with someone else.

your shift ended later than expected. the rush hour crowd had dragged on, and you'd stayed behind to help close up. by the time you made it to xavier’s apartment, your limbs were sore and your feet were screaming, but the moment you stood in front of his door, all of that faded.

you didn’t even have to knock. he'd texted you his spare keycode months ago, something about “just in case i pass out drunk or dead,” typical xavier. and for the first time, you were grateful for his melodrama.

the door creaked open. complete silence.

you stepped inside quietly, toeing off your shoes. the living room was dimly lit by the city lights bleeding in through the window blinds. his cardigan was tossed over the back of the couch, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air.

you didn’t call out. he was probably asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him.

instead, you headed to the kitchen.

you knew his cabinets by heart. he always left the mug you gave him on the second shelf. the rice cooker blinked on standby. you moved automatically; washed your hands, checked the fridge, started cooking something simple.

that’s when you noticed it.

a small table nearby, and a box of tissues aloft.

and right next to it—your photo. not the one from high school graduation, or from a group hangout. no, it was a candid shot you barely remembered anyone taking. you were laughing, head turned slightly, sunlight catching your cheek. you didn’t even think you looked particularly good in it.

you froze.

for a moment, the quiet of the apartment felt heavier. like it knew something you didn’t.

why would he keep that photo? why would it be out like that, with tissues beside it? was he… crying? no, could it be...?

you were just reading into it again, like you always did.

you swallowed, turning back to the stove, but your hands moved slower now. more uncertain, more careful.

he always called you first, since the prologue of your childhood friendship. and you've had the biggest crush on him for a while, and yet his ambiguity made it difficult for you to open that up.

and that photo... maybe it was just the flu.

you nudged the bedroom door open with your elbow, careful not to spill the bowl of porridge balanced in your hands.

he was buried beneath his blanket, cocooned like a child. the tip of his hair stuck out from the edge, tousled and damp with sweat. you couldn’t even tell if he knew you were there yet. the room smelled faintly of mint and something warmer, muskier. like heat.

you set the tray on his desk and turned on your heel to grab the small bucket of warm water you’d prepared from the kitchen. a washcloth dangled from the edge. he probably needed help wiping down his face, he always got annoyingly dramatic when he was sick.

but when you walked back in, your breath caught in your throat.

he was awake.

sitting up.

and staring right at you.

his blanket was slung low around his hips, exposing the cut of his collarbones, the slight sheen of sweat across his neck, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. his eyes were glazed, feverish, but locked on you like you were something he hadn’t decided what to do with yet. hungry, almost?

you clutched the bucket tighter.

“you’re awake,” you said, suddenly very aware of the silence. “i—i made you something. porridge. you haven’t eaten, right?”

still, he said nothing. he just watched, before flickering his gaze down the floor, like he was contemplating something.

it made your skin feel tight, like his gaze was unraveling something you didn’t know how to hide. “...you okay?” you asked again, gently this time, your voice just above a whisper.

something in the way he looked at you made your chest twist. he was beautiful. even like this—flushed, messy, and sick. too beautiful for your own good. and you had no idea what was going through his head.

you dipped the washcloth into the warm water, watching steam rise gently before wringing it out with a practiced hand. the room was utterly silent, save for the quiet drip of water and the soft hum of the air conditioner.

when you turned to wipe his face, you almost froze.

xavier was propped up slightly against the headboard. the blanket was haphazardly draped over his hips, his chest rising and falling with a slow, heavy rhythm, still staring at you.

but not at your face at least.

his gaze had dipped lower, fixated somewhere near your collarbone, unmoving. lips parted, his breathing uneven.

you cleared your throat and brought the cloth to his forehead, gently wiping along his temple.

“you’re burning up,” you murmured.

he let out a breath, shaky. almost a whimper. “I know…”

you frowned at the sound he made. “xavier?”

he blinked once, sluggishly, then finally looked up at your face. “i heard you come in,” he said, voice low and distant. "knew it was you."

“mmh, didn’t know you were awake.”

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped again, this time to your thighs as you sat beside the bed. “you wore that... last week.”

you blinked. “what?”

“those jeans,” he said flatly, though there was a tremble at the end. “i remember—” a second whimper slipped out, barely controlled.

that’s when you started to notice it. his jaw was clenched too tightly, fingers gripping the sheets, and flexing rhythmically. his pupils were a little too blown despite the half-lidded gaze.

and when you leaned closer, the scent of something—not just sweat—hung in the air.

your hand stopped mid-wipe. “xavier, are you… are you sure this is just a fever?”

he didn’t respond right away. he just took the time to breathe slower. then finally, with a near-broken edge in his voice: “i didn’t want to call you... but i couldn’t- couldn’t think straight.”

he sounded desperate with that strained voice of his. like his body was at war with him.

and for the first time since stepping into this apartment, you realized—this wasn’t just sickness. something else was happening to him. and you were the one he called first.

you kept your hand steady, even though your pulse had picked up. you continued wiping his cheeks, temples, and neck with slow, deliberate strokes, trying not to react. trying not to notice how his eyes traced every movement of your fingers like it hurt him to look, but worse to look away.

he was quiet now, except for the occasional unsteady breath and soft, involuntary whimpers—small, bitten-off sounds like he was trying to hold them back. it was subtle, but enough to startle you. you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

his skin was flushed deeper now. jaw tight. his chest rose and fell faster.

still, you didn’t say anything.

you just dipped the cloth again and moved on.

until you heard him speak, barely above a whisper. “…it’s worse when you’re close.”

you froze mid-motion. “what?”

xavier’s eyes slid shut, like it took effort just to keep them open. his hand gripped the blanket tighter near his abdomen. “i didn’t want to make this your problem,” he said, voice hoarse. “i just wanted to hear you. thought maybe it’d help if i heard you.”

you didn’t respond. because your heart was hammering too loud in your chest now. and you were beginning to understand.

this was his body asking—no, begging—for relief from something else entirely. and the fact that it was you he called, of all people, said more than his trembling lips could.

still, you swallowed it down, wrapped it up in a calm voice.

“i made you some food. you should eat before it gets cold,” you said softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. you stood up slowly, brushing off your jeans, carefully reaching for the tray on the side table. but before your fingers could curl around the handle, a firm grip closed around your wrist.

“xavier…?”

his grip wasn’t painful, but it was strong. his hand was burning hot around your skin. when you turned back to face him, his eyes were already on you, heavy-lidded and desperate.

“i said it’s worse when you’re close,” he mumbled, “but i didn’t tell you to move away.”

“xavier—”

before you could even take a breath, he tugged. you stumbled forward, catching yourself with your free hand against the mattress just beside his hip.

“wait—”

he shifted, his body rising slightly despite the clear strain on him, and in one fluid motion, he guided you down onto the bed, your back hitting the sheets with a soft thud. his palm pressed against the mattress beside your head, caging you in, while the other still held your wrist against his chest.

your heart practically stopped.

he hovered there, breathing heavily above you, eyes scanning your face like it grounded him. “…i’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning closer. “i just… i can’t pretend i don’t need you right now.”

you could feel every bit of his warmth. every bit of restraint teetering on the edge of collapse. and despite everything—your confusion, the unspoken history between you—you didn’t push him away.

his eyes flicked down, just for a second.

not at your face.

lower.

and he didn’t even try to hide it.

still hovering over you, his breath warm against your skin, he let out a shaky exhale and muttered, “you shouldn’t wear stuff like that when you’re around me…”

there was a tension in his jaw, like he was biting back more than just words. his hand that had been holding your wrist slowly loosened, fingers trailing down the length of your arm in a way that felt both deliberate and unsure.

then, his voice came again, this time, laced with a strange, monotonous rhythm. “…you smell too nice.” a pause. “it’s hard to think.”

he whimpered quietly, like it escaped him without permission. you saw his brows furrow as if frustrated with himself, his knuckles turning pale where they gripped the blanket beside you.

“damn it…” he whispered, and another shaky sound followed—half-breath, half-moan.

you wandered your eyes beyond his stare, afraid to prolong the tension in the eye-fucking you've been doing since earlier. but the presence just above you made it impossible to keep your eyes anywhere but on his.

“…say something,” he whispered, almost pleading. “before i- before i stop thinking straight.”

you watched as xavier's adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow. you could see the internal struggle playing out behind his eyes, the war between his self-control and the primal instincts screaming at him to take you, to claim you as his own.

"xavier... i.." you couldn't even form anything coherent.

he leaned into you for a brief moment before catching himself and pulling away, shaking his head. "i need you to go. now."

despite his words, he made no move to leave, instead staying rooted in place, his eyes still drinking in every detail of your face, your body, like a man starved. you could see the outline of his hardening length straining against his sweatpants, impossible to hide in such close proximity.

"xavier..." you breathed out, your own heart beginning to race as you realized the true nature of his condition. "you're not fine. you're in... heat."

you said the words gently, almost hesitantly, not wanting to believe it yourself. but the evidence was undeniable, from the feverish look in his eyes to the prominent bulge in his pants. he was fighting it, fighting you, and he was losing control fast.

suddenly, xavier's eyes flicked down to your chest, lingering on the swell of your breasts straining against your shirt. he swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

"can i... can i see your chest?" he asked, his gaze still locked onto your breasts. then he looked up at you, his eyes pleading and filled with a hunger you'd never seen before.

you hesitated, knowing that giving in would be crossing a line. but the desperation in his eyes, the way his body trembled with need, made it impossible to say no. with a reluctant nod, you slowly began to unbutton your shirt, your fingers shaking slightly as you exposed more and more of your soft skin.

it wouldn't hurt to try, right?

xavier watched, his eyes following the path of each button until your shirt fell open completely. he let out a shaky exhale as he took in the sight of your lace-clad breasts, his gaze darkening with lust.

"beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "you're so beautiful."

his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. after a long moment, he looked up at you, then— "can i touch them?"

you hesitated for only a second before nodding, your heart pounding in your chest. xavier didn't waste any time, reaching out to cup your breasts in his large hands. he grunted at the feeling of your soft flesh yielding beneath his touch, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples through the thin lace.

but that wasn't enough for him. so he leaned down and pressed his mouth against your tits, his lips brushing over the sensitive peak of your nipple. you gasped at the sudden contact, your back arching slightly as a jolt of pleasure raced through your body.

xavier seemed to take that as permission, his mouth opening to draw your nipple between his lips. he suckled hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he ate at your breast. his hands kneaded the soft flesh, squeezing and groping.

you could only moan in response, your fingers tangling in his hair while he worshipped your breasts. the sight of him, face buried in your chest as he suckled and licked at your nipples, was almost too much to bear. you could already feel the heat building between your legs, your core aching with a need that demanded to be filled.

xavier seemed just as affected, his hips rocking forward and grinding his hard length against your thigh. you could feel the damp spot of pre-cum soaking through his sweatpants, the evidence of his arousal impossible to hide.

when the moon called for unfortune, the shrill ring of your phone pierced the charged air, startling you both. xavier glared at the offending device, a hiss of frustration escaping his lips. you reached for it, answering the call and trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"h-hello?" you managed to say, your voice only slightly breathless.

xavier watched you intently, his eyes dark with lust and a hint of mischief. as you tried to focus on the conversation, you felt his fingers at the waistband of your jeans. with a deft movement, he undid the button and zipper, his hand slipping inside to cup you through your panties.

you had to bite back a moan, your hips instinctively canting into his touch. "y-yeah, I'm still here," you struggled, trying to keep your voice steady as xavier's fingers began to move, rubbing your clothed slit with a growing pressure.

the person on the other end of the line seemed to sense something was off, asking if everything was alright. "i'm fine," you assured them, even as xavier's fingers pushed your panties aside, his bare digits brushing against your slick folds.

you could feel the wetness gathering at your core, your body responding eagerly to xavier's bold touches. he explored your slick heat, fingers teasing your entrance before dipping inside, just barely, a shallow thrust that made you clench around him.

"okay, i'll... i'll see you soon," you said, struggling to keep your voice even while xavier began to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. with a muffled moan, you hung up the phone, tossing it aside carelessly.

xavier imperceptibly smirked at your reaction, "all alone now," he murmured, "and all mine." with that, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his fingers never ceasing their movements between your thighs. you could only moan in response, still feeling uncertain despite the overwhelming pleasure that tugged at you. but one thing was for sure, you wouldn't stop xavier until you both reached the peak of this night. you wouldn't stop him from claiming what he craves for tonight.

[ihangelic]

BOYNEXTDOOR FIC RECS

warnings. sfw & nsfw. legal line only. all categories sorted by oldest to youngest. this list includes my own works (i’m shameless). more works will be added overtime, so keep coming to look!

keycode. ⚠︎ = smut/suggestive, ☀︎ = fluff, ☾ = angst

✉️ 𓂃 ₊˚⊹ note. if any authors tagged want their @ slashed or not be tagged again, please lmk! keep in mind this list is literally just my personal readings, so it’s not going to have an ‘even’ amount of anything.

under 1k:

☾, ☀︎ heartache by @zynz0 | contains. jaehyun x gn!reader, angst to fluff note. love me some satisfying angst

☀︎ we call it love by @nicholasluvbot | contains. taesan x fem!reader, fluff

⚠︎ untitled by @soobinskii | contains. sub!leehan x fdom!reader, smut note. author has written leehan exactly how i love sub!idols to be written: desperate, horny and adorable :(

⚠︎ untitled by @hazeytae | contains. stoner!leehan x afab!reader, smut

above 1k:

☀︎ ⚠︎ pretty boy by @hanfourz | contains. sungho x gn!reader, fluff, suggestive, christmas setting note. I JUST LOVED THIS IT WAS SO ADORABLE AND DOMESTIC IDK TT <3

⚠︎ baby blue by @camstqr | contains. virgin sub!sungho x fem!reader, smut, f2l note. this is 7.7k and i want to kiss author’s brain for it.

☀︎ evening glow by @loserlvrss | contains. riwoo x afab!reader, fluff, f2l note. this was written absolutely beautifully, author really knows how to paint a picture. also their backstory and coming to realize feelings and the decisions they made i found really relatable. there was just something so poetic yet raw about this work.

⚠︎ one more night by @heechwe | contains. ceo!jaehyun x fem ceo!reader, smut note. well written smut with a fun concept!

☀︎ forgotten grocery list by @loserlvrss | contains. jaehyun x afab!reader, fluff

⚠︎ ☀︎ kiss culture by @ihangelic | contains. jaehyun x afab!reader, clingy/sick jaehyun, fluff to smut, winter setting

⚠︎ ☀︎ pas de punk by @ihangelic | contains. punk!taesan x fem ballerina!reader, e2l, band au, smut, fluff

☀︎ almost, but not quite by @gluion | contains. leehan x gn!reader, fluff, s2l, university au note. i’m speechless while also having so much to say. this read like a coming-of-age movie, the scenes and choices of where to put a dialogue break— everything was so well thought out. (also, the moment i saw that author listed the marias and the neighborhood as the first two songs for the fic’s playlist, i knew it was gonna slap.) i was literally hooked on the first sentence— fish pun intended. the awkwardness was so endearing, how leehan constantly wanted to be around reader yet denied feelings, the ponyo references and fish/ocean analogies? a gorgeous, feel-good read.

⚠︎ sleepyhead by @blueberrybeomgyu | contains. sub!leehan x reader, smut note. THIS IS MY SHIT! SOFT SEX- like idek how to describe it but i love when writers can write smut that’s so fuzzy and soft and warm?? literally have admired this writing style of smut for years and i can’t seem to do it. incredible writing.

⚠︎ mine to ruin by @ihangelic | contains. dom!leehan x fem!reader, smut note. one of my own works, but i really like this one! contains plushie humping and guided/mutual masturbation.

☀︎ more than a little bit by @jigeuminunbich | contains. leehan x fem!reader, fluff note. AHG I JUST LOVE THIS! the love confession was a great touch and was realistic and super cute to me!

⚠︎ distracted by @melohann | contains. sub!leehan x reader, smut note. i think this is one— if not THE first bnd fic i’ve ever read and it’s one of my favs. rather cute for smut.

⚠︎ wet the bed by @0310s | contains. leehan x gn!reader, smut

☀︎ love and suds by @bananielle | contains. leehan x reader, fluff, comfort note. perfect for when you have a bad day, anxious, or just need to relax.

[sebsbarnes]

Hi i love your work! I was wondering if u could do a fic where tangerine x reader are running from enemies on a job and they end up making out to try and hide from the enemies because pda makes people uncomfortable? Like the comment black widow makes to steve rogers in the winter soldier before she kisses him?

im backkk! so sorry for the massive delay, i love this request. it may be a little rusty so i apologize now.

pda || tangerine

tangerine x reader

warnings: brief talks of shooting and guns

word count: 1.2k+

masterlist

"you're a fuckin' idiot, tan," you snapped in defeat, looking at the man who appeared clueless about the situation.

he tsked and continued to move deeper into the building, "there's nothing to worry about. alarm gets tripped so what? we got a few minutes before anyone shows up."

with slow footsteps you followed behind him. irate was the only word to describe your mood. you mimicked him behind his head, arms up in the air, your gun flailing around dangerously in your right hand as you muttered in a whiny baby voice, 'we got a few minutes'.

tangerine and stubbornness go hand in hand, you can't have one without the other. his attitude made missions sometimes far easier when there were issues with other individuals or, in this case, far more difficult. instead of waiting an extra five minutes for the incoming call from lemon providing tangerine with the keycode, tangerine took it upon himself to smash the keypad. of course, an orchestra of alarms rang out and bounced off the walls of the building in an almost deafening manner. but rest assured, there was no one in the building...according to tangerine.

"c'mon we need to hurry up," you said, now walking in stride with him, "second-floor unit 204."

it was a file the two of you were after. information was scarce to get. a mission would come through, assigned off to you, and that was the extent of knowledge you had. as far as you and tangerine knew, your boss wanted the list of names encrypted on the file. what you didn't know was that the building was teeming with employees ready to defend the file.

there was a loud boom followed by an eerie silence. immediately you and tangerine halted, his hand coming to hover in front of your body preventing you from moving. tangerine's eyebrows were pulled into a deep furrow attempting to use some sort of instinct to decipher where the noise was coming from. he caught your eye before following your pointed fingers that were angled above and to the left. just as he pivoted his head, a symphony of gunshots rang.

"move!" he demanded, gripping your jacket and shoving you behind a structural pillar.

the whizzing of the bullets sounded as if you were surrounded by a swarm of bees. you were silently cursing at tangerine for his rash decisions earlier. you watched as tangerine shot five men in succession.

"oh but we had time, right?" you barked, aiming your sights on seemingly the last gentleman. with a squeeze of the trigger, the bullet went flying, piercing the man on the side of his neck.

tangerine sprinted from his position, "let's go," he directed, grabbing onto your wrist.

"god-," you panted, "i hate working with you sometimes."

"oh shut up," he huffed as your legs pounded against the waxed tiles, your wrist still bouncing in his grasp.

just as the two of you were about to push open the front doors, a bullet shattered the glass causing the two of you to stumble. daring to peer behind you, you were met with about four men charging forward.

"shit, c'mon," tangerine rushed.

tangerine guided you around the corner of the building, sprinting into a busier part of town. there was no chance of losing the men and although the distance between grew wide, you could still hear the pounding of the footsteps. with you in tow, tangerine darted into a convenience store. through short breaths, you could hear tangerine muttering how there is a back exit. you took the opportunity to shrug off your jacket and toss it down one of the aisles in a measly attempt to disguise yourself. without warning you gripped tangerine's button down and popped the first three buttons open. he sent you a look of disgust.

"can you try disguising yourself?" the annoyance in your tone evident. without a word, tangerine huffed as he discarded his perfectly tailored jacket and vest by shoving it into a man's arms.

you and tangerine decided to cut into a park. it was risky doing so. the park only had one real entrance and exit and there wasn't much to hide behind. tangerine figured it was the best option instead of walking the busy streets and putting innocent lives in danger. so, the two of you darted through the gate but not before one last look at the unwelcomed guests trailing behind. thankfully, there was enough distance that the man leading the pack didn't notice the small detour you two took.

"what the fuck!" you groaned quietly after a few minutes of heaving breaths and pebbles scattering beneath your feet. you noticed one of the men walking slowly through the park's weaving pathways.

tangerine ran a hand through his hair, "we got nowhere to go."

you felt your palms getting sweaty as you tried raking your brain of what to do. tangerine looked just as clueless as you. the park had one entrance and the two of you were trapped in the corner.

"kiss me."

"what?" tangerine asked incredulously.

"pda, it uh-" you stammered, "it makes people uncomfortable."

a nervous chuckle escaped his lips but you couldn't miss the way his tongue poked out between his lips, "i'm not-"

before your mind could process your movements you were shoving tangerine by the shoulders and forcing him to sit down on the park bench. as if it was the most natural action in the world, you placed your knees on either side of his legs and sat on his thighs. leaning down you pressed your lips against his. your hands trailed up the back of his neck and into his now loose curls. you noted how tangerine didn't seem to move at first until it was like he suddenly came to life and his hands gripped at your hips.

tangerine's mind was spinning. he'd never dare to admit but he dreamed of this. the way your lips slotted perfectly into his, the feeling of your heart thumping against his chest, your nails gently gliding against his scalp, the feeling of your weight on him.

the kiss was gentle yet desperate. a kiss so perfect that you only read about it in romance novels. too perfect that you didn't even hear the suited man wielding a gun mutter how disgusting people are these days. his grimacing face going unnoticed as your lips molded to tangerine's. the echo of his footsteps receding faded into the night.

your lungs burned for air but you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. tangerine's cologne clouded your senses with a perfect mixture of cedarwood and green mandarin. his facial hair tickled at your face. you could feel tangerine's thigh flex with the movement of your body. his hands cradled your frame, your shirt slightly bunched in between his fingers. it pained you to pull away but you lost the ability to breathe.

your eyes fluttered in a sense of disbelief but also awe as tangerine's eyes bounced around your face. he noted the way your chest rapidly rose and fell, but for him, his breathing paused. he took in the way your lips were slightly swollen and glistening, the vanilla lip balm you applied earlier now transferred to his lips. your shirt now lopsided on your shoulders from him gripping your sides. though only one lamp lit the bench the two of you were perched on, tangerine could still see the pink flush dancing across your cheeks. gently, he raised his hand and brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, already missing the kiss.

if pda made people uncomfortable, tangerine wanted the whole world to feel unsettled.

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[konjiang]

How often do you think SY and SQH tried to zoom in on paper or some dumb modern habits?

No matter how tightly or good at acting SY is, there's no way he didn't double-tap his paper before. Or tried to punch in a keycode at a door to get in.

I think SQH just doesn't hide it, and people think he's being SQH and don't even question it. Or is it that he no longer retains those habits after living in PIDW for another lifetime.