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zaineviu · 6 days ago

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❛𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳❜ - L.F (SKZ)

synopsis. My life is unfair. The one and only woman I love left me unprepared. I'm staring down at my own petals falling one by one... And piece by piece. I can't feel any peace in my heart.

pairings. felix x fem!reader.

content. angst, felix angst, breakup, heartbreak, inappropriate language in some sentences, felix doesn't get over his breakup with you, brief mention of Hyunjin and Jisung. Inspired by Felix's song ‘Unfair’ (I LOVE THAT DAMN SONG WITH ALL MY HEART). This shot is based on Lixie's pov!

wc. 3,079

a/n. Something quite sad, I love writing angst, and I hope you enjoy suffering with me.

Don't forget to comment, so I know you like what I write and encourage me to keep writing.

Ever since you came into my life... ... You taught me all about unconditional love.

Since you came into his life, everything changed. Not immediately, of course. At first, it was slow, like the dawn that barely illuminates a dark room. But when it did, you dazzled him.

Remember how you used to talk to him about unconditional love, how you taught him to believe in something he thought only existed in the songs you sang as a duet on the way home. Your words were his anchor, and your smiles… damn, your smiles were all he needed to survive the darkest days.

He couldn't even think straight without being able to think about you for a second, he was too in love to even admit it.

Looking at you from afar, watching your hair slide down your shoulders as you concentrated on what you were doing, his heart beating fast in his anxious chest looking for you to look at him the same way he was looking at you now.

Eyes so big and so bright that…

"You'll eat flies if you keep opening your mouth like that", Hyunjin laughed loudly behind them, shoving Han when he looked at him with a huge grin, Felix just looked at them with a shrug.

"I don't have my mouth open."

"You do, mate, and wide open", Han laughed this time wildly and smashed his palm into Hyunjin's who shoved him again breaking free from his embrace.

Felix just shrugged his shoulders once more.

He just couldn't stop looking at you.

Such a pretty girlfriend, imagining you being your boyfriend made his stomach a home for his rambunctious butterflies.

That afternoon, when she came with a smile, something in her smile made everything feel lighter. The idea of going straight home vanished when she proposed a walk. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and before they knew it, they were walking to the nearest park.

The sun was beginning to descend, tinting the sky with shades of orange and pink. The shadows of the trees danced in the breeze, and the sound of the leaves accompanied our steps. She laced her fingers with his, and her touch was enough to calm the chaos that always seemed to dwell in his mind.

"Lixie", she began, her voice soft and full of peace for the intimate moment, "have you ever thought about what love really means?"

Felix, confused by her question, but also intrigued, looked at her and shook his head. She smiled, that smile that always managed to disarm him completely, the one that he fell for first.

"It's when you love someone without expecting anything in return," she continued, the boy just waited for you to go on, trying to figure you out. You were silent for a few seconds, trying to convey what you wanted to say. "Not because he's perfect, but because you just… love everything he is. His flaws, his fears, his good and bad moments…. It becomes your priority, you look after their wellbeing and care for them, that's love…. When you give something to someone without expecting anything in return."

Her gaze was lost for a moment on the horizon before she turned back to him, her eyes shining, a smile that could only be called his, you were as much in love as he was. "I feel that way about you, Felix."

His chest tightened, unable to process the immensity of her words. He wanted to say something, anything, but he gasped, caught in the sincerity of your confession.

Of your love.

"You don't have to say anything," she added, gently squeezing her hand. "I just want you to know that I'm here, always."

The sun finally set, leaving behind a sky that was beginning to fill with stars.

And in that moment, in that dim light, Felix could only look at you as you slept on his lap, with the lights of the lanterns surrounding them under a tree, you in his arms.

You taught him that love has no limits, that even on days when he couldn't handle the weight of the world, you still found room for him.

‘You promised a always that you knew would be a goodbye disguised as love.’

I think about you saving me every night. Felt like an angel sent from above.

It was normal, this feeling of need, to always have you in his arms, to keep you with him no matter how much you said it was a lot of love at that moment.

Loving you was too easy for him.

Your body close to him, so soft and warm that you seemed like a cozy blanket on top of him, Felix was delighted.

That night, as he lay down in his bed, your image came back to his mind. Thinking of you was inevitable, as if his mind had created a sacred space reserved just for you. Every time his days became heavy, you were there, saving him with a word, a look or a smile. It was as if your mere existence was enough to remove the shadows that sometimes wrapped around him.

Sometimes he felt selfish for loving you so much, but he couldn't help it. He thought about how you came into his life, like an angel sent to remind him that even in his worst moments, he could find something good, something real. The way you saw through him, the way you made him feel enough, gave him enough strength to stay alive.

With his eyes closed, he allowed himself to hold you tightly.

'I fell asleep with your name on my lips, hoping that, at least in my dreams, you could save me again.'

All I see is your shining beauty. Hope you can see the human in me. Will your truе love be the onе to free me?

Felix adjusted the scarf around his neck, the cold biting his cheeks as he walked aimlessly through the city. Neon lights flickered over puddles of water on the pavement, reflecting a world that seemed to move too fast for him to keep up.

Everything seemed to work perfectly for everyone else, like gears clicking into place on a clock.

The world seemed to keep pace.

Except he didn't seem to keep pace.

There was something unsettling about the way your image popped into his mind, without permission, at the most inopportune times. He wasn't even sure when it had started.

Maybe the first time he saw you laughing in that record store, with the sun streaming through the windows and drawing soft shadows on your face.

You had caught his attention like a spark in the dark, but now that spark was almost painful, a constant flame that burned and consumed him.

He felt miserable walking aimlessly while thinking about you.

It was funny how something so fleeting became his current torture, from how you left him stranded in the nothingness while you decided to leave without saying goodbye.

He felt like a fool believing things he knew were going to happen sooner or later.

It wasn't something he wanted to admit, not even to himself. But there was a brutal clarity to the fact that he couldn't get you out of his head.

He had learned to live with it, to keep quiet, because it was easier to hide behind his thoughts than to face the inevitable: that maybe you would never look at him the same way, that your love was fleeting, and that was okay, he didn't hate that fact.

He hated that you had made him fall in love, that you had spoiled him so much with your love, that you had made him addicted to you, that now he looked like a drug addict without his drug.

He came to a corner and stopped, watching the traffic go by. People came and went, each one busy with their own lives, while he felt his own freeze at that exact point. It wouldn't matter if he just crossed and a car ran him over.

At least you'd find out and go see him at his funeral, right?

Seeing you was an idea that tormented him.

It wasn't about the superficial beauty, the kind words or the smiles he offered to others. It was about everything he didn't show: his flaws, his insecurities, the scars he carried like an invisible weight.

You knew him so well that it scared him to the point, you knew the exact number of freckles he had, the amount of moles on his body, how he likes to sleep, even the most obvious flaws like bathing barefoot or sleeping without turning off all the lights.

Did you ever wonder what he was hiding behind those eyes?

He doubted it. Not because he thought you weren't interested, but because he knew you already knew.

Maybe it was easier to keep things that way, with distance as a shield.

But there were nights, like this one, when he allowed himself to dream of a different world. One where you could look at him and understand him. A world where your love, if it ever became real, would be enough to free him from this internal prison he had built himself.

You tore down all the walls he had worked so hard to build, taking him, his thoughts, all of whom there was nothing left.

He wasn't the kind of person who expected rescues. Yet there was something about you, something about the way you brightened even the grayest of days, that made him wonder if you could be the exception.

The rain began to fall softly, and Felix stood still, letting the drops cool his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds of the city mixed with his own thoughts.

He had no answers that night, but he didn't need them either. He had learned to live with uncertainty, with the longing he didn't dare name.

Because deep down, he knew that your presence, even if only in his mind, was the only thing that made all of this worth it.

Even if you were no longer with him.

My life is so unfair... ... I'm still left in despair.

The sound of your laughter echoed in his head like a persistent echo, one he couldn't silence no matter how hard he tried. Felix couldn't help it: everything around him seemed to revolve around you.

But while you continued on, unconcerned, he remained trapped, a silent observer on the sidelines of your story.

He sat on a bench under the dim light of a street lamp, raindrops slowly soaking his hair.

The words of an unsent message kept floating in his mind. He had written it to you a thousand times, always in different forms, but he never dared to press "send."

He didn't know what scared him more: the possibility that you wouldn't respond or that you would, but only to confirm that you didn't feel the same way.

After so much time together, so much time apart, he didn't even know that you would respond anymore.

It wasn't the kind of thought he liked to indulge in, but that night, sitting in the dark with the cold seeping into his bones, it felt more real than ever.

It was unfair how every little gesture of yours seemed to light a fire in his chest while you, probably, weren't even aware of it. It was unfair how your words, always casual, became little treasures that he jealously guarded, even though you probably didn't even want a single one of them.

But what hurt him the most was the feeling that it could never be enough.

No matter how hard he tried to get closer, there was always something stopping him.

A deep, rooted fear that whispered to him that no matter how much you shined in his life, he would always be relegated to being a shadow.

Loving you hurt.

The confession wasn't something he could say out loud, but he felt it with every fiber of his being. Despair wasn't just sadness; it was a constant weight, a void he couldn't fill, no matter how hard he tried. It was the realization that even if you saw him, you could never see him the way he wanted to.

Your love was never real anyway.

Felix closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. He hated himself for feeling this way, for wanting something that seemed so out of reach. But more than anything, he hated himself for not having the courage to change it.

As the rain intensified, he slowly stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets and starting to walk again. There was no place he wanted to go, but standing still felt like giving up, and giving up wasn't an option.

The injustice of his situation was still there, like a thorn in his side, but so was the small spark of hope that he couldn't extinguish, no matter how hard he tried.

Because even though he didn't know if you could ever see him, he held on to the idea that somehow, it was worth it to stay there, waiting.

Always waiting for you.

Just when I thought that god... ... Had answered my whole prayer.

He stood still, staring at the empty space in front of him, as if waiting for something to change.

The room they shared, now silent, seemed so much bigger without you, emptier than he had ever imagined.

The promise of an eternal love was left behind, dissolved in the words no longer spoken, in the gestures no longer exchanged.

He had been so sure that he had finally found what he had always wanted.

As if, somehow, God had heard his prayers, having given him the love he so longed for.

A connection that seemed complete, as if all the pieces fit together perfectly in his life. The feeling that everything he had wanted for years, everything he had lost along the way, was within his reach.

He thought that, at last, he had found peace. That the uncertainty of his existence would vanish when he had someone to share it with. Everything seemed perfect, so natural and so easy. Until it wasn't.

The breakup had come abruptly, almost without warning, and it left a deeper mark on Felix than he had anticipated. In his mind, the image of everything he thought he had gained was crumbling, without explanation, without reason. What seemed to have been a clear and definitive answer to his prayers vanished into thin air, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness, as if the love he had felt had never been real.

"I think it's best that we break up."

He couldn't speak.

"I don't think being together is the best thing right now, Lixie."

He couldn't deny it.

"I stopped loving you."

He didn't react.

He felt like everything he had given, everything he had invested in that relationship, had been lost.

Despair began to take its place, like a shadow that lengthened, occupying every corner of his being.

How could he have been so blind? How could he have believed that, at last, everything would make sense?

Now there was only confusion and pain, a sense of being left behind, as if everything he had dreamed and prayed for so long had slipped away, perhaps forever.

Felix fell back onto the bed, head in his hands, feeling the heaviness of the moment crushing him. The answers he had hoped for, the promises he had believed, were gone, leaving behind only an echo of what could have been.

He had lost everything.

You were his everything.

After I let you go... ... And saw you out the door.

Felix stood, watching you walk towards the door.

Every step you took seemed heavier, and the silence that filled the room only made the weight of the goodbye more real.

His hands were cold, shaking slightly, but he didn't dare move them.

He couldn't.

He didn't know what to do, what to say.

He couldn't find the words.

"Felix…" Your voice, cracked, made his chest tighten, but he didn't say anything.

He looked at you, foolishly hoping you would change your mind. But you didn't.

"Please don't," he murmured, his eyes searching yours, but he only found indifference.

You sighed and, with one last look, walked over to the door. Felix swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. It was as if time had stopped.

"Is this really what you want?" He asked, his voice shaking, though he tried to sound firm.

You paused for a moment, staring at the ground. “It’s not what I want, Felix,” you said quietly. “But it’s what I have to do. I’m sorry.”

Felix felt the ground crumble beneath his feet. “Do you have to? Do you, really? Leave me like this?” His throat closed up. He tried to speak, but the words caught. “We… we had it, we had it all! Don’t you see? We tried! We made it work! We can make it work!”

You turned to him, your eyes glassy, but there was no trace of doubt in them. “We tried, yes, but… I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep fooling myself, or you. I love you, Felix, but this… it’s not working.”

The words fell on him like a loss. “No… No, please. It’s not like that.” Felix took a step towards you, reaching out his hand, but you didn't take it. The distance between the two of you seemed to have suddenly widened, as if you were no longer within reach of his love.

"I'm sorry, Felix. You don't understand, but this is what's best for both of us." You opened the door, and for a second, Felix thought you might back out.

But you didn't.

"No! Don't go! You can't do this!" Felix screamed, his words filled with desperation. But your eyes only looked at him one last time, and you turned away.

"I stopped loving you." Was all you said before you completely disappeared from his life.

The sound of the door closing echoed in his ears like a blow, a lash to his soul. He stood there, staring into space, not moving, not knowing what to do. Everything he had dreamed of, everything he had believed in, crumbled in that instant. The empty room reminded him of what he had lost.

There was nothing left.

Felix stood there, alone, with the words he could never say hanging in the air.

The door was already closed, and with it, it seemed like all his chances had vanished.

Somehow, he knew he could never explain to you how deep his love was, or how much you meant to him.

Pain enveloped him, but so did the sadness of knowing that words would never have been enough to save what was already broken.

He loved you, but that, sadly, wasn't enough to keep you by his side.

All that was left now was the echo of what was, a goodbye left unsaid, a love lost without being fully understood.

He couldn't even confess how much he loved you before you left.

I wanted you to know... ... How much I love you so.

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zaineviu · 23 days ago

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𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ; 𝐛𝐜 (𝐟𝐭. 𝐥𝐟)

tw: [bang chan x fem reader ft. felix. exhibitionism. mention of past experiences where chan and mc risked getting caught. clit play. one mention of explicit videos. mention of sex toys (they don't use any). reader has troubles getting wet and chan’s a sweetheart about it <3. dirty talk. chan has a big dick. choking if you squint. unprotected piv sex (pls don’t!!!). creampie. getting caught. voyeurism. dry humping. coming in underwear.]

wc: 2,5k

minors dni. 18+ only. smut.

—

«Do you think it’s a good idea?» You whisper to Chan.

Chan, who’s busy sliding your pyjama bottoms and underwear down your legs. His long, calloused fingers impatiently roam all over your lower half until they reach the object of Chan’s desire, nested safely between your legs. His touch is delicate yet firm, sure, caring — the way Chan always is with you. It’s not impatient, even though he’s been hard for the greatest part of the night, because he never wants to rush sex and risk of missing out on all the gasps, the whines, the goosebumps, the shivers that are the unmistakable proof of your pleasure.

He wants to see, hear and feel it all. It doesn’t really matter that his best friend’s sleeping right in the bed beside yours.

«’T’s fine…» he mumbles, kissing your shoulder. His fingertips expertly wander to find your sensitive clit. «He’s a heavy sleeper. Won’t hear a thing.»

After many years of practice, you know that you and Chan are pretty good at not making much noise while engaging in intimate activities. Back when you were younger and still living with your parents, you’d let him sneak in your room at unreasonable hours in the night and he’d fuck you nice and slow, careful not too move too much because your bed used to creak like crazy. Sometimes, he’d also cover your mouth with his palm to muffle your moans, and you’d bite on his skin when you’d come.

And even though you’ve grown up now and are responsible adults who live together and have an entire place to do all your dirty stuff without risking to get caught, you still somehow manage to find yourself in this kind of situations. Situations in which you have to be quiet if you want to have sex — and you want to have sex with each other.

«Wan’ you so much… been so fucking hard the whole night…»

«Christopher Chan Bang, if he wakes up I swear…»

«He won’t,» Chan assures you, circling your clit with his fingers, forehead pressed on the back of your neck. «We’ve found ourselves in much riskier situations than this, baby, remember? Why are you panicking now?»

You know he’s referring to that one time he’d fucked you in your old room back at your parent’s house during a family gathering, with all your aunts and uncles right downstairs — and the bedroom door was open.

«Dunno… it’s just— the beds are, like, really close.»

Chan’s fingers halt. He rests them on your thigh, completely stopping touching you. He’d rather die than make you uncomfortable.

«Baby, we don’t have to. It’s fine. We can just sleep.» He tugs at the hem of your pyjama bottoms to pull them up, but you stop him.

«I want to,» you clarify. «Like, a lot. I just don’t want to be teased in front of the guys tomorrow if he ends up waking up and hears us.»

«He won’t if he doesn’t want his legs to get broken with a baseball bat,» Chan scrunches his nose. «I’m not even joking.»

You muffle a giggle in your pillow, shaking your head and quietly muttering to Chan, «you’re a dork.»

«True. But I’m your dork.»

His fingers are back to where they previously were. A little bit lower this time, teasing your hole, not pushing inside yet because Chan can feel you’re not wet yet and he doesn’t want to hurt you. If you were in your bedroom, he’d stretch his arm out and grab the bottle of lube he keeps in the first drawer of his night stand together with a bunch of condoms and sex toys — but you’re not in your room.

«’M not wet…» you sigh in defeat — it’s always been an issue for you.

The girls in explicit videos always seem to get wet on command, but you’ve always kind of struggled with it. Chan knows it, and hates when you feel bad about it like it’s your fault when it’s not.

«Shhhhh… we’ll get you there, sweetheart.»

He knows how to. With his lips on your neck and his fingers circling your clit gently, Chan starts to quietly whisper dirty stuff into your ear. He tells you what he wants to do with you, and how much you turn him on, how hard he is for you — that much is blatantly obvious, thanks to how close he’s pressed on you. After a short while, Chan’s fingers move to tease your hole — he can feel wetness beginning to coat his fingertips, and smirks satisfied.

«Yeah, you love it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you?» He asks, rhetorically. «You just love hearing how down bad I am for you, yeah?»

There’s no point in trying to deny it.

Your cheeks burn from how turned on and embarrassed you are at the same time — embarrassed because of the person sleeping like a log not too away from you. If you were to stretch your arm out now, you’d probably be able to touch the edge of his mattress. You glance at his sleeping figure, who’s turned in yours and Chan’s direction.

This is so risky… but that’s what makes it so exciting, right?

«Can’t wait to be inside you…» Chan slowly pushes a finger inside of you easily now that you’re much more naturally lubricated down there. Soon enough, he adds a second digit. «So tight… how are you gonna fit all of me in here?»

It has you shivering like a leaf.

You whine in complain when he adds a third digit to stretch you out, but just because you don’t need fingers anymore — you need him. And Chan knows that. He knows you like the back of his hand.

«You always get so impatient when you’re horny, baby…»

«And you love it.»

Chan smirks, you feel it on your skin. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of you, smearing some of the wetness all over your entrance to make sure you’re more than enough wet to welcome him. You hear the rustling sound of the sheets, and figure he’s pulling his boxers down his legs, remaining completely naked as he only sleeps in nothing but his underwear.

Then, you feel hardness and warmth between your legs. At first, just resting there. It feels big and heavy pressed on you. It is big. A tiny little surprised sound escapes your lips when you feel the tip of Chan’s cock pressing against your entrance, meeting no obstacle as you’re wet and he’s leaking, too.

Chan’s fingers wrap around your neck as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

«Shhh, baby… quiet,» he grunts, pushing all the way inside of you, filling you up deliciously, slowly, inch after inch until he’s so deep inside of you you think he’s kissing your stomach. «Theeere you go… so good f’me…» He praises you, kissing the side of your head.

Safely nested inside of you, Chan now wraps his arm around your torso, slips his hand under your top to yank it up enough to free your tits, cupping one of them. It’s hot outside, and your bodies are covered by nothing but a thin bed sheet, one that keeps falling off repeatedly. You eventually stop bothering about pulling it back up. You take another quick glance at the figure close to you to make sure he’s still sleeping — blond hair sprawled all over his pillow. His eyes are still closed.

Chan’s hair tickles your neck as he leans in to kiss your cheek. He starts to pull out excruciatingly slow, only to push back inside with the same pace. You gasp at the fullness, a weird sound coming out of your throat. Chan is quick to shush you again, his palm flat on your mouth.

«Shhh… you don’t want him to wake up, do you?» You don’t, but something inside of you tingles at the thought. You clench around Chan and he chuckles. «Oh. That’s an interesting reaction. You’re so wet now…»

Chan’s movements are patient, but even his effort doesn’t do much to attenuate the creaking of the bed with each of his movements. It’s barely even perceptible, but you never know if the person sleeping next to you has a supernatural hearing?

Chan fucks you deeper, burying himself so deep inside of you that it feels empty each time he pulls back, lifting one of your legs up to get better access to your pussy since it’s not exactly the most comfortable position in the world. It’s not even your nor his favourite, really.

Bodies all sweaty and moving in perfect synchronisation, it’s hard for you to keep quiet, so Chan brings his hand back around your throat, squeezing only lightly with the tiniest pressure as he fucks you. You feel him tapping on your chin a couple of times, so you turn your head to let his lips meet yours in a vulgar, lewd tongue kiss to.

Now, the only sound that can be heard is that of Chan’s cock pounding into you and the tiny hmphhs you exhale against each other’s mouths.

At one point, his thrusts become so rough that you eventually roll onto your stomach with Chan on top of you, now fucking you from behind.

«Arch your back, baby… yeeeaaaah, like that,» he grunts in your ear, one hand now fisting the sheet whilst he’s squeezing your hip with the other. «Keep quiet, baby. Gonna fuck you just how you like it, but you gotta be a good girl f’me, yeah?»

That’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to be quiet when he’s doing the things that drive you crazy all at once?

Chan rests his sweaty forehead on the juncture of your shoulders, trying to take a look at the way your ass jiggles with each thrust. Meanwhile, you’re trying not to lose what’s left of your sanity, desperately fisting the bedsheets and biting your lip because if Chan felt deep inside of you before, now it feels as if he’s splitting you in half with his cock.

With the way your head’s turned on one side, you can take a clear look at the bed that’s next to you and see the person lying on it. And his eyes are halfway open, — he’s awake. Your eyes meet — it knocks the air out of your lungs.

The bedsheet’s fallen completely off your bodies, so everything’s out on display for him to see even though all of your intimate parts are pretty much covered since your tits are pressed on the mattress and he can’t see your cunt from the position you’re in.

You gasp out both from the realisation that you’ve been caught and the feeling of Chan’s fingers now on your clit, trying to get you to cum on his cock.

«I know, ‘m close, too.»

On the other bed, he’s biting his lip, eyes still locked with yours as you get pounded by his best friend. Only then you notice the most imperceptible movement, as if he were grinding his hips against the mattress to get some relief, to provide himself some much needed friction. You should be mad — embarrassed to say the very least.

Instead, you don’t make a sound, you don’t tell Chan to stop, you don’t try to cover yourself. You just let Felix watch as you get fucked by his best friend. It’s almost as if you were implicitly giving him permission to rut against the bed to get some relief.

«I’m close, baby. So close. Let’s cum together, yeah?»

You nod, still looking into Felix’s eyes as your boyfriend fucks you and rubs your clit. The younger man bites down on his lower lip. It makes your head dizzy.

«Cha— Channie…»

A sharp thrust makes you stutter.

«C’mon, baby, let go… I know you want to. I’ll fill you up so much if you come for me, sweetheart…»

You see Felix scrunching his nose, eyes fluttering close as his hips press all the way into the mattress and his fingers desperately fist his pillowcase. He’s come. The realisation that Felix just had an orgasm whilst watching you and Chan fuck is so powerful that before you know it, you’re cumming around Chan’s thick cock. Felix’s eyes meet yours once again, studying your face as your orgasm hits you, as if he wanted to capture this moment and keep it forever in his mind.

«That’s it— that’s it, baby. Imma fill you up. Imma fucking fill you— oh.»

Chan comes inside of you with a deep grunt, teeth sinking in your shoulder as warmth floods inside your walls. Then, he collapses on top of you. You’re left out of breath, completely spent, eyes still locked with Felix’s.

When Chan moves to roll off you, Felix’s eyes shut in a millisecond, not wanting to get caught by his best friend, too. Now, he has to pretend he’s been asleep the entire time and not act like a perv who just came in his boxers watching two of his friends fuck.

Honestly, it’s not like it’s entirely Felix’s fault — after all, he just woke up in the middle of the night to pee. He couldn’t know what you and Chan were up to.

«See?» Chan hums, tilting his head to the side in Felix’s direction. «Out like a light. Told ya.» He giggles, then kisses your cheek lovingly. «Gonna grab something to clean you up, alright?»

«Mhm…»

«Be right back.»

Chan leaves the room making sure not to make any sound that could potentially awaken Felix. Little does he know… The second he’s out of sight, Felix’s eyes open again. You’re still lying there, still naked, still embarrassed — not of getting caught, but of how much you liked getting caught. Neither of you dares to say a word.

When Chan’s back, Felix’s eyes close shut again. He cringes at the gross feeling of his own release sticking to his skin, but there’s not much he can do about it — not without getting caught. Again.

«Here.»

Chan cleans you up, running a wet washcloth between your legs, then pulling your underwear and pyjama back up once he’s finished. Ultimately, he covers you both with the bedsheet, wrapping his arms around you.

«We really can’t stay away from each other, huh?» He chuckles, kissing your shoulder.

«Seems like we can’t.»

It’s only your first day here on vacation and you’ve already fucked and got caught — but Chan’s not aware of the last detail yet. It’s going to be a very long week.

«I think it’s cute, though.» Chan comments. «After all these years we’re still hot for each other. Like, me personally, I want to jump you all the time.»

It’s true. You and Chan have insane bed chemistry on top of that.

You turn your head to kiss Chan, and he smiles into the kiss happily. It turns into a sloppy, lazy make out session that lasts a couple of minutes at best, before you pull away to yawn, tired. It’s late. In an hour or so the sun will be up in the sky and you still haven’t even tried to sleep.

«I think it’s time to go to bed. Plus, we should really stop talking now, if we don’t wanna wake Lix.» Chan mumbles, still completely oblivious of what had happened.

—

-> reblog/comment if you like my works. it's a huge source of motivation for me, as it makes me want to write more. also, i love to read your thoughts.

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zaineviu · 29 days ago

Text

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋 ᝰ.ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍 (𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽!)

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋!𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 18+, 𝗌𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄 / 𝗌𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉 (𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 19, 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗌 27), 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗆/𝗌𝗎𝖻 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒, 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌, 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋/𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖾 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖼, 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾/𝖽𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗑, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗍, 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄, 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇: 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋. 𝖺 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖼𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾: 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀-𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗈𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗄. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾. 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗍. 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 6650

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝗆.𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍!

a/n: i posted twice tdy, i know its late sorry! yeonjun: "last to kiss looses." love you guys! <3

you weren’t sure what you expected walking into your first real internship. a small office, maybe a friendly staff, maybe someone older who’d treat you like the clueless college student you were. you didn’t expect christopher.

the first thing you noticed was that he didn’t smile. not when you greeted him, not when he introduced himself as the senior executive assistant, not when he handed you the orientation packet and walked you through your role. he wasn’t rude. just... exhausted. closed off.

his voice was low and even, deep enough to echo faintly in your chest.

c: “you’ll be assisting me directly for now. your supervisor hasn’t returned from leave.”

you swallowed hard, nodding, not trusting yourself to speak. he glanced at you, then at the name tag on your lanyard, and back again.

c: “you’re nineteen?”

you nodded again.

c: “fresh into undergrad?”

you: “second semester.”

his expression didn’t change, but something in his tone did.

c: “don’t try too hard to impress people. just learn. this office burns through interns when they get too ambitious.”

you weren’t sure if it was a warning or a compliment, but either way, your stomach flipped.

that was the beginning.

he didn’t ask personal questions. he didn’t like when you asked any, either. you learned quickly to only speak when spoken to. he’d give you notes to summarize, emails to proofread, errands to run, but he’d never say more than he needed to. still, you watched him. closely.

the way he leaned on the desk with one hand in his pocket. the way he rolled up his sleeves. the way his jaw flexed when someone called his phone and he didn’t answer. there was always this... tension around him. like a thread pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

you stayed late one night during your second week, hoping to prove you could keep up. the building was nearly empty by the time you returned the filed documents to his desk.

he was standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear. his voice was low and sharp.

c: “i said, i’m not doing this right now.”

a pause.

c: “you don’t get to call me and act like this is normal. it’s not.”

his knuckles were white around the edge of the desk. you froze.

c: “i told you. we're done, sana.”

sana. that was the first time you heard her name out loud. you backed away before he noticed, heart hammering. the door clicked shut behind you.

after that, something changed.

he wasn’t mean, but he was colder. snappier. he’d mutter under his breath sometimes, throw folders onto his desk hard enough to make you jump. but he never raised his voice at you. just everyone else.

you picked up the slack, staying past your assigned hours, quietly cleaning up the messes he didn’t have the energy to handle.

you told yourself it wasn’t because of the way his gaze lingered on your hands as you typed. it wasn’t because he started letting you sit beside him instead of across. it wasn’t because he said your name softer than he said anyone else’s.

you just... wanted to help.

one morning, he didn’t show up until noon. you were already at his desk, organizing reports he’d left in chaos the night before. when he walked in, sunglasses on and a coffee in hand, your breath hitched.

his tie was loose. his hair was messy. he looked exhausted. you stood.

you: “morning.”

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at you for a long second, then sighed.

c: “you’re early again.”

you hesitated.

you: “you didn’t finish these yesterday. thought i’d get ahead.”

he moved past you, slow and quiet, setting down his coffee.

c: “you don’t have to take care of my shit.”

your chest squeezed.

you: “you’re not the easiest person to work under.”

he glanced up.

c: “under, huh?”

your cheeks flamed. he didn’t laugh, but something about the smirk twitching at the corner of his lips made you want to sink into the carpet. he tapped the stack of papers you’d organized.

c: “thanks.”

it was the first time he said that to you. your throat felt tight. you kept hearing things.

sana’s name would pop up when he left the room, usually in whispers. a few coworkers joked about the “soap opera” happening in the executive wing, others avoided the topic entirely. you didn’t ask. you didn’t want to seem nosy.

but every time chris leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, you wondered if she was the reason for the dark circles under his eyes.

you hated that it made you feel better.

three weeks in, you were officially assigned as his assistant. no more shadowing. no more transitioning. just you and him.

he told you after hours, leaning against the filing cabinet with a beer in his hand.

c: “i requested you.”

your heart dropped.

you: “me?”

he nodded.

c: “you’re not afraid of me. most people are.”

you stared at him.

you: “should i be?”

he tilted his head.

c: “depends what you want from me.”

you laughed nervously.

you: “guidance? a good recommendation?”

his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

c: “you’ll get both if you survive me.”

you couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise.

when he started drinking in the office more often, you stopped questioning it.

he never got drunk. not around you. just... looser. more honest. when he offered you a sip one night while you worked late, you took it.

your fingers brushed. your skin tingled. he noticed. he always noticed. but he never said a word. not yet.

you started recognizing the pattern.

mornings were fine. quiet, efficient, all business. by mid-afternoon, the mood would shift. he’d close his door more often. snap at phone calls. take longer in the break room.

by the time sunset hit, he was someone else. not unkind. just… unraveling. you heard more of his conversations than you should have.

not on purpose. sometimes he left the door cracked open. sometimes you walked in without knocking. sometimes he just forgot you were there, tucked behind the filing cabinet or organizing reports near his desk.

you never meant to overhear. but you did.

c: “you’re the one who said we needed space, sana.”

c: “don’t act like this is some big betrayal. i didn’t lie. you left.”

and sometimes:

c: “i don’t want to do this right now.”

c: “no, not here. not with her here.”

you hated that part. with her here.

you were just his assistant. you weren’t supposed to matter. but sometimes it felt like you did.

you started dressing nicer for work.

just subtle things. tighter skirts. softer makeup. letting your blouse dip a little lower when you leaned over his desk. you told yourself it was for confidence. but when his gaze dropped to your mouth during meetings. lingered at your thighs when you sat too close, it felt like more than that.

you knew it was wrong. you knew he was vulnerable. you knew he wasn’t single, not really.

but it felt good to be looked at like that. especially by him.

the company dinner came at the end of the month.

everyone had to go. formal attire, small talk, networking. chris hated it. you knew he would before he even said a word. but he showed up anyway.

he wore all black. button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, silver watch glinting at his wrist. his hair was pushed back. he looked like sin.

you wore red. tight. too short.

when his eyes found you across the room, you felt it like a spark behind your ribs. you didn’t sit together. but his gaze never left.

it was near midnight when you left.

he offered you a ride. you said yes. he didn’t talk in the car. not until the second red light, when his hand clenched around the wheel.

c: “you looked good tonight.”

you swallowed.

you: “thank you.”

another beat of silence.

c: “didn’t like the way they were staring at you.”

you turned toward him.

you: “who?”

c: “everyone.”

he didn’t look at you. just kept driving. jaw tight. fingers twitching. when he pulled into his building’s parking garage, you blinked.

you: “this isn’t my dorm.”

c: “i know.”

you didn’t say no when he asked if you wanted to come up. you didn’t say anything at all.

his apartment was clean, but not lived in. like someone who didn’t spend much time inside his own head. the couch was too stiff. the lights were too low. there was a bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter, half empty.

he poured two glasses. handed you one. you sipped. then he spoke.

c: “she cheated on me.”

you froze.

c: “sana.”

your mouth opened, nothing came out.

c: “months ago. i didn’t tell anyone. didn’t want them to see me differently.”

you set the glass down.

you: “why are you telling me this?”

he leaned back against the counter, tilting his head to look at you.

c: “because you look at me like i’m still worth something.”

your breath caught.

you: “you are.”

he stared at you. long. slow. eyes dark.

c: “don’t say that.”

you: “why not?”

he stepped closer. the room shrank around you. your heart thudded. he whispered:

c: “i wanna kiss you.”

it wasn’t rough. not at first. his hand curled behind your neck, fingers firm but gentle. his lips pressed into yours like he’d been thinking about this for weeks and didn’t want to mess it up.

you gasped when his tongue slid against yours, and he swallowed the sound.

his other hand splayed across your waist. you felt small under him, delicate. he kissed you like it meant something. like you weren’t just his intern, or his assistant, or nineteen. you kissed him back like you forgot all the reasons you shouldn’t.

c: “tell me to stop.”

he whispered it against your mouth. desperate. scared. you didn’t, shaking your head. he kissed you harder after that.

your back hit the counter. his hand slid under your blouse. his fingers were warm against your bare skin, calloused, slow.

c: “fuck.”

he said it like a prayer, like a warning.

c: “been trying so hard to be good.”

you whimpered when he pulled your dress down.

you: “c-chris..”

hearing you call his name broke him.

his hands were everywhere. tracing your waist, your thighs, the soft stretch of your stomach. he dropped to his knees like he needed to worship you. like this was some holy thing. he kissed your skin slowly, reverently. lips brushing over your hipbones, your inner thighs. then he looked up at you.

c: “you want this?”

you nodded, dizzy with it.

you: “please.”

he smiled. not smug. soft.

c: “good girl.”

and then his mouth was on you. you cried out, head thrown back, hands in his hair. he was relentless. slow, thorough, lips curling around your clit with practiced skill. you’d never felt anything like it.

when you came, you shook. when he stood, his lips were shiny with you. he kissed you again before you could speak.

c: “gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

you believed him. he didn’t fuck you that night. not all the way.

he fingered you open on the couch. two thick fingers stretching you slowly, working you through another orgasm while you sobbed into his chest.

c: “too small to take me yet.”

he said it gently, like a promise.

c: “we’ll fix that.”

you nodded, breathless. you didn’t ask what this meant. you didn’t ask about sana. you just fell asleep on his couch, in nothing but underwear, aching between your legs.

when you woke up, he was gone. but his jacket was draped over you.

he didn’t look at you for two days.

he still spoke to you. short, clipped phrases, voice flat and professional. but his eyes never met yours. not in meetings. not in passing. not even when you knocked on his door and set his coffee down beside him like always.

you thought maybe you’d imagined it.

maybe the whiskey, the late night, the way his mouth felt on your thighs. maybe it was all just some consequence of him breaking apart. maybe you were a placeholder. something easy. something young.

but on the third day, everything changed again.

you stayed late finishing a report someone else was supposed to do. he’d sent a single text at 6:42 PM: c: “still in the office?”

you didn’t answer. not with words. you knocked gently on his door a few minutes later. he didn’t say anything, just gestured for you to come in. he was alone. lights dimmed. jacket off. you sat down across from him, heart thudding.

you: “i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to-”

he cut you off.

c: “i haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

you blinked.

you: “what?”

he leaned forward. forearms on his desk. voice low.

c: “you.”

your breath hitched.

c: “how tight you were around my fingers.”

your thighs clenched. you looked down.

c: “the way you begged.”

he stood slowly, rounded the desk. your whole body tensed as he came to stand behind your chair.

c: “you’re too young for this. you’ve never had someone like me.”

you: “b-but i want it..”

he bent forward, lips brushing your ear.

c: “then get up.”

he didn’t take you to the couch. this time, he bent you over his desk. your palms were flat against cold wood. your skirt pushed up over your hips. panties peeled down so slowly it made you shiver.

c: “you trust me?”

you nodded. you felt his hand slide down the length of your spine.

c: “you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

you: “y-yes, chris.”

the moan he let out was soft. dangerous.

c: “say it again.”

you: “c-chris..”

c: “fuck.”

his fingers were slick with your arousal before they even reached your entrance.

c: “so wet already. you like being used like this?”

you nodded, whining when he pressed a finger inside you. he curled it. you gasped.

c: “i should’ve known.”

he added a second.

c: “knew you’d be tight.”

you: “i-i want more.”

c: “more? princess, this is just the warm-up.”

you whimpered when he pumped them harder. you were dripping. soaking his hand, trembling against the desk.

c: “you can barely take two. how’re you gonna take my cock?”

your breath caught.

you: “i’ll do anything. p-please.”

he growled low in his throat.

c: “you’re gonna have to learn.”

you nodded frantically.

he made you get on your knees next. face pressed into the carpet. ass in the air. skirt bunched at your waist. he stood behind you, watching. you heard him unzip. you didn’t dare look.

c: “you sure?”

you: “please..”

his hand slid between your legs again. he was so careful. so slow. his cock pressed against your soaked folds, rubbing up and down, not quite entering. just teasing. just warming you up.

c: “you’re tiny, princess.”

you moaned.

c: “need to get you used to it first.”

and then the tip pushed in.

your jaw dropped. no sound came out. he stayed still.

c: “breathe.”

you tried. you really did. he was thick. so thick. stretching you in ways you’d never felt before.

you: “chr-”

c: “shh. doing so good.”

he pushed in another inch. then another. your hands clawed at the carpet.

you: “it’s t-too big.”

c: “you can take it. i know you can.”

he didn’t move too fast. didn’t rush. he coaxed your body to open, whispering praise the entire time.

c: “good girl.”

c: “that’s it.”

c: “taking me so well.”

when he bottomed out, your body was shaking.

c: “fuck, baby.”

he pulled out slowly, then slid back in. you sobbed. from pain and how full you felt. how completely he owned you in that moment.

c: “tightest pussy i’ve ever felt.”

he started to move. slow strokes. dragging himself out, pushing back in just a little deeper each time. your voice was broken.

c: “not done yet.”

he reached around to rub your clit, smirking when your hips jerked.

c: “there you go.”

you came hard. nearly collapsed. but he didn’t stop. he pulled out with a wet sound, then lifted you up. turned you to face him, legs spread over his desk now. you were dripping down your thighs, wrecked, shaking.

c: “gonna do that again.”

you: “i-i c-ca-”

c: “you can. you want to be mine, right?”

your eyes fluttered.

you: “yes..”

c: “then take it.”

and you did. again and again. he made you come twice more before he finally let himself go. pulling out to finish across your stomach, moaning your name like it meant something. when it was over, he cleaned you up gently. kissed your lips softly. then whispered:

c: “next time, i'll go deeper.”

you nodded, dazed. you were already addicted. it started happening after hours. always after hours.

he’d wait until the rest of the office cleared out, until the halls were quiet, until you were the only one left organizing files or rewriting emails for him. then he’d lock the door. close the blinds. take off his watch and roll his sleeves up.

c: “up.”

he’d nod toward the desk, and you’d climb up without hesitation. thighs parting, eyes wide, waiting. his fingers always came first. then his cock. never all the way. not yet.

c: “you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

you: “yes, chris.”

c: “good girl.”

he was careful. methodical. like he was building you into something. like every stretch, every thrust, every orgasm was part of a process you didn’t fully understand. but you trusted him with it anyway.

by the third week, he was fitting half of it in.

you could feel the difference. your body wasn’t fighting it anymore. he’d murmur praise the whole time, his voice dropping into that rough, low register that made your stomach flip.

c: “you’re learning so fast. tight little pussy starting to open for me.”

sometimes he’d have you ride just the tip while he watched. hands on your hips, guiding you.

c: “that’s it. bounce. just like that.”

you’d moan through your teeth, thighs trembling, trying to please him.

you: “am i doing good?”

and he’d always answer the same way:

c: “you’re perfect.”

you started needing him.

not just the sex. not just the stretch and the pressure and the mind-numbing release, but him. the way he spoke to you. the way he touched you after, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. the way he held you against his chest and breathed in the scent of your skin like it grounded him.

he was still seeing sana. sort of. you didn’t ask. he didn’t explain.

but sometimes you saw her name flash across his screen during late nights. he never picked up. just stared at the phone, jaw tense, before setting it down again. you told yourself it didn’t matter. but sometimes, it did.

friday came faster than usual.

you wore a tight navy dress, one he hadn’t seen yet. you felt his eyes follow you from the printer to his desk and back again, burning holes in your skin the entire time.

by 6:30, the office was empty.

you waited for the lock to click. it didn’t. he stood up slowly, eyes still on his monitor.

c: “we’re going to the conference room.”

you blinked.

you: “what?”

c: “now.”

he didn’t give you time to respond. just grabbed his laptop and started walking. you scrambled to follow.

the conference room was bigger than his office. softer chairs. darker windows. a long mahogany table that echoed slightly when you set your palms against it. he closed the blinds. then turned to face you.

c: “take off the dress.”

your breath hitched.

you: “here?”

c: “you want to learn how to take my cock or not?”

your thighs clenched at the tone. rough. low. almost mean. you stripped fast. no teasing this time. no slow peel. just pulling fabric over your head and letting it fall to the floor. you didn’t wear a bra. his eyes dropped.

c: “on the table.”

you hopped up. legs spread. he knelt between them.

c: “gonna make you come first.”

you gasped when his mouth hit your clit. no warning, no buildup, just suction. he licked and licked until you were grabbing the edge of the table, legs shaking, hips bucking.

you came in record time. and again. and again. he only stopped when your thighs started twitching, eyes glassy, lips parted in disbelief.

c: “now you’re ready.”

you barely registered the sound of his zipper.

but you felt him.

the stretch was deeper tonight. more intense. he pushed in slow, watching your face, waiting for any sign of resistance. there was none. you were soaked. ruined. ready.

you: “chris, fuck-”

c: “you’re taking more of me than ever.”

you looked down. you weren’t even halfway.

you: “i-i want it all..”

his eyes darkened.

c: “you can barely handle this.”

you: “i’ll do anything..”

he pulled out, flipped you over. bent you face-down over the table, one hand on your lower back to keep you in place.

c: “then hold still.”

he pushed in again, slowly, inch by inch. the angle was brutal. deeper, sharper. you were moaning uncontrollably, legs trembling, nails scratching the wood.

c: “this what you wanted, baby?”

you: “yes-”

c: “stuffed full in the office like a little fucktoy?”

you sobbed.

you: “chris, i-”

c: “say it.”

you: “i-i’m yours..”

he groaned like it broke something inside him.

c: “fuck, i know.”

he started moving faster, hips slapping against your ass, cock dragging over all the spots that made you see stars.

c: “my assistant. my good girl. my tight little princess.”

you were crying, coming again, babbling into the table.

he didn’t stop.

he didn’t stop until you went limp, wrecked, dripping down your legs, begging for mercy. he pulled out just before he finished. jerking himself over your back, panting, moaning your name.

then silence.

he helped you up gently. held your body close, rubbed your spine while you caught your breath. then:

c: “you took almost all of it tonight.”

you blinked up at him, still dazed.

you: “r-really?”

he smiled. cupped your cheek.

c: “next time, we go all the way.”

your heart stuttered.

you: “next time?”

his thumb brushed your lower lip.

c: “you’re mine now.”

it started with the phone call.

the one you overheard when you were supposed to be finishing a report. you heard his voice through the closed door. low, familiar, the kind of tone that always made you feel like you were standing too close to something dangerous.

c: “sana.”

his voice was stiff, strained, like he was already exhausted. this wasn’t a good sign.

you tried to ignore it. really, you did. the soft thud of his voice as he spoke to her, the way he asked if she was “coming by later,” and then the awkward silence that followed.

you’d heard that kind of silence before. it was always there when they were struggling. always there when he was torn between his career and his relationship. you hated that you knew it so well. hated that it still made your stomach drop to hear his voice soften just a little when he mentioned her.

your phone buzzed on the desk.

c: “can you come in here?”

you swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before you stood. your legs felt heavy as you walked to his office. when you stepped inside, he was already sitting behind his desk, phone set aside. his eyes flicked to you immediately.

c: “come here.”

you hesitated, but only for a second.

he looked different.

not just the tiredness in his eyes, but something more. something darker. when you stepped close enough, he reached out to pull you into his lap. you tensed, and for a split second, you thought he might say something about her. you thought he might mention her name again.

but he didn’t.

his hands were rough against your thighs, making you shiver.

c: “you’re distracted.”

you blinked.

you: “what?”

c: “you’ve been avoiding me.”

his fingers dug into your skin. your breath hitched as you tried to pull away.

you: “i hav-”

c: “don’t lie.”

his voice dropped an octave. harsh. possessive.

c: “you’re distracted. you’ve been thinking about her, haven’t you?”

you flinched.

you: “no.”

he gave you a pointed look.

c: “don’t lie to me.”

the words hung between you like a challenge. an accusation. you weren’t allowed to lie anymore.

his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his chest.

c: “i can feel it.”

you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. there was no hiding from him.

his lips were barely an inch away, his breath warm on your cheek.

c: “you’re mine, aren’t you?”

you: “yes.”

his hand slid under your skirt, and you shivered. he groaned at the softness of your skin.

c: “i can’t let you go.”

his thumb stroked over the waistband of your panties.

c: “let me have you.”

you: “chris, please-”

he cut you off with a harsh kiss. deep. possessive. you melted into him, hands gripping his shirt, gasping as his lips trailed down your neck.

c: “let me mark you.”

your heart raced.

you: “mark me?”

he nodded, his teeth grazing your ear.

c: “make sure you know you belong to me.”

his mouth slid down your collarbone. the pressure of his lips was intense, bruising, and you moaned quietly.

c: “tell me you’re mine.”

you: “i’m yours.”

he groaned, hands sliding under your dress. he pushed your panties to the side with one swift motion, his fingers slipping between your folds. you gasped as his thumb circled your clit.

c: “so wet already.”

he pushed a finger inside you. then another. slowly, teasingly. you moaned, hands gripping his shoulder as he stretched you.

c: “you want me to fuck you?”

you nodded desperately.

you: “please, chris, please.”

he pulled his fingers out slowly, leaning back just enough to watch your face.

c: “no more games.”

he unbuckled his belt, and you watched, heart pounding, as he pushed his pants down, revealing his thick cock.

he pushed you back onto the desk.

c: “on your back.”

he wasn’t gentle anymore.

he pushed into you hard, making you gasp. he didn’t wait for you to adjust. he just took what he wanted. took you.

c: “so fucking tight.”

he fucked into you relentlessly, hips slapping against yours with every thrust. the desk rattled beneath you. his hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head.

c: “tell me you’re mine.”

you: “i’m yours..”

he groaned, his thrusts becoming rougher, deeper.

c: “you’ll always be mine.”

his cock slid in and out of you at a punishing pace, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. you couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe. couldn’t do anything except feel. his mouth claimed yours again, swallowing your moans as he fucked you harder.

c: “say it again.”

you: “i’m yours, chris..”

he cursed under his breath.

c: “good girl.”

he came inside you, the heat spreading deep in your core. he groaned, his body shaking as he pulled out slowly, keeping his eyes on you. you barely had time to recover before he pulled you up into his arms, his lips soft on your forehead.

c: “you’re mine, baby. always.”

you closed your eyes, a feeling of contentment spreading through you. the ache between your legs, the feeling of being filled. all of it yours.

but in the back of your mind, something lingered. a fear, maybe. a doubt. the phone call. sana. the way he looked at her name. you wanted to push it down. ignore it. but it was there. and you didn’t know if it would ever go away.

you were trying to pretend nothing was happening.

trying to go back to being just his assistant, just the girl in the pencil skirt who brought him coffee and took notes and smiled when he made a joke during meetings.

but it wasn’t that simple anymore.

not when you had marks on your thighs that only he could’ve left. not when your panties were still damp from the way he’d fucked you over his desk last night. not when you could still feel the ghost of his lips at your neck every time he passed behind you.

he wasn’t pretending either.

he’d stopped hiding it. completely. he was always watching. always close. hands on your lower back when no one was looking. brushing his fingers along your thigh under the table. calling you into his office for things that could’ve easily been an email. just so he could watch you squirm while he sat behind his desk with that knowing look. and then there was today.

the first time it happened in public.

the office had been buzzing all morning. a new project. senior managers from another branch visiting. you were tasked with helping prepare the pitch deck, which meant sitting in on a lot of meetings you normally wouldn’t.

which meant sitting across from him.

it was the longest you’d gone without touching in days. you thought maybe it would be okay. that you could keep your cool, be professional, not let what happened last night cloud your judgment.

but chris had other plans.

he watched you the entire time. every time you looked up, his eyes were already on you. when you shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together discreetly, he tilted his head. when your pen slipped from your hand and clattered to the floor, he watched you bend to get it like he’d imagined it a hundred times. and when you sat up straight again, cheeks flushed, heart racing. he smirked.

you wanted to scream.

you thought maybe that was it. that he was just teasing you. that he was trying to push your buttons. until the meeting ended. and one of the managers. some guy from out of town, a little too friendly, a little too bold. approached you while everyone filed out.

him: “you’re chris’s assistant?”

you nodded, polite smile in place.

him: “i have to say, they didn’t mention you were this pretty.”

you blinked. awkward. flustered.

you: “um. thank you-?”

he leaned in a little.

him: “you free for lunch?”

you opened your mouth to decline, and then you saw him.

chris.

watching from the doorway. his expression was unreadable. but his jaw was clenched. his hand in his pocket. his eyes locked on the two of you like a threat. you turned back to the other guy.

you: “i have a meeting.”

him: “oh?”

you: “with my boss.”

you felt chris move before you saw him. he was behind you in a second, his hand firm at your waist, his voice calm but cold.

c: “she’s not available.”

the guy blinked.

him: “right, of course. no worries.”

chris didn’t say another word. just waited until he walked away. then leaned in close enough to graze your ear.

c: “come with me.”

you barely made it to his office before he slammed the door shut behind you. you didn’t even get a word out. his hands were on you instantly. spinning you around, pressing your back to the door, mouth crashing into yours like he couldn’t wait another second.

you moaned into the kiss, hands in his hair, pulling him closer. he groaned when you tugged, hips pinning yours against the wood.

c: “he touched you?”

you: “no.”

c: “he looked at you.”

you: “i didn’t do any-”

c: “you let him talk to you.”

his tone was dangerous. jealous. possessive.

you: “i said no.”

he exhaled roughly. fingers gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

c: “you’re mine.”

you nodded. breathless. his hand slid under your skirt.

c: “say it.”

you: “i’m yours, chris.”

he didn’t waste another second. he pulled your panties down roughly, letting them fall to your heels. his fingers stroked through your folds and he cursed under his breath.

c: “fucking soaked.”

he undid his pants quickly, not even bothering to sit down. just pushing your thighs apart and lifting one leg around his waist as he lined himself up.

you: “someone coul-”

c: “don’t care.”

he pushed in, slowly but firmly.

you gasped. the stretch always burned at first, but it was addicting. you’d been craving it all morning. he pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in. you cried out, hands scrambling for purchase against his shoulders.

c: “say it again.”

you: “i’m yours- i’m yours, fuck-”

he fucked you hard against the door, his thrusts deep and punishing, one hand gripping your hip, the other around your throat, just enough to remind you who you belonged to. his teeth grazed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

c: “no one else gets to touch you.”

c: “no one else gets to look.”

c: “you’re mine to ruin.”

you came with a broken moan, your body shaking in his arms. he wasn’t far behind. his hips stuttered, his breath caught, and then he was spilling inside you. pulsing, groaning, holding you still as he filled you up. you slumped against him, panting. his hand stroked down your back.

c: “i need everyone to know.”

you: “know what?”

his voice was low. dangerous.

c: “that you’re off limits.”

you left his office fifteen minutes later.

hair fixed. dress straightened. your panties balled up in his pocket. and when you passed the same manager in the hallway, he barely glanced at you. but you felt it. chris’s eyes on you from the corner. his stare, hot and hungry, never letting go.

you should’ve been more careful.

you should’ve taken your time packing your bag, should’ve avoided the elevator that late in the evening, should’ve texted him before heading back up to the office. but you didn’t.

you were the last one there. the building was mostly dark. a few floor lights still buzzing with that fluorescent hum. you just needed your charger. and maybe a few minutes to breathe. but when the door to his office cracked open, when you saw that warm light spilling out onto the hallway carpet. you knew you weren’t alone.

you pushed the door open slowly. and there he was. chris. sleeves rolled, tie loose, shirt open just enough to show the deep ridge of his collarbone. he didn’t even look surprised to see you.

c: “knew you’d come back.”

you hesitated.

you: “i forgot my charger.”

he stood up slowly. walked around the desk. the air changed when he looked at you like that. not annoyed, not amused but calm, heavy, intense.

c: “sit.”

you blinked.

you: “chris-”

c: “what did i say?”

you obeyed. your thighs pressed together automatically as you sank into the leather seat. your heart was pounding already, but you weren’t scared. you were anticipating. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, his voice dangerously low.

c: “you’ve been avoiding this.”

you swallowed hard.

you: “i haven-”

c: “don’t lie.”

he knelt down slowly between your legs, resting his hands on your knees.

c: “you’ve let me fuck you, tease you, fill you halfway.”

his fingers crept higher.

c: “but you’ve been holding back.”

your breath caught in your throat. you knew what he meant. the size training. the way he’d stopped himself from going all the way every time. the way he’d make you beg, then pull out when you got too tight. because he was too big, and you weren’t ready.

but now…? now his hands were curling under your thighs, tugging you closer.

c: “no more excuses.”

c: “you’re going to take all of me.”

your core pulsed at his words.

you: “chris…”

c: “don’t worry.”

his voice softened. his hands smoothed up your sides.

c: “i’ll make it fit.”

he kissed you slow, tongue sliding against yours, patient but possessive. he took his time undressing you. undoing each button like it was sacred. peeling your shirt off, unclipping your bra, dragging your skirt up until it bunched at your waist.

c: “so pretty like this.”

you watched with wide eyes as he unzipped his pants, freeing his thick cock. hard, already dripping. intimidating. you licked your lips. he caught the movement.

c: “you want it?”

you nodded. breathless.

you: “please..”

he laid you down across the couch, parting your legs slowly, kissing each thigh before pulling your panties off. he was gentle at first. two fingers. then three. working you open, coaxing slick from you with every soft curl of his wrist. he watched your face the whole time, making sure you weren’t overwhelmed.

c: “you’re doing so good.”

you moaned, eyes fluttering.

c: “gonna take me so well, baby.”

he lined himself up. his tip pressed against your entrance, and you gasped at the stretch already and he hadn’t even pushed in. you clutched at his shoulders as he slid in inch by inch. slow. thick. deep.

you: “s-shit, chris-”

he kissed your cheek, whispering against your skin.

c: “breathe, baby. i’ve got you.”

you tried. really. your body was trembling already, walls fluttering around him, and he wasn’t even halfway. he paused, rubbing circles on your hips.

c: “you okay?”

you nodded, nails digging into his back. he smiled. dark, proud.

c: “that’s my girl.”

he kept going. inch by inch, stretching you wide. your walls burned, your breath hitched, your legs shook. but you didn’t stop. and neither did he.

you: “i-its too m-much.”

c: “all the way, princess. just a little more-”

when his hips finally met yours, when he bottomed out completely, you almost sobbed. you were so full, you couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe. your body felt like it was on fire. he didn’t move. just kissed your forehead, nose, lips.

c: “you did it.”

c: “you took all of me.”

you moaned, your voice trembling. he smiled against your skin.

c: “you were made for me.”

when he pulled back and thrust in again, the air left your lungs.

you: “chris-!”

his rhythm was slow. deep. precise. every drag of his cock felt like he was reshaping you, molding you around him.

c: “gonna fuck you just like this. every day.”

c: “train you to take it better. deeper.”

you cried out as he hit a spot so deep it made your vision blur.

you: “i c-ca-”

c: “you can. and you will.”

he pressed your knees up, folding you under him, pushing even deeper. you sobbed out a moan, tears slipping down your cheek.

c: “that’s it. cry for me.”

c: “you love it. being full. stretched. ruined.”

you were shaking. you came hard. full body, overwhelming, the kind that made your limbs go numb. and he kept fucking you through it.

you: “too much- chr- i’m gon-”

c: “do it.”

c: “cum on my cock while i fill you up.”

he groaned as your walls clamped down, and then he was spilling inside you, deep and messy, his body shuddering as he collapsed over you. both of you panting.

both of you wrecked.

he didn’t pull out right away. he just held you. kissed your jaw, your shoulder, your chest. his cum was dripping down your thighs. you didn’t even care. his voice was quiet against your temple.

c: “you’re mine now.”

you nodded. whispering it back.

you: “yours.”

c: “no one else gets to touch you.”

he smiled. soft. but there was something in his eyes. that hunger, still there, even now.

c: “i’m not done with you.”

you knew that already. because this wasn’t just a one-time mistake. this was possession.

and he wasn’t letting you go.

1K notes · View notes

zaineviu · 2 months ago

Text

Not Just a 'Stylist' | Bangchan 1.1k Followers special!! <3

Pairing: Bang Chan × Stylist!Reader

Word Count: 9,145 Words | Reading Time: 33-ish mins

Genre: Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Idol AU | Romance

Trope: Second Chance · Miscommunication · Lovers to Strangers to Lovers · Forbidden Love

Warnings: Mentions of body image issues & industry pressure, Angst-heavy themes, Harsh words, emotional fallout, Mental health struggles (insecurity, self-hate), Mild suggestive content, Strong language, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Synopsis: She was never just their stylist. She was the one who made sure their voices were heard—even if it meant putting herself in the line of fire. Bang Chan didn’t know how much she mattered until she walked away. Now, two years later, a sly plan, an awkward reunion, and a very overdue confession might be what brings them back to each other… if their wounds can finally heal.

Author’s Note: This one’s for the parts of us we try to hide—because insecurities aren’t flaws, they’re just softer truths we haven’t learned to love yet. Chan’s story in this fic is a reminder that vulnerability doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. And that’s where the real beauty lives. 🤍 I hope all are doing fine! {I know i was gone for a little too long! Sorry lovies, i was trying to heal and keep up with myself first cause it was reflecting on my writings and i didnt wanna write so much angst, i haven't been feeling to write and post since a few weeks its just complicated lol, i hope its just a phase... And i am sorry if this one is a bit of more angst than fluff..}

Notice: Requests a closed for a little while, if y'll wanna talk or share thoughts feel free to do so!!

The K-Pop industry was a dazzling, often bewildering, kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, synchronized choreographies, and the relentless hum of constant activity. For many, it was a dream factory, churning out idols worshipped by millions. But beneath the glittering facade lay grueling schedules that stretched days into sleepless nights, and an often unforgiving set of beauty standards that could strip an idol of their individuality faster than a stage light could flicker. Perfection, in this world, was not just admired; it was meticulously engineered, often at the cost of authentic self-expression. Yet, for you, a stylist barely two years into the unforgiving depths of this demanding world, it was also something far more profound: a blank canvas, ripe for a quiet, yet revolutionary, change.

You hadn't simply landed in the K-Pop scene; you had carved out a niche, not with aggressive self-promotion, but with a philosophy that was both innovative and deeply empathetic. Your reputation had spread like wildfire, not just for the avant-garde, trend-setting ensembles you conceptualized, but for an almost fierce, unwavering dedication to the idols' comfort, well-being, and genuine self-expression.

In an industry obsessed with a narrow definition of perfection, your rebellion was subtle but potent. Whitewashing, the pervasive practice of lightening an idol's skin to an often unnatural pallor, was your personal nemesis—a cultural erasure you fought tooth and nail against.

You saw it as a deliberate act of stripping away an idol's natural heritage and unique beauty. Unnecessary layers of makeup on already flawless, youthful skin felt like a crime against nature and authenticity, smothering their natural glow under a mask of heavy product. And the rampant destruction of natural hair, often through harsh chemicals, relentless heat styling, and aggressive bleaching, was a personal affront you simply could not tolerate.

You championed originality, seeing each idol as a unique individual with their own inherent beauty to be amplified, not erased. Your mission was to ensure they felt seen, celebrated, and authentically themselves, rather than merely being packaged into a marketable, albeit homogenous, product designed to fit a preconceived mold.

This philosophy, initially met with skepticism and quiet resistance from management, slowly began to take root among the idols themselves. The members, accustomed to a more rigid, company-driven approach to their appearance—where they were often told what to wear, how to pose, and even how to smile—gradually adjusted to your radical kindness. They started to trust you, to see you not just as a technician of trends, but as an ally, someone who genuinely had their best interests at heart. Slowly, tentatively, some even began to confide in you, whispering their preferences, their discomforts, their secret desires for a different look, a softer fabric, a bolder color—preferences you always, without fail, honored and fought for, often pushing back against directives from higher-ups.

Among them was Han, a whirlwind of creative energy, known for his rapid-fire raps and boundless stage presence. Beneath his vibrant exterior, he carried a canvas of intricate tattoos that told stories only he truly understood, a deeply personal expression of his journey. He had silently endured countless applications of heavy, industrial-strength body tape, used to conceal his art for various concepts, leaving his sensitive skin raw, red, and irritated after every single performance. It was a silent agony he'd simply accepted as part of the job.

One afternoon, after a particularly long photoshoot for a new album, Han approached you cautiously, a faint wince on his face as he gently peeled a corner of tape from his inner arm. "Hey, [Y/N]," he began, his voice low. "Could… could we possibly try something different with this next time? The tape… it's really tearing up my skin." He showed you the angry red marks, some already forming blisters.

You immediately knelt, examining his reddened torso with a frown. "Oh, Han, that looks painful," you murmured, your concern genuine. "Of course, we will. Show me exactly where it hurts, where the tape causes the most irritation. We'll find a way around it, I promise. Your comfort comes first, always." From that day on, you made it your unwavering mission to ensure his clothing was stylish, often strategically covering him in ways that felt natural and chic, using round tops and under mesh that seamlessly integrated into the concept. But there were times, moments of pure, unadulterated playfulness on stage or during content shoots, when Han, swept up in the moment, wanted to show off his tattoos, to let his true self shine through. In those instances, you would take the fall, absorbing the inevitable scoldings and frustrated sighs from management with a calm, unyielding demeanor, a silent shield protecting his artistic freedom and personal comfort. You were their advocate, their quiet guardian against the industry's more suffocating demands.

Yet, despite your growing influence and the trust you had cultivated with most of the members, there was one who struggled profoundly to adapt to your different approach: Bang Chan. The group's leader, he was the embodiment of tireless dedication and relentless self-improvement, but years of relentless industry conditioning had deeply ingrained a specific, often self-deprecating, image in his mind. He couldn't reconcile with the idea of embracing his natural curly hair, which he saw as unruly, messy, and unprofessional, a stark contrast to the sleek, sharp looks favored by many K-Pop idols. Similarly, his slightly tanned, sun-kissed skin, earned from hours in the dance studio and occasional outdoor filming, was something he believed detracted from the desired "idol aesthetic" of pale, ethereal beauty.

After a particularly bright outdoor shoot under the Seoul sun, Chan approached you, rubbing his arm with a towel, a hesitant smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, [Y/N]," he said, almost apologetically. "Could we… maybe go a bit lighter on my skin for the next concept? Like, a foundation shade or two up? I think it would suit the theme better, give it a more… polished feel."

You met his gaze directly, your expression gentle but unwavering. "Chan, your skin tone is beautiful," you countered softly, your voice firm. "It's healthy, it's natural. There's no need to lighten it. You're just fine the way you are." You watched a flicker of disappointment cross his face, quickly masked.

A few days later, during a hair styling session for a variety show appearance, he tried again, running a hand through his slightly damp, springy curls. "My curls are… a lot, aren't they?" he mumbled, tugging at a particularly unruly strand near his temple. "They always seem to have a mind of their own. Maybe we should straighten them out for the comeback? Or at least heavily slick them back? It would look more… put together, I think. More professional."

You smiled, gently pushing his hand away from his hair. "Chan, your curls are incredible," you insisted, beginning to work a light serum through them to enhance their natural texture. "They have so much character, so much life. The fans adore them, you know? They talk about 'Chan's curls' all the time. We can define them, keep them healthy, but why hide something so unique and beloved?" He mumbled something noncommittal, still looking unconvinced. The irony was not lost on you: the other members, and even their incredibly devoted fanbase, Stay, absolutely adored his natural curls, often praising them in fan calls and online comments, begging him not to straighten them cause he is damaging his own hair. But Chan, locked in his own internal struggle, his self-perception deeply rooted in years of industry expectation, remained stubbornly unconvinced, a silent battle being waged beneath the surface of his charismatic stage persona. You knew he needed to see himself as truly "fine" before anyone else's opinion would matter.

The air after the concert was thick with the lingering buzz of fan cheers and the exhaustion of performance, a faint scent of sweat and stage smoke clinging to everything. The dressing room was a hive of activity: members peeling off stage clothes, makeup artists packing up their kits, and staff bustling about. You were meticulously helping Felix unhook an intricate, albeit slightly heavy, ear cuff, your fingers nimble as you navigated the delicate clasp. It was a moment of quiet focus amidst the post-show chaos, when snippets of a staff conversation, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through the general chatter.

"Honestly, I don't know what our new stylist is thinking," a voice, unfamiliar but clearly disgruntled, grated from a few feet away. "She absolutely refuses to cover up Bang Chan's slight tan. It's distracting, especially with the concept photos coming up."

Another voice, a little higher pitched, chimed in, dripping with disdain. "And his hair! It's never properly styled. Those curls just don't suit him. He looks… unpolished. It's not the image the company wants."

The words hit you like a physical blow, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. Your hands stilled on Felix's ear. Without a second thought, driven by instinct and a fierce loyalty to the idols you protected, you straightened up, turning slowly towards the voices. "Excuse me?" you interjected, your voice deceptively calm, though your eyes, you knew, flashed with a dangerous glint. "Chan's skin is perfectly fine. It's natural, and frankly, beautiful. It makes him look healthy and strong. And his curls are adored by fans. My job is to highlight their natural features, not erase them to fit some outdated, unrealistic so called toxic shitty standard."

A sudden, uncomfortable hush fell over the immediate area. Jeongin, who had been quietly packing his bag, looked up, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of alarm. Han, who had just walked over to grab a water bottle, stopped dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over the cooler.

"Exactly!" Han exclaimed, stepping forward, his voice rising in defense. "Have you seen how many fans comment about his curls? They love them! They're iconic! And his tan? It just makes him look healthier, more real. It's part of who he is!"

"Yeah!" Felix chimed in, stepping away from you, his usually bright demeanor replaced with a stern frown. "And [Y/N] always makes sure we're comfortable. That's way more important than some old-fashioned beauty standard that makes us feel bad about ourselves!"

Changbin, who had been listening from a distance, his arms crossed, nodded firmly. "She helps us feel like ourselves. Chan Hyung looks great. He looks authentic and cute and sexy and the stays and we love him just the way he is."

But it was too late. Chan, who had been walking past the dressing room entrance, having just finished a quick call, paused. His back was to you, but the sudden rigidity of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head, told you he had heard every single word. His face unreadable, he turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over you, the hushed staff, and then his fiercely loyal members, before he simply pivoted and walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

You glared at the gossiping staff, a silent, chilling promise of retribution in your eyes—a promise that your next styling choices for them would be… unflattering. Then, without another word, you quickly pushed past the startled members and followed him. You found him standing against a cool, brick wall just outside the building, gazing up at the indifferent night sky, his shoulders hunched, radiating a palpable tension that seemed to crackle in the air around him.

"Chan, wait," you began, reaching out a hand, your voice soft, but he cut you off, spinning around to face you. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his voice was tight with frustration, barely above a whisper, yet sharp as a knife which was just sharped as in to slit throats and then hearts.

"I told you… I told you I don't wanna be different!" he exclaimed, his words laced with a raw edge of pain and exasperation. "I just wanna fit in, like everyone else! I just want to be normal! But you wouldn't listen to me! You never listen!"

You stepped closer, trying to reason, to soften the blow, to make him understand. "Chan, listen to me. No matter what you do, no matter how you look, no matter how much you change yourself, people will always find something negative to say. You can't please everyone, and you shouldn't try to erase yourself for them. Your worth isn't determined by their opinions."

But he snapped, the dam breaking, unleashing a torrent of cruel words that felt like physical blows, each one landing squarely on your chest. "Don't you get it, [Y/N]? I don't care about what they say when it means I look like this! I don't care about 'authenticity' if it means I'm constantly being criticized! I need a stylist who understands the industry, who doesn't nag me about my personal choices. Someone who will just… do their job! Someone who will just make me look the way I need to look! Pale skin. Straightened hair. I don't need someone like you! I don't want a new style. Maybe the others do, not me!" His voice cracked on the last words, but the venom was clear, sharp, and undeniable.

The words stung, a deep, nauseating ache spreading through your chest, echoing the painful truth that he truly meant them, at least in that moment of raw anger. You knew he was upset, deeply so, frustrated with himself and the pressures he felt, but it still hurt. Of course, it did.

You had liked him the most, perhaps even loved him, in a way that transcended the idol-stylist dynamic. You had witnessed his entire rise, his struggles, his countless "Chan's Room" lives on YouTube where he’d openly expressed his insecurities about his looks, his hair, his identity, his constant battle with self-doubt.

You loved him more than you cared to admit, not as an idol, but as the genuine, vulnerable person you knew him to be beneath the bravado and the leader's facade. He stormed off, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with the bitter echoes of his harsh, cutting words in the cold night air, a profound sense of betrayal settling heavy in your heart.

The next week was their much-needed break, a rare window of respite in their relentless schedule. For you, however, it was a blur of silent, agonizing pain. The raw wound of Chan's words festered, preventing you from facing him, or even his concerned members.

Your phone remained stubbornly on silent, vibrating with unread messages, your fingers hovering over them, unable to bring yourself to respond. Each buzz was a fresh reminder of the chasm that had opened between you and a desperate plea to bridge it, but the hurt was too deep, too fresh. The guilt, meanwhile, gnawed at Chan, a constant, dull ache in his chest, a poison he couldn't flush out.

He replayed the scene in his mind over and over: the surge of anger that had driven his cruel outburst, fueled by years of internalized insecurity, and the shattered, heartbroken look in your eyes as he stormed away. That image, the way your expression had crumpled, haunted his waking hours and infiltrated his restless sleep.

That night, unable to shake the feeling of dread, he paced the dorm living room, the quiet too loud, too heavy. "Has anyone heard from [Y/N]?" Chan finally asked, his voice strained, a raw edge of desperation he couldn't quite hide.

Han, scrolling through his phone, shook his head, his own face etched with worry. "No, Hyung. I've sent like, five texts. And checked every social media she used to have. Nothing. No reply. Lix has called her, too, probably a dozen times."

Felix nodded sadly, his usual bright demeanor dimmed. "Just goes straight to voicemail, Hyung. Every single time. I don't know what to do. This isn't like her."

The members, sitting in their living room, exchanged worried glances, a silent conspiracy of concern. None dared to explicitly ask either of you about what had truly transpired that night. They had heard it all, after all, the sharp words and the sudden silence. The chilling silence from both sides was deafening, a tangible, suffocating weight in the dorm, replacing the usual easy camaraderie.

The very next day, a cold, formal email landed in everyone's inboxes: the company announced your resignation. There was a terse, uninformative notice posted internally, stating only that you had "decided to pursue other opportunities." You hadn't given a reason, not to management, not to the members, not to anyone. Just a clean, sharp break, like a snapped string. But the members knew. Every single one of them. And Chan, oh, Chan knew with a searing certainty.

"What do you mean, she resigned?" Changbin asked, disbelief coloring his voice, staring at the stark text on his phone screen as if it might spontaneously change. "She just… left? Without a word?"

"She wouldn't just leave," Jeongin whispered, looking genuinely distraught, his eyes wide and clouded with unshed tears. "Not without saying goodbye to us. Not after everything."

Han slammed his fist lightly on the table, the muffled thud echoing the frustration in his voice. His gaze was fixed on Chan, a mixture of raw anger and deep despair. "It's because of what happened, isn't it, Hyung? Because of what you said! It broke her, didn't it?"

Chan flinched, the accusation hitting him squarely, like a physical blow. His face was ashen, his jaw tight. "I… I know," he mumbled, his voice thick with guilt, barely audible. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, a dizzying wave of regret. You weren't just their stylist; you were someone who always put their needs first, their comfort first, their problems first, even before the company's often rigid directives and relentless bottom line. You were a true friend, an advocate, a safe space they had implicitly relied on, a rare source of genuine care in an often impersonal industry. Now, that friend was gone, not exactly, but you never replied to anyone's messages, no matter how many they sent, how desperate they became, how many pleas for a simple 'I'm okay' went unanswered.

Months bled into each other, each one feeling heavier than the last for the group. The stylist changed, a new face taking your place. This person was efficient, professional, and entirely detached. They just "did their job," rarely spoke beyond necessary instructions, and worked solely for the company, not for the idols' individual well-being or comfort. The careful considerations you had put in place slowly eroded, like sand slipping through fingers. Han's body tapes reappeared, along with other unwelcome changes to their styling that prioritized concept over comfort, leaving the members feeling like mannequins, stripped of their individuality.

One evening, after another long day of taped-up skin and restrictive, itchy outfits, Han sat on his bed, frantically texting you, a silent, desperate prayer. "Please, [Y/N]," he typed, his thumbs flying across the screen, his face drawn. "Are you okay? We miss you so much. This new stylist… it's not the same. My skin is raw again, just like before you came. Please, just reply. Anything?" But the messages remained stubbornly undelivered, stuck on 'sending,' or simply unread. He had been closest to you, relying on your understanding and empathy more than anyone. Your silence was a constant, gnawing void.

Tours came and went, a dizzying cycle of stages and cities, airports and hotel rooms. The high of performing was always followed by a lingering emptiness. Occasionally, the members would catch glimpses of you, a fleeting figure working with other idols and groups at music shows or industry events. You looked good, professional, sometimes even seemed to laugh, but always just out of reach, a distant figure in a bustling crowd.

"Look, there she is!" Felix exclaimed one day, his voice a mix of excitement and longing, pointing across a crowded backstage area. You were laughing with a girl group, adjusting a sparkling top for one of their members, your head thrown back, a genuine smile on your face.

Chan watched from afar, a sharp, physical pang in his chest. You seemed so vibrant, so at ease, so happy, even if the smile didn't quite reach your eyes like before when seungmin would friendly bully chan about his age, but it was in the same profound way he remembered. It twisted something inside him to see you thriving, knowing it was a world he was no longer a part of, a happiness he had pushed away.

Han, though initially unable to forgive Chan for what he'd said, the unspoken resentment a thick wall between them, eventually did. The silent tension between them was too heavy to bear under the constant pressure of idol life, a crack in their brotherhood. One late night, he found Chan staring out the dorm window, lost in thought. "Hyung," Han said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I… I'm still mad about it, believe me. It hurt me too. But I miss you too. We need to be okay. As a group, we can't let this break us." Chan just nodded, a silent acknowledgment of forgiveness and shared pain, a fragile truce. The other members, too, slowly, resignedly, reverted to their old ways, accepting the discomforts as an inevitable part of their careers. They missed you, desperately, but the hope of your return dwindled with each passing month, replaced by a quiet resignation.

And Chan, through it all, finally understood. The empty space you left behind wasn't just a missing stylist; it was a void in his life, a silent reproach to his own insecurities, a constant, visceral reminder of his harsh, cutting words. He had fallen for you long ago, slowly, subtly, in the quiet moments behind the scenes, during late-night recording or editing sessions where he'd often find himself thinking of your gentle corrections, your unwavering support, your quiet strength.

He had always made sure not to hurt you, to never cross that line, to protect that unspoken bond, that fragile trust… and that's exactly what he had done. He wasn’t afraid of losing you, not exactly, not in the typical sense of fearing how he would be without you, how it would affect himself. That kind of fear, he now realized, was selfish.

But hurting you?

That pained him to his very core. That was a different kind of terror. He had always believed that being afraid of losing someone meant being afraid of how one would be without that person, how it would affect themselves. But being afraid of hurting someone meant being afraid of leaving a mental scar, a painful memory that they would carry forever, a wound they might never fully heal from. And he had hurt you. Brutally. He had watched you walk away because of his own words, his own self-doubt, his own inability to see his worth. The realization was a torment he carried every single day, a constant, gnawing regret that ate at him from the inside out, a silent scream in his chest.

Two years had passed by in a blow, each day a slow, grinding testament to the void you'd left. The memories of your easy laughter, your firm but gentle touch during styling, and your fierce protection had faded slightly around the edges, but the impact of your absence was a constant, dull ache for all the members. Chan, especially, carried a heavy burden. Han had keenly observed his Hyung's quiet torment – the way Chan would replay old videos of them, of you effortlessly styling other groups at music shows, his gaze lingering on your figure. He'd catch Chan scrolling through old fan photos, zooming in on your fleeting appearances in the background. Everyone had picked up on the signals; it was clear, painfully so, that Chan was suffering and that he missed you more than words could say.

"He's never going to move on, is he?" Felix whispered to Han one night, watching Chan stare blankly at a screen. "It's like he's stuck."

Han sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He won't. Not until he gets a chance to fix it. He messed up, yeah, but he's been kicking himself for two years straight."

He hatched a plan, a desperate, audacious gamble, unsure if it would work, but it was worth a try. He knew you'd blocked all their numbers, even the company's official lines. You’d probably changed yours too. But he also knew you were meticulous, always checking for new opportunities, especially if they came from an unfamiliar but professional source.

"Okay," Han muttered to himself, scrolling through his contacts. He found an old, burner phone number he’d used for a brief, ill-fated prank war months ago. Perfect.

He crafted a message carefully, trying to sound as un-Han-like as possible, adopting an overly formal, slightly stiff tone.

To: [Your old number & a guess at your new number] From: [Fictional Company Name] - Mr. Jin Subject: Urgent Styling Opportunity

"Dear Y/N, I hope this message finds you well. My name is Jin, manager at [Fictional Company Name]. We have an urgent project requiring a stylist of exceptional reputation and innovative vision, specifically with a keen understanding of idol comfort and authentic expression. Your name has come highly recommended. We are looking to revolutionize our group's image. Would you be available for a confidential meeting to discuss this potential collaboration? Please reply to this number at your earliest convenience. Regards, Mr. Jin."

He re-read it, wincing at the overly formal phrasing, but deciding it might just sound legitimate enough to pique your professional interest. He pressed send, holding his breath.

To his utter surprise, that very night, his burner phone buzzed. A text message, short and to the point.

To: Mr. Jin From: [Your new number] "Dear Mr. Jin, Thank you for reaching out. I am available for a meeting. Please propose a time and location suitable for your schedule. Regards, [Y/N]."

Han almost dropped the phone. It worked! A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face, quickly followed by a rush of nerves. Now for the hard part: getting Chan there, oblivious, and then getting out of the way. This was either going to be the best plan he'd ever concocted, or the most catastrophic.

A few days later, after a particularly grueling dance practice that left the members drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, their muscles aching, Han, surprisingly cheerful despite the workout, casually approached Chan. "Hey, Hyung," Han said, swinging his arm around Chan's shoulders, a mischievous glint in his eye that Chan, in his own weary state, barely registered. "I'm starving. Absolutely famished. Wanna grab some coffee? There's this new, not-so-famous cafe down the street I heard about – supposed to have really good pastries."

Chan, still feeling a vague, persistent sense of unease from the unresolved tension of the past weeks, and the constant, throbbing void in his life where your presence used to be, simply grunted in agreement. "Sure, why not. Anything beats staying in the dorms staring at the ceiling, thinking." He was simply glad Han was talking to him again, without the usual subtle undercurrent of disappointment or coldness that had been present in their interactions for so long. It felt like a fragile truce, a tiny crack of light in his self-imposed darkness.

They dressed quickly, pulling on hoodies and baseball caps, the familiar disguise for anonymity, and walked the short distance in the crisp evening air. The city lights began to twinkle, blurring into streaks as cars rushed past. As they neared the cozy-looking cafe, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement, Han paused, feigning a sudden, panicked realization. "Alright, Hyung, I actually need to run back to the dorm for something I totally forgot. My phone! You know how I am – useless without it." He gave Chan a wide, innocent grin, almost too innocent. "Mind going in ahead? Just tell them you're with 'Mr. Jin.' We have a table reserved. He’s already there, probably."

Chan's brow furrowed in confusion, a tired sigh escaping him. "'Mr. Jin'? Who on earth is Mr. Jin?" he asked, scanning the cafe's unfamiliar facade, a vague suspicion tickling the back of his mind, but he was too tired to argue.

Han just shrugged, his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. "Ah, you know, we're well-known, brother. Company connections, maybe? Just go in, I'll be right there. Don't worry about it, Hyung, just grab the table." He gave Chan a light shove towards the entrance, a gesture of fraternal encouragement.

It was a flimsy, almost ridiculous, but seemingly reasonable enough excuse, especially coming from Han. Chan, still a bit confused but trusting Han, pushed open the cafe door. The warm, inviting aroma of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, tinged with a hint of cinnamon, filled the air, a comforting contrast to the lingering chill outside. A young waiter, bustling but polite, approached him with a professional smile.

"Reservation for Mr. Jin?" Chan asked, feeling a little silly saying the name out loud, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

The waiter's smile brightened. "Ah, yes, right this way, sir. Your party is already seated." He led Chan through the cozy, dimly lit interior, past the gentle murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups, to a secluded table nestled in the back, near a large window overlooking the street.

You were sitting there, nursing a half-empty latte, scrolling through your phone, completely engrossed in something on the screen, your brow slightly furrowed in concentration. As the waiter gestured towards the table, you looked up, your eyes meeting his across the small, round surface. Time, for a heart-stopping moment, simply ceased to exist. Both of you froze, a silent, electric shock rippling through the air. The gentle hum of the cafe faded into an indistinguishable buzz, swallowed by the sudden roaring in Chan's ears. You lowered your phone slowly, almost reverently, your mouth slightly agape, a mixture of profound surprise and something akin to a guarded curiosity flickering in your eyes. Chan’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, dizzying rush of blood to his head. It was really you. After two agonizing years, standing right there, looking both utterly familiar and heartbreakingly distant.

Outside, pressed against the glass wall like a grinning gargoyle, Han watched the scene unfold. He saw the instant recognition, the collective paralysis, the unspoken tension that hung between you two. A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. He pumped a silent fist in the air, a quiet victory dance, before turning and practically skipping back to the dorms, his mission accomplished, a hopeful lightness in his step.

Chan slowly, almost mechanically, pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, his limbs feeling heavy and disconnected, as if gravity had intensified. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, a silent plea in his gaze, a desperate hope blooming in his chest. You, meanwhile, were already holding up your phone, displaying a text conversation. "This is you, isn't it?" you accused, a wry eyebrow raised, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a ghost of the old warmth he remembered so vividly. "Trolling me over texts, pretending to be 'Mr. Jin' from some random company? I almost took the bait, you know. I even looked up their fictional website."

Chan leaned forward, peering at the screen, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him, followed by a surge of gratitude towards Han. He recognized Han's overly formal, slightly ungrammatical writing style instantly. "Oh my god," he mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck, warmth flooding his cheeks, not just from embarrassment, but from the overwhelming proximity to you, the sheer reality of your presence. "Han! I am so, so sorry. I had no idea. He set me up completely. I swear. I would never…" His voice trailed off, lost in the enormity of the moment.

You sighed, a small, exasperated sound, but nodded, a flicker of something in your eyes – perhaps understanding, perhaps resignation, perhaps a hint of the old affection. "I figured as much. He always was a menace, that one. And surprisingly dedicated when he sets his mind to something." You began to gather your things, reaching for your bag, the brief amusement fading, replaced by a familiar, guarded distance that chilled him. "Well, since this was clearly a setup, and not a legitimate meeting, I should probably go—"

"Please wait!" Chan blurted out, his voice thick with a sudden, desperate urgency, a raw, primal fear that you would disappear again. His hand instinctively shot across the table, lightly, almost reverently, holding your wrist, stopping your movement. His fingers were surprisingly warm against your skin, a jolt of familiar contact after so long, sending shivers through him, a stark reminder of everything he'd lost. "Ten minutes. Please. Just ten minutes. That's all I ask. Don't leave again." His voice was raw, pleading, a crack in his usual composure, utterly exposed. He felt like he was suffocating, this one fragile chance to explain, to atone, slipping through his grasp.

You hesitated, your eyes searching his, seeing not just desperation, but a profound vulnerability, a deep, silent anguish there that truly surprised you. The grip was light, but firm, a silent plea that resonated deep within you, touching a dormant chord of concern. After a long moment, watching the raw emotion play out in his eyes, the unshed tears reflecting the dim cafe lights, you slowly released your bag and sat back down, a small, resigned sigh escaping your lips. "Ten minutes," you conceded, your voice soft, almost a whisper, a fragile thread of hope linking you.

He nodded, a visible wave of profound relief washing over his face, as if he'd just been granted a stay of execution, a reprieve from an unbearable sentence. He pulled his hand back, then, driven by a sudden nervous energy that made him incapable of sitting still, he got up from his seat and began to pace the small area around the table, his words tumbling out in a sincere, rapid-fire apology, a confession he'd rehearsed a thousand times in his head, each word weighed and re-weighed, now bursting forth with unbridled emotion.

"I know… I know what I said was messed up," he started, running a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on you, pleading for understanding, for just a glimmer of the kindness he remembered. "That night… I was just so frustrated, so angry. But it wasn't about you, not really. It was all about my own stupid insecurities. My own hang-ups about how I looked, how I was perceived, how I felt like I was never enough. Like I always had to be perfect for everyone else, even if it meant hating myself. And I hated that I hurt you. I saw your face," his voice cracked here, a raw, exposed nerve, "and… and I knew I messed up so badly. The look in your eyes… it just shattered me. It still shatters me every time I close my eyes. You didn't deserve that. You were only ever trying to help me, to protect me from the very things I was too blind to see, too conditioned to accept about myself. And I just… I threw it back in your face like a complete idiot, like a coward." He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, his gaze intense, earnest, pleading. Tears welled in his eyes, though he fought them back fiercely, blinking rapidly. "I know you're not supposed to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it, to be honest. I’ve lived with that regret every single day."

He took a shaky breath, then continued, his voice dropping, his confession raw and vulnerable, laden with years of unspoken feelings, a dam finally breaking. "But I just… I don't know what to do without you around. It's been two years, [Y/N], and it still feels like… like there's something fundamentally missing. Like a part of me just… wasn't right when you weren't there. Everything felt… muted. Less real. The colors drained from everything. The jokes didn't land right. Even the music felt a little emptier. I missed your presence, your perspective, your just being you."

He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. "And… and I liked you. More than 'liked.' I tried to deny it, tried to push it down because it felt wrong, complicated, impossible. Because you were our stylist, and I was an idol, and there were rules, and fear. But I…I fear that I love you, [Y/N]. I know it's crazy. I know it's wrong, you were our stylist, and I’m an idol, and it's all so messed up and complicated, and I’m probably going to regret saying this later, risking everything, but… I’m fucked, [Y/N]. I truly, deeply, unequivocally love you. I missed you more than I can even begin to say. Every single day was a struggle, a constant reminder of my own stupidity, my own foolish pride. And I’m still a mess, okay? A guy filled with insecurities, a heart that can't quite explain what it is or what it wants… but even then, even though I'm all that… I would always be yours, no matter what. My heart belongs to you, always has, even when I was too stupid to realize it. But if you gave me a chance… I want to get to know you again. Not just as an idol and a stylist. As a friend, first. And then… if it's okay… if you could ever find it in you… I want to try for something more. Something real. Something honest. With you. Always with you." He finished, breathless, his confession hanging heavy in the air between you, raw and exposed, a silent plea for forgiveness and a future he desperately craved.

You stood up. The ten minutes he’d begged for were over, but the weight of his raw confession hung heavy in the air, vibrating between you like a plucked string. Every agonizing word, every exposed vulnerability, echoed in the quiet space.

"Ten minutes are over," you stated, your voice calm, betraying nothing of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you—the profound surprise, the lingering hurt, and the unexpected tenderness his raw honesty had stirred. The urge to stay, to reach across the table and bridge the chasm that had formed between you, was immense, almost overwhelming, but the hurt of the past two years, the cold sting of his cutting words, was a formidable wall, still too high to easily climb.

You turned and walked past him, heading towards the exit, the faint scent of his cologne, a familiar comfort, now tinged with the desperation that had clung to his every plea. You reached the door, your hand resting on the cool metal handle, the decision to leave or stay warring within you.

Just as you were about to push it open and step back into the anonymity of the bustling street, you paused. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your posture. Then, slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. A small, knowing grin, a ghost of a smile he once knew, a hint of the playful teasing he remembered so fondly, played on your lips. "See you soon… Christopher."

Then, without another word, you pushed the door open and walked out into the late afternoon bustle, disappearing into the crowd like a fleeting shadow. Poor Chan was left utterly confused, rooted to the spot, staring after you, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The cryptic farewell, the almost-smile, the use of his full name – it tore at him. Did it mean something? Or nothing at all? Was it a promise, or just a polite dismissal?

The next week passed in a blur of anticipation, doubt, and a gnawing uncertainty for him, each hour stretching into an eternity as he replayed your words, your smile, that single, enigmatic glance. He found himself dissecting every syllable, searching for hidden meanings, for any sign of hope. Sleep offered little solace, his dreams filled with your face, both near and impossibly far.

It was time for their next tour, a sprawling schedule of concerts across multiple continents, a whirlwind of flights, rehearsals, and performances. The usual excitement was overshadowed by an underlying tension, a silent worry about the impending change in staff. As he was meticulously packing his suitcase, folding clothes with obsessive precision, trying to decipher the cryptic meaning of your parting words, the dorm room door burst open without a knock. The other members piled in, an unusual seriousness on their faces.

"Hyung! Urgent meeting in five minutes!" Jeongin announced, his usual bright energy replaced with a grim, almost apprehensive tone.

"Yeah, the manager sounded super serious," Felix added, his usual cheer subdued. "He said it's about the tour staff, specifically about the new stylist."

Chan's stomach twisted. He braced himself for another cold, impersonal professional. As confused as the others by the sudden announcement, he quickly zipped up his bag and headed to the main office where their manager sat, a stern, unreadable expression on his face. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension, heavy with the collective dread of the unknown.

"Alright, boys," the manager began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, his eyes sweeping over their anxious faces, seeming to relish the dramatic reveal. "I have an important announcement regarding your upcoming tour. As you know, we've been looking for a long-term solution for your styling needs." He paused for dramatic effect. "You're getting a new stylist, effective immediately for this tour."

A collective groan, low and heartfelt, filled the room, a wave of palpable disappointment washing over them. "Oh, no," Seungmin mumbled, slumping further in his chair, already picturing the rigid, impersonal approach they’d come to dread, the return of uncomfortable outfits and forced looks.

"Not another cruel one," Han muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, exchanging a worried glance with Changbin. The memory of the past two years, with the cold, detached stylist and the relentless return of old discomforts like Han’s body tapes, weighed heavily on them all. Their hopeful spirits had been slowly chipped away.

Just then, as if on cue, the office door opened. All heads snapped towards it. And then, you walked in. Your gaze swept over the surprised faces of the members, a faint, mischievous glint in your eyes as you took in their slumped postures and glum expressions, a knowing amusement playing on your lips. Your eyes finally landed on Chan, and a subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably knowing smile played on your lips, a direct, unspoken acknowledgement of your last conversation, a silent question hanging between you.

"Seems like you all don't want me… sure then, I will go b—" You began, your voice laced with playful challenge, a hint of teasing that was so uniquely you.

Before you could even finish the sentence, a roar of pure, unadulterated relief and joy erupted in the room. Han and Felix, moving with a speed that belied their earlier exhaustion, had already sprung from their seats, practically tackling you in a synchronized, relieved hug. "You're back! Oh my god, [Y/N], ahhhhhh, I swear we missed you too much!" Han mumbled into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion, careful not to let the manager hear the sheer, overwhelming happiness in his voice. "We thought you were gone for good! We thought we messed up forever!"

"Don't you dare go anywhere ever again!" Felix exclaimed, tightening his embrace, his voice cracking with relief. "We hated the others! They made us wear itchy sweaters!"

The rest quickly joined in, a tangle of arms and excited exclamations, their previous gloom instantly evaporated, replaced by a radiant collective joy. "No! We do want you! We need you!" Seungmin exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin, tears glistening in his eyes. "We really, really do!"

"You have no idea how much we missed you, Stylist-nim!" Hyunjin added, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness, a rare unguarded emotion. Even I.N., usually the quietest, was beaming, his usual reserved demeanor replaced with pure delight as he clung to your arm. "It's so good to have you back."

As for Chris, he simply stood, rooted to the spot, a profound sense of utter, unburdened relief washing over him, so strong it almost brought him to his knees. A genuine, unadulterated smile, the first truly free one in two years, spread across his face, lighting up his features and reaching deep into his eyes. His heart swelled, a warmth spreading through his chest, seeing you there, safe and sound, surrounded by the joy you brought to the group. He just smiled at you, a silent, heartfelt welcome home, a wordless apology and a renewed promise echoing in his gaze. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his eyes said everything.

They soon backed off, untangling themselves from you, though Han still kept an arm loosely around your shoulders, as if afraid you might vanish again. The manager, looking distinctly put out by the blatant display of affection and the interruption to his formal announcement, cleared his throat loudly, regaining his composure. He looked at you, then at the group, his expression still stern, attempting to reassert control. He began rattling off all the "rules" and expectations for the tour, the company's directives, the strict guidelines for their image – rules you, of course, had no intention of following if they compromised your principles or the members' well-being. You just smiled sweetly, meeting the manager’s gaze with a confident, knowing look, a silent promise to yourself and to the boys that things were about to change for the better, once again. This time, for good.

The tour was a whirlwind, a triumphant blur of flashing lights, roaring crowds, and adrenaline-fueled performances. With every passing day, the group grew closer, their bond strengthening, mending the cracks that had formed in your absence. You effortlessly slipped back into your role, not just as their stylist, but as their confidante, their shield. The manager's "rules" quickly became polite suggestions you creatively circumvented. Han's body tapes, once a painful reminder of past discomfort, were gone for good, replaced by innovative layering and clever fabric choices that allowed his tattoos to peek out when appropriate, or be subtly covered without irritation. The other members felt a renewed sense of confidence, embracing their natural hair textures and varied skin tones under your encouraging guidance.

Chan and you, in particular, grew closer than ever before. The initial awkwardness after his confession had quickly melted away, replaced by a comfortable, almost electric familiarity. There were stolen moments backstage, whispered conversations on long bus rides, and shared glances across crowded rooms that spoke volumes. The members often caught you two being "too close," their knowing smiles and raised eyebrows a constant, playful commentary. You'd laugh it off, still calling yourselves "friends," a private joke that only deepened the unspoken understanding between you.

It was a delicate dance, navigating the professional boundaries of your roles with the undeniable pull that drew you together. The trust was back, stronger than ever, built on the foundation of his raw honesty and your quiet forgiveness. His lingering insecurities about his appearance began to fade under your consistent affirmation. He found himself looking at his curls in the mirror not with disdain, but with a new sense of appreciation, remembering your gentle touch, your unwavering belief in his natural beauty. The memory of his harsh words still pricked, but now, it served as a stark reminder of how far he had come, and how much he valued the person who had brought him back to himself.

A year slipped by in a joyful blur, marked by the steady hum of a rekindled connection. The tour ended, but the closeness between you and Chan only deepened. It became a cherished routine: late-night sneak-ins to each other's hotel rooms on tour, or hushed tiptoeing down the dorm corridor after the others were asleep. These secret rendezvous were filled with movie nights, deep talks that stretched into the early hours, and even soft cuddles on the couch or a shared bed, a comforting warmth radiating between you. Intimacy, however, remained a silent, unspoken promise, a tender line you both respected, a slow burn of anticipation that made every touch, every shared glance, electric.

Until…

It was October 3rd, his birthday. A significant day for both him and Stay. After a long day of live streams, fan greetings, a special broadcast of "Chan's Room," and being out of the dorm for various schedules, he returned, utterly exhausted but content. As he pushed open the door to his room, he stopped dead in his tracks. The room was transformed. Balloons in silver and black floated near the ceiling, fairy lights twinkled along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal glow, and the unmistakable aroma of his favorite comfort food filled the air. A small table was laden with drinks and snacks, but what truly caught his eye was a human-sized, clumsily wrapped gift sitting conspicuously on his bed. A note, written in familiar handwriting, was taped to the door: "Suggestion: lock the door, don't want the kids in."

He giggled, a genuine, delighted sound that bubbled up from deep within him. "Oh, you guys," he murmured, his heart already swelling with affection. He carefully closed and locked the door behind him, a sense of playful anticipation bubbling in his chest.

"My human burrito!" he exclaimed, hovering over the immense wrapped present on his bed, his eyes wide with curiosity and a growing hope. He carefully tore away the layers of wrapping paper, his fingers fumbling in his eagerness. As the last sheet fell, a burst of laughter erupted from within the paper, and then, much to his utter astonishment, Han unfolded himself from the box, bursting into laughter himself at Chan's priceless, crestfallen expression. Han had seen the brief flicker of disappointment, the way Chan’s eyes had gone from wide expectation to utter bewilderment. He had been hoping, oh so desperately, for you.

From the bathroom, where you had been hiding, barely containing your own amusement, you too erupted in uncontrollable laughter, stepping out into the room.

"Get off him, Chrisie, unless~" Han teased, his eyes dancing with mischief, already wiggling out of the box and heading for the door. "Don't want to interrupt anything!" He shot a knowing wink at you both, giggling like a maniac.

Chan, totally embarrassed, backed away from Han, his face a fiery red. "Yah, Han Jisung!" he protested, a mock glare on his face. He had been tricked! The little menace! Han walked out, still cackling, leaving the door ajar. Chan quickly moved to close and lock the door again, a more deliberate, hopeful click this time.

You emerged fully from the bathroom, dressed in a sleek black satin dress that shimmered in the soft fairy lights, clinging to your figure in all the right places. You were still laughing, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "Very funny, hm?" Chan said, a playful smirk twisting his lips as he pinned you gently against the wall beside the bathroom door, his hands resting lightly on either side of your head.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle your laughter, your eyes sparkling up at him. "Sorry, Channie~" you cooed, the affectionate nickname rolling off your tongue naturally.

"Nope, won't forgive ya," Chan said, feigning seriousness, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"Whyyyy? It was a prankkkk, Chrissssss," you whined, leaning into his space playfully. "What do I do so you forgive me, you evil man?"

Chan's smirk deepened, a slow, predatory warmth entering his gaze. His voice dropped to a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Simple," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours. "Kiss me like you own me, darling. Just like the one you always have been wanting to. Just like the way your thoughts go straight to hell when you look down at my lips and then away. You think I won't notice, love?" He lowered his head, his gaze intensely fixed on your mouth, then back to your eyes, a silent question. Then, with deliberate slowness, he grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him, the soft satin of your dress brushing against his clothes.

You didn't need to be asked twice. The unspoken promise of a year, the yearning that had simmered between you, finally erupted. You kissed him, rough, raw, hungry, a culmination of years of longing, of unspoken words, of pain endured and hope sustained. His lips were soft, yet firm, tasting of coffee and the lingering excitement of his birthday. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if to meld your bodies together. It was a kiss that devoured the past and ignited the future, a symphony of desperate need and profound love.

After the passionate make-out session, breathless and flushed, you pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other. You whispered, your voice husky, "I love you, Chris."

He opened his eyes, a radiant, triumphant smile breaking across his face. He held you tighter, burying his face in your hair. "I love you more. Don't argue, it's my birthday."

You just rolled your eyes, a wide, utterly contented smile gracing your lips, and hugged him tightly, finally home, finally, truly, in his arms.

…The End

731 notes · View notes

zaineviu · 2 months ago

Text

Dolly VIII

~ part 8 of the Dolly series

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: running from the past brought you right back to the beginning.

wc: 10.2k

warnings: paranoia, nightmares, struggles with being infertile, mentions of blood, violence and death, unprotected sex

a/n: this is what y/n's dog looks like

~ divider by @bunnysrph

You were tossing and turning in your bed as the scenes unfolded in your tortured mind. It was the same thing over and over again. The white walls, the tall ceilings, the lab coats, the whirring sounds, the dead emotionless eyes, the clacking of nails against keyboards, the big water tanks with silhouettes of something floating inside them.

Sweat covered your entire body as you struggled to remember just what the hell this place from your dreams was. You were standing there in the long corridor that seemed to shrink and elongate the longer you stared at the heavy door at the end of it. You were wearing a lab coat and gloves and your shoes squeaked against the perfectly clean and scrubbed floor. Your footsteps were slow and heavy, like you were struggling against some force as you walked, appearing to be in slow motion.

Then you heard it.

A scream, rippling through your body and making the hairs at the back of your neck stand as it echoed in the empty corridor. You realized then that it was you screaming, right before your hand touched the door handle.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up abruptly, your breathing ragged as little beads of sweat rolled down your face. Your hands clutched at the cover around you, holding it in a death grip as you tried to anchor yourself and take note of your surroundings. As if on cue, your dog Asher appeared by your side, his big paws pressed on the mattress as he let out a few inquisitive whines, his head tilting left and right. You let out a little chuckle as your breath evened out and you started petting Asher.

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare." you said and cuddled your dog as he nudged his head against you.

You've had Asher since he was just a small baby and being a bullmastiff he grew into a very big and heavy dog, perfect for someone like you, someone who was living alone and surrounded by the forest. You felt uneasy being alone there but you didn't trust any humans so a protective dog was something you needed by your side.

A sweet and loyal friend like Asher whose entire world is you.

You gave him a few more loving pets before you stood up and went to your bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. The nightmares plagued you for years and the worst thing was that you had no idea if they were real or not. There was an entire chunk of your memory missing, a good three years of your life gone like they never existed. You could only remember bits and pieces but not the entire story. It was as if someone wiped your memory off, like they didn't want you to know something. All you knew was the fear and the anxiety that grew inside you after losing your memory.

You couldn't stand being around people, it made you feel crazy. It was as if they were out to get you, someone, someone was following every move you made, listening in on what you said, what you did. You couldn't trust anyone, not even your loved ones so you left it all and disappeared from their lives without any trace.

You only had a few people who knew your phone number, and that was your mother, your sister and one friend you still somewhat trusted. You rarely talked to them anyways, focusing instead on your dog and your house. It was an old little cabin in the woods and in the last three years you've been here, you worked on it every day, repairing it and tending to your garden, growing your own vegetables and fruit. Even though you couldn't remember those three years missing from your life, you remembered the time before. You knew you were tech-savvy and that you worked for some pretty big companies.

But none of that could ever explain the huge amount of cash in your bank account. You had no idea where the money came from but it was enough for you to live a comfortable life and not have to work ever again. Still, you weren't a big spender, you enjoyed the simple life.

Taking walks with Asher, swimming in the lake, working around the house. Those were your simple pleasures. Yes, sometimes you'd mourn the life you had before. The relationship you had, the man by your side who promised to love you until he found out that you were 'broken' as he said during a heated argument, the venomous words leaving his lips and shooting you straight into the wound that hurt the most, the fact that you couldn't have children, something you yearned for your entire life. The moment your doctor gave you those news, you felt like your entire world came crashing down. And when the man you wanted to spend your entire life with pushed you even further down with his words and the pity in his eyes, like you were less of a woman, it was the last straw.

The last straw after struggling to remember where your nightmares were coming from, why you had this growing paranoia inside you that made you alert of every little sound and every stranger who looked at you for too long, why were you punished with something you wanted so badly being taken away from you.

You left without looking back.

Years later and here you were. Enjoying your peaceful life, the nightmares were plaguing you less and less as time went by. You wrote them all down in a little diary, hoping that maybe one day you'd be able to remember what was ripped away from you. Some days you thought it was better that you didn't remember anything, maybe it was something so horrible that you were better off not knowing what it was. Of course, being a technology lover you had to have a computer, but you were careful about any public accounts you had, changing your name and hiding your location. You didn't want anyone to find out where you lived but you still wanted to be aware of what was happening around you.

"You wanna go for a walk?" you asked Asher as soon as you got dressed, putting on a tracksuit for comfort and easy movement. Your dog perked up immediately, barking happily as he jogged towards you and started pushing you lightly with his head. A series of chuckles left your lips and you grabbed your little bag with a water bottle and snacks for Asher along with a banana that would serve as your breakfast for now.

It was a nice chilly morning, the sun rays were peeking through the trees as you locked up your house and started walking on the familiar path you always took with Asher. He was happily walking along, sniffing around and enjoying the fresh air with you. The sounds of the forest filled up your soul, the birds singing in the trees, the breeze rustling through the leaves, the distant waterfall. It was all so peaceful and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

But, the uneasy feeling you had during your nightmare hasn't left you ever since you woke up. What was behind the door? What was the significance of the number eight? It was written on the door with black ink bleeding down the metal and seeping onto the floor.

There was eight of them.

Again. The nightmare was happening again. It was the same long white corridor, the same heavy door at the end of it, the same number eight painted in black ink. Your footsteps were heavy as you struggled to reach the door, to turn the doorknob. A metallic smell filled up your nostrils the closer you got to it and you realized it wasn't black ink sliding down the door, it was dark red blood. With a gasp you gripped the doorknob and swung open the door.

Loud barks brought you back to reality. It took you a moment to realize you were on the ground in the forest, your nails digging into the earth beneath you as you stared up at the trees, seeing Asher hovering over you and barking, nudging you with his head.

"Did I faint?" you questioned out loud, immediately clutching onto your dog who seemed happy and relieved to see you awake even though he was still barking confusedly. "I'm okay, Asher."

As soon as you returned home, you dialed your mother's number.

"Hello?" her familiar voice rang from the other side of the receiver.

"Mom?" your voice came out shaky.

"Y/n?! Oh my god, Y/n!" your mom almost cried out in happiness. "Where are you? Are you coming back home?"

"N-no, I-I can't come back. I can never come back. I just... I just called because the nightmares are getting worse. I thought it was getting better but-"

"That's why you have to come back home and get the help you need. Please, let me be there for you. We'll find someone you can talk to." your mom begged and you could hear the sniffles. She was crying.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. They'll find me." you whispered, looking over at Asher who was finishing his meal. "I have Asher here, I'm not alone."

"I know you love your dog but-"

"I have to hang up now. The call can't be longer than a minute and we are going over that frame of time now. I'm sorry, I love you mom." you said quickly before hanging up. You clutched the phone in your hand and stared at it as your breathing got faster. You needed to write everything down in your diary.

You remembered your friend who you haven't heard from in a long time. She always mentioned some company called BIMT to you but the name meant nothing, you tried and tried but you couldn't remember. Not that and especially not someone named Helena who was apparently the person who opened up the institute. Your heart sped up as you started turning the pages of your diary.

You were always afraid of finding out the truth but something was telling you that it was time for you to make some effort to remember more.

You sat in front of your computer a few days later, hands clutching at the end of the table to stop them from shaking. The nightmares were becoming too much again and on top of the fear they kept feeding inside you, Asher was barking at a particular tree in the forest every time you took the same path for a walk.

It was making your paranoia rise so you started taking a different route. Asher didn't bark at any empty spaces there but you still couldn't shake off the dark feeling following you everywhere. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, it was time to see what this so called Helena looked like.

You typed her name into the search bar and immediately upon seeing her picture come up something twisted in your stomach, gnawed at your insides and made you want to vomit. Disgust filled you up and you quickly exited the page. Did you know her? You must've, judging by the strong reaction your body had upon seeing her. You wished you could remember more, know what happened to you.

You had asked your loved ones and all they knew was that you were working on some secret project at BIMT and that one day you came home completely disoriented, not even remembering your own name, as if you were in some sort of trance. You spent ten days in the hospital stuttering and speaking nonsense about some dolls and about a dead body you apparently saw. They had no idea what the hell you were talking about or what you were doing at the institute, no one knew what went on in there since it wasn't made public.

It left you feeling so frustrated.

You went about your day, trying to shake off the weird feeling of being watched. You managed to get rid of it once you moved out of the city but lately it started coming back. As if half asleep you went through the motions of your usual day; walk with Asher, cooking, cleaning, working around the house, the garden, taking a relaxing bath. And before you knew it night had fallen over the forest, the darkness enveloping the trees and whatever lurked behind them.

You cuddled up in your bed, feeling content under the blankets and with Asher sleeping on the floor next to your bed on his blanket. You knew you were not safe in your dreams though and you dreaded falling asleep. You tried relaxing as much as you could, starting with that bath you took, to now having a little night light and some soothing incense burning in your room. You hoped you'd have calm dreams or rather that you won't dream about anything tonight.

But you were wrong.

Once again, you were in your lab coat walking slowly through the white corridor towards the big metal door. The number eight was still bleeding slowly towards the floor and suddenly you were standing in front of the door with your hand on the doorknob. Something inside you screamed to turn around and leave but you turned the knob and swung open the door. The scream that left your lips echoed all around you. Helena was laying on the floor in an unnatural position, her skin looked bluish and her eyes have almost completely lost their spark.

"Helena!" you screamed and ran towards her, your hands hovering over her body as you had no idea if you should touch her or not.

"Please, keep them safe. Don't let anything happen to them." she grabbed your hand weakly, giving you the key you always saw her wear around her neck. "Give this to Chan when you can. He'll know what it's for." she spoke between breaths and then her hand dropped as you clutched onto the key.

"Hey, grab her!" you heard voices yelling and footsteps running down the corridor and you snapped your head towards them to see a few androids coming towards you with their hands reached out to grab you. You stood up and tried your best to fight them or dodge but they grabbed you and one of them held a huge injection in his hand, lifting it up. You felt a sting in your neck and then there was nothing around you but a black void.

In the darkness, you saw him, your ex looking at you with pity in his eyes. Mocking you, pointing at you, the loud sound of cackling coming out of his mouth, echoing around you and making it seem like there were more and more people surrounding you and laughing at you.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" you screamed, covering your ears with your palms and shutting your eyes tightly as you begged for the laughter to stop.

You woke up abruptly to the sound of the phone ringing and Asher barking at the device as you breathed hard, your body heated with a thin sheen of sweat over your skin. You stood up quickly and ran to the phone, your hand trembling as you picked it up.

"H-hello?" you shivered at the sudden coldness enveloping your body after you left your heated bed.

"Y/n!" a chirpy voice sounded from the other side and you sighed in relief, it was just your friend.

"Oh, hey." you cleared your throat and opened up your fridge to find a cold water bottle.

"Are you sitting down? Cause you won't believe what I have to tell you." she started and you rolled your eyes, thinking it was some drama she found out by hacking someone's account. You took a big swig of water and sat down as Asher came towards you, letting out a few barks.

"I'm sitting down, what is it?" you inhaled slowly and looked up at the clock, it was a little later than you usually wake up and Asher was probably ready for his walk.

"I know you worked at BIMT and I know you don't remember it but they just recently launched a line of eight sex dolls and well I got one. Long story short, he is sort of alive. And I suspect all the others are too, I hacked into his code and Y/n, it's something that I've never seen before. This code, it's alive. It changes with activity when the doll talks and thinks. It's like the code has a mind of its own and the dolls have conscience, they're not just robots, they feel, dream, think and wish. I don't know who else to ask for help except you, maybe you'd even remember something or know how they were made and why. And what happened to Helena, who is in charge now... Please. The first doll made was Chan, I think you should get him."

As she talked, you felt your body trembling and your ears ringing with the anxiety rising inside you. It was like your dreams, there were eight of them, Helena was there and she spoke about someone named 'Chan'.

It was all too much.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated."

You thought for a moment and despite all the nervousness shaking you up, something nagged at you to say yes. You felt like you needed to help them, like you held the key to discovering just what was happening in the mysterious institute.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan." you paused. "What do you hope to achieve once I get him?"

"I'm working on a plan. I'll let you know." your friend said and you exhaled.

It was a lot to process and you knew you'd have to face your past and your fears if you wanted to help these dolls. Asher barked loudly, jumping up and almost knocking you from the bar chair you were sitting on. You let out a chuckle, giving him a few pats.

"We're going for a walk now, don't worry."

As soon as you stepped out of the cabin, taking in the greenery around you and inhaling the fresh air, your mind started to calm down. You took the new route you've been walking on recently, leading to a nice clearing where you could play with Asher. For a moment there you forgot about Helena, BIMT and the dolls and your soul was at peace.

But as soon as you got home and gave Asher some food, you sat down at your computer and opened up the site with the dolls. Upon seeing them, something fluttered in your chest. Especially looking at the Chan and Minho doll. They seemed to stand out to you, their faces seemed the most familiar. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could see what the Chan doll looked like while smiling. A shiver ran down your spine as you hovered your mouse over his picture. You were really doing this.

A week later, you climbed in your truck with Asher on the passenger seat as you went to pick up the package. You had it delivered at the nearest post office which was a twenty minute drive. You didn't want to order the doll directly to your house, it was too risky. Driving there was soothing, the nature around you and the empty road made you feel like you were the only person there, as if it all belonged just to you. Asher was also happy to be on the passenger seat, his head stuck out the window as he enjoyed the wind.

The package was very large as you expected and the worker helped you get it in the back of your truck. The drive back home was fast.

Somehow, you managed to get the big box in your living room with Asher's 'help' aka him running around your legs, barking at the box and sniffing it and almost making you drop it on your feet twice.

"Asher!" you chuckled in frustration, playfully petting his head before you looked down at the box. Your chest felt tight suddenly and you tried to calm down your breathing as you placed your hand on your heart and started taking deep breaths in.

"Let's do this." you nodded, determined to start facing your past.

After opening up the box and removing the bubble wrap, you came face to face with the doll called Chan. His face, it was familiar and it brought up fuzzy memories and feelings that you couldn't quite put your finger on. You stared at him for a moment before picking up the paper in the box.

Hello,

My name is Chan and I am your protective doll.

I love creating music, working out, spending time in the nature or at the beach. I mostly wear black clothes, making me look like some sort of bodyguard. But don't be intimidated, I'm gentle on the inside.

I am used to taking care of others, so every now and then I need someone to lean on and take care of me as I tend to forget myself.

I hope you'll be the one for me and that you'll come to love me as much as I love you!

It was freaky, the way the doll 'spoke' inside the letter like it was alive. You swallowed as you stared at it, Asher scaring you with his sudden barking. He seemed to be excited, his tail wagging as he jumped around the box and barked at Chan.

"You like him, don't you?" you asked Asher and he kept on barking as if to answer your question. "Alright, I trust your canine wisdom." you laughed and kneeled down to keep unwrapping the bubble wrap. You noticed another paper sticking from the pocket of Chan's jacket so you picked it up.

Hey there, my peach!

I dressed a little nicer for our first date.

I'm looking forward to spending time with you, I hope you are excited too.

"Peach?" you chuckled and shook your head with a slight smile.

You had no idea what to make of all this, you wished you could remember more and know just how you were a part of this and why did Chan dolly seem so familiar to you?

You knew your friend would call you with the plan she had come up with and in the meantime you didn't want to mess with the doll too much, your paranoia made you overly cautious. Thoughts swirled in your mind; what if this was some kind of set up? What if the doll comes to life during the night and hurts you? What if they put a tracking device inside the doll and now they'll find you? The androids from your dream, they were working for someone very powerful, that's what you knew. And someone with so much power could do all sorts of things... But then again, your memory was wiped somehow and the huge amount of cash in your bank account almost seemed like an apology.

You shook your head and decided to put Chan in the guest room. You were too afraid and confused, filled with so many emotions that were swirling inside your gut, rising up and almost making you throw up. You needed to get your mind off of things so you laid Chan dolly in bed with Asher following behind you and sniffing the doll curiously.

"Let's go." you said to Asher and shooed him out of the room before glancing at Chan one more time. With a sigh you closed and locked the door, too afraid to be too close to the suspicious doll. If only you could remember your relationship with it, maybe you'd be more at ease. Right now, you only had more questions in your mind.

You decided to go about your day, working in your garden and around the house, keeping your mind occupied and away from all the anxieties that were swarming in your brain. Hours passed and you were finally in bed, too exhausted to even keep your eyes open. You remembered that Chan dolly was in the next room suddenly and for some reason a feeling of comfort washed over you. You knew him. You were becoming more and more sure about that.

Chan sat across from you in a chair with some kind of machine hooked up to the back of his neck, the cables leading to your computer as you typed. He watched you quietly with a hint of curiosity in his eyes while you worked. There was a steady beeping sound filling up the room together with the sound of your fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile.

"Has the buzzing subsided?" you asked.

"Yes, it's almost gone." he answered.

"Helena will be glad to hear that." you nodded and typed in a few more parameters before Chan spoke up again.

"Is it true that our mother is sick?" the question made you stop in your tracks. You slowly lifted your head from the screen and looked at the confused expression on the doll's face.

"Yes, sadly it is true." you answered, watching as he tilted his head left and right while processing what you said.

"Will she be okay?" he asked, his eyes big and innocent. You sighed, there was still so much to do, so much to add to the code, to feed to the algorithm. He needed to expand, the artificial cell growth needed to be accelerated for everything to work as it was supposed to and mostly for the vision Helena had. It was one hell of a task and you were a part of it, the brilliant team she put together.

"We don't know yet." you answered truthfully.

"Who is doctor Park?" Chan asked suddenly, making you jolt a little.

"How did you hear about all this?" you asked him, leaning back in your chair.

"O-on accident." the doll seemed to become nervous. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was walking by Mother's office and I heard her talking on the phone, saying how she is sick and that there is a doctor Park trying to take away her project, make it into something different."

"Shit." you cursed quietly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Chan asked, the doll showing fear and anxiety on his face. You looked back at the screen of your computer, noticing how beautifully the code was developing and changing on its own. It truly seemed like some kind of magic.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. Everything is okay, Channie." you reassured him with a kind smile which he returned, his brows smoothing immediately.

"I like that nickname." he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" you let out a chuckle, the doll expressing something like that was new which meant that everything was developing just as it was supposed to. Now, if only you could help Helena somehow, know that she'll be okay and keep away doctor Park, then everything would be perfect. And the dolls would be ready to be introduced to the world soon, make a life for themselves along with humans.

Your eyes snapped open and you blinked a few times, realizing that the sun was rising, the first rays peeking through your window. You sat up in confusion. That wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

You were indeed working at BIMT alongside Helena, helping her out with the dolls. You knew Chan and he knew you. But you still had no idea about the rest of the details like how they were made, what was their purpose and what was your specialty. You couldn't remember what role you played exactly but it must've been something important. You stood up quickly, Asher joining you, already excited for his walk. But before that, you had to check on Chan.

Your hand shook above the handle of the door, the images of the bloody door in the lab from your nightmares flashing in your mind. You shook it off and opened the door. Chan was in the same position you left him and you stood on the doorway for a moment before tentatively approaching the bed.

"Hello. I don't know if you can hear me and I feel more crazy talking to you than I already did before. But I'm gonna help you. I'm not exactly sure how but I know that everything will be okay." you tried to talk to the doll and calm yourself at the same time. Chan didn't move or say anything so you sighed and left the room.

You were still waiting for your friend to tell you what her plan was.

It's been exactly 22 days since you got Chan and there was no changes in his state, he seemed to be completely frozen in space and time. You put him in your living room for a while which proved to be a mistake since Asher wanted to jump on top of the doll and play with him constantly. He couldn't understand why something human-looking ignored him and didn't pet him or play with him. You laughed at your dog's cuteness even though you were nervous that he'd accidentally break Chan. So you put him back in the guest room where he spent those days since you got him.

Your memories were coming back in snippets and you were sure that this doctor Park that kept being talked about in your dreams was an evil person and that the androids who worked for him, the ones that injected you with something when you found Helena's body may be following you or listening in on your phone conversations.

But there was no other way to communicate with your friend. And she had finally called you with her plan. Most of the dolls were already sold out, it was a craze. She wanted you to wake Chan up first like she woke her Jisung dolly up on the computer for her plan to work.

And for some reason you were too afraid to do that.

She called you again two weeks later, when you were losing your mind with torturous nightmares and jumbled memories that you couldn't place in order or even understand what half of them meant. You were losing grip on reality, you had no idea which dream was just that and which one was a memory that actually happened to you.

Your paranoia grew and you needed help.

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" your friend asked after calling you.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." you answered, looking out the window.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

Your breath got caught in your throat. People coming here, finding out your address, knowing where you lived...

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you panicked as all sorts of thoughts started swirling in your mind. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" she asked but you couldn't even explain it all to yourself.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you heard the desperation in her voice and you knew there was no one else who could help her and the dolls but you.

You sighed and turned around, nervously picking at your clothes.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You weren't very reassured but you knew there was no other choice.

It was time to wake Chan up.

You were sitting in front of your computer, one end of the cable already hooked into it as your shaky hand held the other end. You hesitated as you stared at the usb opening on the back of Chan's neck. There was no more time to waste, you had to do this now.

You hooked him up finally, opening up your terminal and typing. Your friend told you exactly what to do to open the code and when you finally had it in front of you, it seemed familiar. You gasped as you looked at the lines of code, it was as if you knew them in your heart. The code was beautiful, so intricate and different than any other program you worked on. You found the factory reset loop and looked at Chan one more time before clicking it.

You waited for a few moments as nothing was happening and the only sounds you could hear was your heart beating in your ears and Asher's little sigh as he dozed off on the carpet. Suddenly, the doll's cheeks reddened and his eyes watered as he gasped for air. You jolted and Asher lifted his head immediately, barking at the doll.

Your eyes widened while you watched it all unfold as he started breathing, coughing, his skin becoming flushed. Chan looked confused and scared for a moment before his eyes landed on you and they mirrored your expression, widening as he stared at you.

"Y/n?" his voice was hoarse.

"C-Channie?" you gasped, you couldn't believe that he remembered you.

Asher was already all over Chan, sniffing him and barking at him, his tail wagging happily. Chan smiled at your dog despite the craziness of the situation and his total confusion. You grabbed a water bottle and gave it to Chan.

He was really alive and you were in complete and utter shock.

"You remember me?" you asked as you fidgeted with your fingers. You had no idea what your relationship with him was other than the little snippets where you saw yourself working on his code, still never being able to see clearly just what you were typing.

"I remember everything." he said and you gasped again.

"E-everything?" you stuttered as you kept staring at him. Chan started petting Asher who was now sitting by his side, trusting him completely, it made you feel at ease.

"Don't you? You don't remember me?" he asked.

"Only bits and pieces. I think my memory was wiped. Helena-"

"I know, they killed her. Well he ordered it, doctor Park. And his little androids did all the dirty work."

"Please, help me remember. I have no idea what I was doing exactly at BIMT." you pleaded, feeling like you were on the precipice of something big.

"You were working on the development of the code, specifically you were specializing in our mental state and sometimes about physical problems we'd feel like buzzing in our ears or itching. We used to come to your office to talk to you and you'd give us tests and then check at the development of the code. You spent a lot of time with me and Minho, we were your main patients so to speak."

"So I was like a counselor or psychologist? But I don't remember ever taking any courses in that... I just know I am good with technology, I know I went to college as a developer. I can't remember much else about my education. And then I remember being with my ex and working for a few different companies. Lately, I remembered working at BIMT and talking to you mostly, but I have no idea what happened overall since I started working there until I stopped. It's frustrating."

Chan nodded as he listened to you speak.

"I would be frustrated if my memory was wiped too. But it wasn't, not like the other dolls' memory was. Because Helena gave me something that would help me remember, she knew what doctor Park's intentions were. She couldn't stop him because she was too weak and sick and we didn't know who to ask for help. Doctor Park scared most of the team somehow, I have no idea what he threatened them with but you were one of the ones that stayed the longest. Though I guess that Park did a lousy job of wiping memory if you are starting to remember things." Chan explained.

"That he did." you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your head was swimming with so many questions. "What did Helena give you to remember?"

"She gave me a usb stick with some code and I used it to protect my memory."

"Were we close? You and me, I mean." you asked after a pause.

"Yes, you were always like a friend to me. You treated us like... Like we were human. You took into consideration our thoughts and feelings. You and Helena were the only people we really felt safe with. I mean, the rest of the team was okay too but they treated us as if we were products." Chan leaned back in the chair as Asher settled down next to him, continuing his nap that was interrupted earlier.

"Wait, so how did this happen? All of you 'sleeping', becoming sex dolls?" Chan blushed slightly at that.

"It was doctor Park. I don't know which modifications he did to our code but we were all unable to move after some time, after Helena died and all the old team was gone, only the androids were left and they worked on us. I just hope my brothers don't remember that part." Chan trailed off, looking at the ground. "Do you know where they are?" he looked up at you.

"I know only where Jisung is. My friend has him, actually she is the one who asked me to get you and help you out. She has a plan on how to help all the dolls break free. We just need a way to contact the other doll owners."

You explained to Chan what the plan was and he listened intently, sitting silent for a few moments before he spoke up.

"I have an idea."

"What is it?" you tilted your head at him.

"We gather everyone in one place. That would be the easiest, wouldn't it?" Chan asked and you nodded.

"Yes, but how would we do that?"

"Simple, we add something alarming into my code, like a mistake and it'll get the attention of BIMT and they'll come get all the dolls. Let them know I'm awake, that we all are even if some of them aren't awake yet."

"Can it hurt you?" you asked and Chan smiled a little.

"No, it will just be like a warning to the institute, I think it's safe to do this."

"Let me call my friend and discuss with her." you said and he agreed.

It was one hell of a long phone call, you forgot about the fact that someone might be listening in as you put her on speaker so Jisung could hear Chan's voice, the poor guy broke down and started crying after talking to Chan, making you feel even more determined to help the dolls break free.

The plan was set and you were ready to make BIMT and doctor Park pay.

The fresh breeze drifted through the leaves and grass, bringing the sweet smell of flowers towards you and enveloping you in a kind of calm state of being. You watched as Chan ran around the field with Asher, throwing him a stick they'd found and Asher running back to bring it to him.

It's been a week since you woke him up and despite all the fears and doubts that tormented you, having him near you and sharing your private sanctuary with him felt natural, as if he's been there forever. You felt safe and protected, Asher loved him and you had someone else to talk to except yourself and your dog. Chan turned to look at you as if he knew that you were thinking about him and gave you that blinding smile that made your heart flutter.

Come evening, Chan and you were sitting down on the couch with Asher by your feet and once again you grabbed your journal and opened it up. For the last few days, Chan has been helping you remember, at least the things he participated in or knew were true. You could then eliminate dreams and expand on the memories, especially if he was there to witness them first hand.

"Hey, what about the key that Helena gave me? In my dream, she gave me that key she always wore on a necklace around her neck and said to give it to you, that you'd know what it was for." you asked Chan.

"She gave you the key?" Chan smiled, looking excited suddenly.

"She did. It's in my nightstand."

"Y/n, that's amazing! The key is for the safe in her mansion. There's money in there, her will, all the documents and papers containing information about us, how we were built from the very beginning to the last code. The instructions on how to build dolls that look and act human is inside that safe and you are holding the key." Chan said as he grabbed your hands excitedly.

Your body warmed up, both from the news and from the contact.

"Everything we need to know is in there? Which means, whoever gets the papers can make more dolls like the eight of you?"

"Yes and just imagine what could happen if it fell into wrong hands." Chan said and looked down at your hands in his, thumbs gently caressing your skin and soothing you even though your heart was fluttering. "We need to find Helena's mansion."

"You don't know where it is?"

"No, some information was scattered among us so they can't find everything out or it would be harder for them to do so. I believe that Jeongin is the one who knows locations." Chan said, still holding onto your hands and you were getting incredibly hot. It's been a long time since you had physical contact with another human being, someone who could hold you and soothe you like he could.

"Making him sound like GPS." you chuckled and Chan let out a laugh before his eyes landed on yours and he tilted his head.

"I'm so glad we found each other again." he said and you swallowed, feeling a little shiver running up your spine.

"Channie... Just how close were we?" you asked cautiously. The fluttering in your chest and stomach increased as your heart sped up and you watched his cheeks heating up.

"Honestly? Very close, I- I kissed you once. Which was very wrong because you were taken but you were so upset that day. You just found out the heartbreaking news that you couldn't, you know." he trailed off as you stared at him confusedly so he continued. "That you couldn't have kids and you got into this huge argument with your ex and started crying while explaining everything to me. And I just couldn't stand to see you so upset so I confessed my feelings and kissed you." Chan said, biting on his lip nervously as he tried to read your expression.

"Back up just a second. I told you about not being able to have kids while I was working at BIMT?"

"Yeah, you found it out not too long before all the shit went down."

"But I thought I found that out after BIMT. Because I remember when I woke up in the hospital and had no idea what happened to me since I worked my last job before that to the moment I opened my eyes. And my ex was there, and we were together for another year or so. And during that time I found out I couldn't have kids." you talked confusedly, trying to connect the dots.

"Wait, what if he had something to do with it?" Chan gasped.

"With what? Me not being able to have children?"

"No, your loss of memory."

You sat there thinking for a moment. If only the two of you knew about your problem while you were still at BIMT and then your memory was wiped before you found out again that you can't have kids...

"That bastard made me go through this horrible shit twice!" you stood up abruptly, anger rising up inside you. "He knew and he was somehow involved and the fucking asshole made me hear the most terrible news twice, take the same hit twice. Fuck!" you kicked the coffee table angrily and Asher barked, confused at your sudden outburst.

"Hey, hey." Chan stood up and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not your fault. I should've known, I should've been more careful."

"You can't really blame yourself either, this is obviously something bigger than us. Someone orchestrated all of this and that someone is probably doctor Park. He was after us since the beginning, after Helena's money and legacy. We need to bring him down, find some dirt on him and expose him." Chan talked as he caressed your back in soothing circles.

"Let's work on that code then."

In the evening after you bid good night to Chan, you were left alone with your thoughts. Asher slept by your bed as always, watchful of you, giving you the physical sense of security you needed. But your mind was a bad place, everything was starting to connect. All your memories were coming back more detailed and intense, your work with the dolls, how you took care of them, how it felt as if they were your friends, how much effort you put into it all alongside Helena and the rest of the team. How your ex was very secretive and had weird phone calls and would disappear during the weirdest hours, always coming up with some sort of work excuse. Your blood boiled with anger as you felt that you were used like a puppet for whatever grand scheme was happening behind the scenes.

It was infuriating, feeling like your hands were tied back then and how you couldn't stop or change what happened. But, there was still time, the last hope hasn't died yet. You sighed as you tossed and turned in your bed, you needed comfort. You needed Chan.

You remembered spending time with him too, how sweet he was and how fond he seemed of you. Not only did you help him out, but he helped you out too, he was someone you could talk to about anything. You knew it was probably crossing the work relationship between the two of you but you couldn't care less. Chan made you feel good, he made you feel seen and heard.

So you remembered that day you cried to him and the way he kissed you like you were everything to him. A wave of warmness travelled through your entire body and you stood up, leaving Asher in your room as you went to the guest room and knocked gently on the door.

Chan wasn't sleeping either, his mind was also reeling with everything that was happening and his worry for the rest of the dolls grew. He just hopped they were all protected and in the hands of good people who would come to love them and take care of them. He hoped to see them once again, all together like they were once before in Helena's mansion.

"Come in." he said quietly and you walked in, closing the door behind you. "Can't sleep?" Chan added and you shook your head.

"I just keep thinking about everything. All my memories are coming back to me and now I can see more clearly than ever that I was just used for Park's plan." you sighed, sitting down on the bed.

Chan didn't hesitate pulling you into his embrace. You froze for a moment, all the years of isolation and swearing to yourself that you'll never let anyone close were making you want to run away but the warmth of his body and the need for someone to comfort you overtook the anxiety and you let yourself melt into him.

"I keep thinking about everything too. Especially my friends, I'm worried that someone who bought them might be treating them badly. I just hope they're okay." Chan said, a worried expression on his face.

"At least we know that Jisung is okay. And I'm sure whoever bought the other dolls is treating them well. I don't think someone would spend so much money just to throw it away."

"I guess but you never know with people. I just want us to be reunited again."

"Then we will do everything to make that happen." you said and wrapped your arms around Chan's waist. You pressed your head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Stay here tonight." Chan whispered into your hair and you squeezed him tighter.

The feelings you had for him before were coming back to you, even if it was forbidden or wrong back then, you couldn't help what you felt in your heart. You wanted him.

You looked up at him and desire grew inside you as his eyes roamed all over your face like he was trying to take in every single detail that makes you up. You sat up and grabbed his face, crashing your lips into his without any hesitation. Chan's eyes widened for a moment before he recovered and gripped your waist, kissing you equally as passionately.

Everything disappeared except the two of you, your hands roamed on each other's skin, tugging at the clothes, tongues explored each other's mouths and your hearts started racing fast in unison.

Your hands roamed under his shirt, touching the taut muscles as his hands gripped at your bare thighs, pulling you closer and making you grind against him. You groaned into his mouth, feeling his hot bulge pressed against your own heat and you couldn't help grinding harder against him, jolts of electricity running through your body. It's been so long since you felt wanted and you already couldn't get enough of him.

Chan's hands slid under your shirt, caressing the soft skin on your back and sides as he slowly made his way to your breasts. Your breath hitched when he grabbed them and started massaging them, his thumbs running over your sensitive nipples as his tongue explored your mouth.

You gripped the hem of his shirt and Chan broke off the kiss so you could take his shirt off. Your eyes roamed all over his figure, the wave of warmth inside you growing even hotter. He smirked a little and you gripped at your shirt, taking it off too. He grabbed at your body and swiftly turned you over so you were under him. A gasp escaped your lips as he manhandled you easily, hovering over you.

"I've wanted you for so long, Y/n. You're the only person who made me feel this way ever since I first saw you." he spoke and you shivered, gripping at his shoulders and pulling him down closer to you.

"Please Chan, I need you."

Hearing you say that made his entire being flutter, all he wanted in that moment was to feel you completely, to make you his. His lips travelled down your neck to your chest, paying special attention to your sensitive nipples as he slowly slid your shorts and underwear down, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable.

You spread your legs almost automatically, you needed him more than anything, you needed that connection you've been missing for a while. Chan took off his sweatpants and boxers and you whimpered as you looked at his cock, hanging hard between his legs, dripping and throbbing for you.

"It's been a while..." you trailed off and Chan nodded understandingly, his fingers pressing against your clit and moving in circles. You moaned, feeling yourself getting more wet and shivering as he played with the most sensitive part of you, his fingers sliding down to gather your wetness ocassionally before going back to your clit. His lips were everywhere, worshipping your skin and making you melt into the bed. He slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you as you gripped at his arms, feeling him opening you up and preparing you to take him.

You lost yourself completely in that moment as he brought you to your high quickly after finding that special spot inside you. You were already overwhelmed but you needed more and Chan was getting impatient, he wanted you more than anything.

When he finally started pushing his length inside of you, your entire body felt as if it was on fire and you held onto him as he groaned into your ear and gripped your hips tightly.

"So tight." Chan groaned as he filled you up and you clenched around him, your insides fluttering at the feeling. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust as his hands slid up and down your waist. You wrapped your arms around him and arched into him, needing him even closer. He slowly started to move and your legs wrapped around him, pushing him in deeper.

"I dreamt about you for so long." Chan groaned.

"Yeah?" your brain wasn't even registering completely what he was saying, your senses were focusing on the way his length dragged against your velvety walls.

"The thought of you kept me going in that place. Wishing I'd see you again one day." Chan confessed as he gripped your hips, moving languidly inside you, making you feel every inch of him filling you up.

"I'm sorry I forgot you." your nails dug into his upper back and you let out a moan as the tip of his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"I'll make sure you never forget again." Chan whispered into your ear before thrusting harder into you and your legs trembled as you held onto him, your eyes rolling back. You completely melted into the feeling of him while he rocked your entire body as you clawed at him. You desperately needed something to hold on to and your nails were dragging up and down his back, leaving red angry marks but Chan loved it. He gripped your hips, getting completely lost in you as you clenched around him and let go while he fucked you through your high and chased his own.

All the pent up feelings got released when Chan exploded inside of you, filling you up and you whimpered at the feeling and the bliss that settled inside you. Both of you were taking a moment to come down to Earth when loud barking from the other side of the door scared you.

"Oh, Asher." you chuckled and Chan let out a snort.

"He'll need to wait for a moment." he added, getting up and making his way to the adjacent bathroom. After both of you cleaned up and got dressed you let Asher in. Your dog barked as if you had abandoned him and betrayed him and only calmed down after both of you gave him pats and called him a silly little pup, even though he was far from little.

He slept next to the bed like always and you slept in Chan's arms, blissful and loved.

The next few days were tough, you and Chan worked on the error code that would draw the attention of BIMT, consulting with your friend and Jisung at the same time.

The day you wrote and perfected the code, you knew that in the moment you activate it, everything will go into motion.

"Let's have a day just for us, forget about all of this." you told Chan, the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your stomach. You had no idea how everything would turn out even after you had planned out everything carefully. You didn't want to be separated from Chan ever again and he felt the same.

"Let's go see the waterfall." he nodded with a smile. You had promised him ever since he woke up that you'll take him there, together with Asher. So, the two of you got ready for the hike as it was a little far and Asher was excited as soon as he heard the word 'walk' come out of your mouth.

The nature around you was exactly what you needed, the fresh air and the song of the birds as you walked alongside Chan, Asher running in front of you and sniffing around. It was a perfectly spent morning, making you forget for a moment about all the shit that went down and was still bound to happen.

As you got to the waterfall, you took a few photographs with your camera, focusing on how beautiful Chan looked when he was happy and simply existing, noticing how soft his eyes would become as soon as they landed on yours.

"Do you think everything will go over well?" you asked as you stared at the mighty waterfall, the water splashing down loudly. Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

"It has to. My brothers will be saved, BIMT will go down and nothing will ever separate us again." he spoke into your ear gently before kissing your cheek.

You hoped he was right even if it sounded too good to be true.

So you savored the moment, his embrace, Asher running around with his stick and the beautiful waterfall in front of you, just in case it would be the last memory you'd have to hold on to.

It was happening. BIMT had been warned about an error and the site closed after leaving notifications about the dolls being discontinued indefinitely. You were waiting for your friend's call, expecting your phone to ring any moment, but what you didn't expect was a knock on the door.

Your mind swam with possibilities, going to the darkest places immediately, thinking they had found you and were here to grab Chan and take him away from you forever. Asher barked at the door threateningly as Chan stood beside you.

"Does anyone else have your address?" he asked.

You thought back to the time you were leaving the city. The only person you trusted the most was your niece. You weren't that much older than her, only a decade since your half-sister was much older than you and had her daughter young. You weren't really on speaking terms with her and were much closer to your niece who was more of a sister to you than your own. You remembered giving her the address to the cabin in case of any emergencies. You looked at Chan and swallowed.

"My niece, it could be my niece but it means that something bad happened." you shivered and the knock came again.

"Let's just open the door." Chan tried to reassure you.

Your hand gripped the handle as Chan stood beside you protectively, Asher on your other side. But when you opened the door, you weren't expecting three figures standing there, all three of them familiar to you.

"Hi, auntie!" your niece chuckled and you stared at her and the two men beside her completely flabbergasted.

"Hyunjin? Seungmin?" Chan gasped in disbelief to which they reacted in shock too.

"Chan? What are you doing here, bro?" Hyunjin laughed, tears of happiness and disbelief brimming in his eyes as Seungmin muttered a silent 'what the fuck?'

"Wait, you're a dolly too!" your niece gasped and you were pinching yourself just to see if this was a dream or not.

"You're just in time. This is insane. Come on in." Chan said with his eyes still wide, rubbing your arm to bring you back into the present.

The phone rang and you jolted, quickly grabbing it and answering it, it was your friend as you expected.

"Did they come get him?" you asked quickly, motioning for everyone to settle down as Asher jumped around them and sniffed them.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" she asnwered.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible."

"Fuck yes!" your friend laughed and you shook your head.

"Uhm, but..." you trailed off and stopped pacing, looking at everyone in the living room, chattering and hugging each other.

"Yes?"

"We have company." you said.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot." you smiled and she chuckled and gasped the entire time while you explained what just happened.

You just hopped that your plan would work and that doctor Park would pay for all the shit he has caused. But most of all you wanted Chan and the rest of the dolls to be reunited.

It was time for action.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

@thelostprincessofasgard @linocvp1d @stayjinnie @portgasdbru @lilgothhishhh @selinia86 @felixsbabe @staytinyluva @sadroses98 @katexstay @gnabnahcsworld @hazelbazil @iwannahugchangbin @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @skzfelixlove @skzjen @syedazarintasnim @geektacularmommom-blog @cookiesnmilfx @kayleefriedchicken @stxt-bby @strykdsstanot8 @hyunjinhwang2018 @binniesbabygirl @hyunjiniretti @linavc @julciaqwerty @salemluvsmusic

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zaineviu · 2 months ago

Text

I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend accuses you of cheating and leaves for his tour without a proper farewell.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: We're diving into angst head-first. No mercy. Requestee, you specifically requested a little angst, but I might have added far more than that. I had a vision and it expanded into something crazy. Please do not hunt me down and disembowel me. I swear on my life, you get that happiness you craved towards the end <3

_ _ _

“Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that, Chan! How many times do I have to tell you we’re just friends?”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. In the kitchen, he leaned back against the granite countertop. “Because going out to your coworker for lunch with your guy friend is surely all it is. Do you know how much it hurt to go into that cafe and find you hugging a random guy?”

“I already told you I was having lunch with a coworker!”

“You never said he was a guy!”

“Excuse me for not fucking telling you the sex of every friend I have! What’s the difference?” You slammed your mug on the table. Coffee splashed out and stained the bar counter. “You were all over Yuna in your last TikTok dance!”

“All over her?” His eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? We’re idols! I was just doing the dance like it was supposed to be done!”

“That’s practically the same situation!”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” His voice raised. “How fucking dare you accuse me of-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, when did you ever become a jealous dickhead that stopped trusting me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably when I walked into my favorite cafe to get a drink and found my significant other in the arms of another guy!”

Your hands slapped the countertop hard. “How many times do I have to say we’re just friends? That’s all we are, Chan! I’d never cheat on you and you know it!”

“Do I? Do I really?” He glared. “Because last I knew, significant others talk to each other if they’re going out with the same sex, so they know cheating isn’t occurring!”

Your face fell at his accusing words. Tears burned behind your eyes and you tried to swallow the harsh lump building in your throat. No words came out. The two of you couldn’t see eye-to-eye on this.

You didn’t think going out with your coworker for lunch would harm anything. You picked a nearby cafe, figuring it’d be fine. You didn’t think it’d cause issues with Chan. Coincidentally, he left the company building to grab a drink around the same time. When he walked in, he found you hugging your coworker.

That’s all it was and that’s all it ever would be. Your coworker transferred to a new department in the building and the two of you hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks. Lunch was the same time for the entire company. You both went to the cafe to catch up on company drama.

You didn’t see Chan, but he certainly saw you. You pulled away from your coworker, talking and laughing. That same wide smile, the one you showed him. Jealousy ignited. He didn’t bother getting his drink and instead, he turned back around and fled the scene, unable to handle the hurt.

That rolled into tonight. Tomorrow morning, he’d be leaving for tour and he’d be on the road for months. Between planes and vehicles, it’d be a while before the two of you would see each other. Halfway through his tour, you booked a week off work, so you could visit him and attend a few of the concerts, but it was so far away from now.

Tension grew between the two of you. His jaw clenched and his tongue pressed against the interior of his cheek. He waited for your response, but your silence seemed to confirm everything. He nodded and his tongue clicked. “I’m leaving.”

“What?” You croaked. “What do you mean? You don’t leave until-”

“I’m going to stay at one of the dorms tonight.”

“C-Chan…” You weakly uttered. “Please don’t do this.”

He shook his head and walked past you. Your bottom lip trembled and your heart hit the bottom of your stomach. Wheels rolled and down your hallway, Chan walked by with two large suitcases. Both of them, he packed the night before, with your help.

You called his name again and stepped forward. You stopped when he shot a glare your way. Through your tears, your soul went concave. You sniffled, silently pleading for him to say something, but he didn’t look back again.

The last thing you saw was his back. His black suitcases disappeared into the hall and the door slammed shut, causing you to flinch. More tears slipped down your cheeks.

He didn’t even bother to say a proper good-bye, or lock the door behind him; merely two more knives into your bleeding heart.

~ ~ ~

On the plane the next morning, Chan slumped in his seat with his hoodie hood tucked over his head. During this morning’s airport departure, cameras flashed and filmed. Dispatch employees zoomed in eager to get content.

Staff members of JYP walked with their own luggage. Bodyguards lingered around, making sure space stood between reporters and everyone. In a single file line, the guys walked through the airport and into the correct gate.

A black face mask covered Chan’s face and a matching beanie sat on his head. Some of the guys dressed nicer for the occasion, but he didn’t. Not this morning and certainly not after last night’s argument. As he walked with his eyes cast on the floor, he briefly wondered if you were watching at home.

Some fans filmed the scene live and maybe you were back home watching, or maybe not. Maybe you were tucked away in your shared bed. Hair strewn out and limbs sleepily tossed in every direction. His heart ached at the thought, but last night’s anger came back with vengeance. The thought dissolved as quickly as it appeared.

Last night, he took himself to Changbin and Hyunjin’s dorm. It was the closest to your shared apartment and he wanted to get some decent sleep before the flight. Instead, he ended up tossing and turning on their couch most of the night.

He got up in the darkness and tried the recliner instead. By the time he fell asleep and woke up to Changbin shaking him, he’d only captured about three hours of sleep. He didn’t shower, or brush his teeth. Instead, he drowned his morning breath in the bitter taste of hot black coffee.

He didn’t let himself feel anything until he was on the plane. Hurt collided with anger and it fizzled into something monstrous. Razor sharp teeth, pointed claws, and it oozed with a rotten-stenching green substance; envy.

Last night, it hurt you.

He hurt you.

And the worst part? He couldn’t make up for it. Not the way he wanted to. Not the way he needed to. He should have let you explain, but he let go of the reins and let jealousy have its way with you.

Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the tears slipping down your cheeks. Your bright eyes dulled for the first time. He didn’t see it, but he imagined you flinched when he slammed the door shut. There wasn’t a goodbye.

The entire thing made him feel like shit, but he couldn’t take it back. He didn’t want to be the first to reach out to you. It’s not like he could make a call on the plane right now, anyway. Too crowded and not enough space. He couldn’t hang out in the bathroom and tell you everything he needed to say.

So instead, he drowned in self-pity with a hand around his phone. The flight would take hours and hopefully, by the time he landed, you’d text him first. You’d build half of a bridge and he’d build the other, so you could walk hand-in-hand once again.

“Channie, hyung?”

He didn’t respond to Han’s voice. Tucked beneath his hood, his airpods blasted music. Han sat beside him full of worry. Usually, Chan tried to keep them all in line at the airport, but not today. When he brought up Chan’s silence, Hyunjin told him the two of you were in a disagreement.

“Channie, hyung?” He reached over and gently tugged on Chan’s hoodie sleeve.

Chan’s head shifted. He pulled out one of the airpods and looked over. Red-rimmed eyes and brown bags stared back at the younger man. Han reached out with a bag of trail mix. “Are you hungry?”

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Han’s frown deepened. “You don’t look okay. Do you need something to drink? You can wave over one of the flight attendants.”

“I’m okay for now, Han.” He pushed his airpod back in his ear and slumped back in the seat.

Han sighed and pulled his trail mix back to his chest. He reached in, grabbed one of the pretzels, and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, he hoped Chan would feel better soon.

Tour would be miserable if their leader was unhappy for the entire tour.

~ ~ ~

As the days slipped by, you didn’t text, or call him. He didn’t contact you, either. Thousands of miles away, it started to hit him hard. His jealous outburst caused him to lose you.

He tried not to let it bother him. He put on a brave face for the guys and the fans, but after their third stop, he finished the concert and went directly into his hotel room. He didn’t drop by Han and Minho’s room to talk with the rest of the guys.

Not only was he physically exhausted from the dancing and singing, but he was exhausted from the emotional aspect. He pretended to be brave, but deep down, he was the most frightened he’d ever been in his life. Losing you meant losing a piece of his soul.

As someone who lost and gained a lot of things in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could lose you. You were gold in his heart; the arteries that made his heart beat, you were his pride and joy. Giving you up meant certain death to the parts of his hearts he opened to you.

Face down in a cotton pillow, he let out the tears he tried to hold back. He tried to be strong and tried to pretend it was fine, but nothing worked. Everything oozed out; the betrayal of your actions, the fear of what might be, the brewing fear that he wasn’t and he’d never be good enough.

Because if you were content with hugging another man, smiling at another man, what would become of him? You meant everything to him and if he failed at keeping you next to him, who was he supposed to love? Didn’t that mean he wasn’t good enough?

He lived a life laced with a silent fear. Deep down, back in the depths of his brain, a little voice whispered and insisted he wasn’t good enough. His group members couldn’t smother it. The records they broke, the accomplishments they achieved, it didn’t matter. His insecurities grew with him.

That’s what happens when you spend your life being nit-picked and torn apart by adults when you’re younger. When the JYP staff dubbed him not good enough, not dancing as well as he should be, not working hard enough, not practicing his vocals enough, he’d never be good enough; their words haunted him like a ghost.

They said they were helping. They wanted him to achieve every goal and he did. He was. They gifted him hand-wrapped disappointment and expected greatness. They got it, but he sacrificed his sense of belonging in the process.

In the mirror, there were still days he couldn’t recognize himself. Blearily in the studio and practicing different notes, his voice changed, but his self-esteem didn’t. Not even millions of fans could improve that self-doubt. Not when so many of them easily shunned and back-stabbed him to align with their opinions.

You did. You used to. He clung to your words, trying to believe them. When you spend your entire life forgetting to believe in yourself, it takes so long to bring back your self-esteem. Every hope you whispered, every little compliment, he clung to them with chewed nails and the desperation of a neglected and starved man.

It was different coming from you. Strangers could idolize him and they always would, but you saw him. Every part of him. The pieces that lay broken and defeated behind the scenes. The anger and silenced voice on the things he couldn’t change. The wants and desires, you viewed it all raw and authentically.

So why did it seem like you gave up on him so easily? You just reaffirmed the words from the past. He wasn’t good enough. Not talented enough. Not good looking enough.

Never.

Not.

No.

Nothing.

The pillow caught his tears when you couldn’t. It heard every whisper and the hotel wall’s soaked with his bitter misery and silent desperation. Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone better and far more desired? He crumpled to the shell of who he used to know.

The belief that he meant something, it didn’t need to be spoken by fans. He didn’t need it to come from his parents and siblings. Not from his group mates, or other friends. He needed to start believing it himself, but he didn’t know how. He always relied on you to help him see through his fractured self-image, but now you’re gone.

What does the last survivor on earth do when the sun implodes? The moon clouds over and the tides cease. The stars burst, painting the cosmos with the final glow of a supernova; the last breath of dying stars.

In his damp pillow, his eyes squeezed shut. Sobs locked themselves in his chest. He couldn’t push them out, even if he wanted to. Staff members had hotel rooms on either side of him. He couldn’t break down and let them hear how broken he became.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the dark room. Outside, cars cruised downtown. Hums of their engines and the occasional honk of a horn. A gentle rain sprinkled the tin hotel roof. The heavens grieved alongside him.

Just as his breathing started to slow and his eyes shut, a knock sounded at his door. He thought he was hearing things, but it remained consistent. A steady thrum, another presence lingered outside his dark cave of self-pity. He shifted, turning away from the door, and trying to sleep, but it didn’t stop.

With a huff, he finally shoved himself up and padded over to the door. His bare feet brushed over the carpet and he wiped his bleary eyes. He jerked the door open, preparing to tell one of the guys to leave him alone, but to his surprise, he found you.

You stood with a plastic bag full of items and a suitcase behind you. The bags beneath your eyes matched his. Draped in a hoodie and sweatpants, you stood without a word. He blinked a few times, wondering if he was actively dreaming.

“Hi…” You trailed off when he didn’t speak. Your weight shifted to your opposite foot and your eyes found the floor. “I-I can go back home if you want me to, but I couldn’t just…” The lump started to form in your throat. The exact same feeling washed over you that occurred the night of your fight.

“This was really stupid,” you whispered more to yourself than to him. “I wanted to make things right. I didn’t want to do it over the phone, so I worked out a schedule with my boss. I only have a few days, but I-”

He cut you off by lunging forward and wrapping his arms around you. You gasped as you were lifted off the ground. Air removed itself from your lungs and Chan jerked you back into his room. Your fingers didn’t let go of your suitcase, so it rolled with you. Inside, he jerked your suitcase in, shut, and quickly locked the door.

“C-Chan, I-”

“I’m sorry,” he squeezed tighter. “I was so stupid and insecure. I shouldn’t have yelled and I should have heard you out. You were just trying to explain and I refused to let you. I assumed things and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Can’t breathe,” you weakly whispered.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry!” His arms loosened around you and you slipped back to the floor. You sucked in a deep breath and relaxed. He reached out and gently cupped your cheeks. “Are you okay?”

You sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. I forgot how tight your hugs can be. I feel like it’s been forever since I hugged you. I talked to the guys, they helped lead me here. I didn’t know where to go exactly.”

He frowned and his arms wrapped around you again. This time, he clung to you with care. He tucked you beneath his chin. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I meant what I said the other night. I really didn’t cheat on you, Chan. I couldn’t. I never told you I was having lunch with my coworker because I didn’t think it was a big deal. We’ve been friends since I started working there and he transferred to another department, so I-”

“Shh. You don’t have to explain yourself. I should have trusted you instead of jumping to conclusions. It’s not your fault I overreacted.”

You slipped your hands behind his back and gently wrapped yourself tighter around him. “I missed you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t call, or text. I was getting ahead on my work, so I could come speak to you in person.”

“I’m not dreaming, right?”

“No, I’m here. I’m really, really here.” You pulled back and glanced up. Before he could react, your lips were on his. The soft kiss said everything the two of you didn’t say out loud.

Lip-locked with arms around one another, the hurt eased. His hands slipped down to your hips and he carefully held you, like he was afraid you’d pull away and never be seen again. Desperate fingers twisted in the fabric of your white hoodie.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, he hesitated to open his eyes; worried that this really was only merely a dream. When his eyes fluttered open, you were still there and staring at him. You sucked in a deep breath and let go of his body.

Stepping back, you grabbed the plastic bag you previously held. “I wanted to get you flowers, but I know you’re on tour and traveling with flowers might be difficult. So instead, I got you a bag of your favorite candy. I stopped at a Korean convenience store before I came to the hotel earlier.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Uh-” You blinked and shrugged, “since a little after lunch. I’ve been hanging out in Felix’s room and mingling with the guys. They’re all really worried about you. Han texted me the day you left and said you weren’t acting like yourself. I couldn’t let you suffer for the entire tour.”

His face softened and he reached out to grab the bag. “What kind of snacks?”

“The unhealthy kind. I know you try to eat healthy on tour, but I went to the concert earlier. I think all that jumping and dancing deserves some fuel.”

He chuckled, causing one of his dimples to poke out. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this. It means a lot to me. Actually,” his eyes found yours, “this means everything to me.”

“I couldn’t let you believe I’d cheat on you. Your my entire world and living without your messages was tortuous enough. I couldn’t stand the silence without your goofy phone calls.”

“Should we lay in the bed and eat snacks while watching Netflix?”

“Do you have to be up early tomorrow? Because I don’t want to-”

“Nah, nah, nah.” He waved away your worry. “That doesn’t matter. Besides, I don’t have to be at sound check until the afternoon. Come on, lay with me.”

He placed the goodies on the bed while you took off your shoes. Before you could get to the bed, he pounced on you. His arms pinned yours to your sides. Wet kisses speckled every inch of your face, causing you to giggle like crazy.

“Chan, what are you-”

“I’m catching up on all the kisses I’ve missed out on! I’m practically a touch-starved man.” Another kiss to the tip of your nose. “Maybe I’ll kidnap you and force you on tour with me.” One more to the side of your head.

You laughed harder. Happiness ran through his veins. In a fit of excitement and pure fun, his fingers brushed against your ribcage, causing you to shriek into a laughing fit.

“Hey, no!”

“Hey, yes!” His fingers moved quicker. You squirmed and laughed harder. You struggled beneath his grip, causing him to laugh just as hard as you.

A squeal left your body as he picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. Before you could get up, he straddled you. Cooing and tickling, he beamed as you laughed until tears filled your eyes.

He kissed your lips and when he finished, he pulled away, smiling proudly. “Look at you, you’re all red and out of breath now.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“You’re so cute.”

“Apparently,” you playfully huffed.

He smiled fondly and wrapped his arms beneath you. His head went to your chest and he squeezed you. “I’m so happy you’re here. We could watch Netflix, or we could just stay here like this. I think I hear your heart fluttering.”

You went to speak, but it cut off with a yawn. Jet-lag started to catch up with you from earlier. “Yeah, maybe. We could stay here and just-” You cut off with another yawn.

“My sleepy little baby is so tired.”

“A little.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a final kiss into the center of your temple. “I love you so much.”

“Love you.” You sighed and your eyes fluttered shut. His heart melted as he watched you wind down. You were always adorable when you drifted off to sleep.

He leaned down, pressing his ear to your thumping heart. “Sweet dreams, honey.” Relief flowed through his veins and his own eyes slipped shut.

Tomorrow morning, he couldn’t wait to be this grabby and possessive all over again.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

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zaineviu · 2 months ago

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"dirty lil secret" ♡

first drabble let's gooo!

Summary: cockwarming ur bf Bangchan while in the studio with other members, Han notices. Is he bold enough to say something? Or to shy to admit what he sees? Guess we'll find out !!

CONTAINS: cockwarming, semi public I guess? Risky, channie is just a sweetheart, daddy kink

A/N: channie makes me feel things ♡♡

Your boyfriend Bangchan had you sitting on his lap, thick cock nestled in your pretty folds. You were gushing on his dick, your short skirt can almost cover the naughty scene. Luckily you guys were sitting at a table.

You whimper when he readjusts, babbling quietly little "daddy"s in his ear.

"Shhh, I know baby, when this song recording is done. I'll take you to my room and make you squirt on my dick.." Chan dirty talks, rubbing your clit to make you squirm.

You and Chan didn't know, but Han had definitely noticed, considering your small whimpers and the fact he was next to you guys. He just had to look down and he'd see the older member's cock in his beloved girlfriend. Yet no one else but Han had noticed.

Han kept quiet, but he was hard as a fucking diamond. He couldn't wait until recording was done so he could fist his cock to the thought of watching you and Chan.

Property of Jellyfishfelix, do not repost, copy, or get heavy inspiration without consent.

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zaineviu · 2 months ago

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Feelings Not Sent

Pairing: Bang Chan x GN!Reader

Summary: You really wanted to see your boyfriend but he didn't seem too enthusiastic about you getting a ticket for their next concert. You try to spend some time with him after being apart for months, but he didn't want you there.

Tags: Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Chan said some mean things, Felix is an angel

Series: Bang Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, I.N

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

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zaineviu · 2 months ago

Text

BANG CHAN 🧸 SKZ CODE EP. 75 — BREMEN MUSIC CLUB TRIP

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zaineviu · 3 months ago

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CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now.

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time.

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like - you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout.

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head.

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that.

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.

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zaineviu · 3 months ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN April 22ND 1966 (IN/SP)

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zaineviu · 3 months ago

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Low Notes and Murder Signals

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: Hii! Can I request a ninth!member fic where the reader gets hate on her live about her skill? And then later on in an interview the interviewer brings it up. So like she’s really affected by this and the boys notice and when on stage a fan like yells it at them and how all the boys react.

You sit on the hotel bed, legs folded beneath you. Your phone is propped up with a remote you had found, and too much wiggling keeps causing it to fall over.

“Hello, hello,” you softly greet, smiling warmly. “Welcome, everyone. Hi.”

There’s a couple rolls of comments before you speak again. You like to give it enough time for a decent chunk of fans to have noticed the live.

“Today, I was going to do this fun craft I found,” you say, sorting through the materials you have out in front of you. “I found it at this cute store! Oh, it was adorable. We had to peel Changbin away from it, or else he would’ve lived there forever.”

You laugh to yourself, searching for the instruction manual amongst the mess. You watch as people talk about Changbin’s babygirl energy, smiling to yourself.

“Oh, my lipgloss?” you read a comment aloud, humming to yourself. “I’m not sure what brand it is. I’m still just wearing my makeup from recording today. It was a long day.”

The comments fly by faster than you can track, and you busy your hands with the craft. You occasionally flick your eyes up to glance over the comments, continuing your talk of the shop.

“And even Chan liked it!” You laugh. “He tries to seem all tough, but he’s such a softie.”

Someone asks why it was a hard day, referencing what you had said before. You consider it before saying, “Well, preparing for this comeback has been tough. Not to spoil anything, but there are some really low notes that I have to hit.”

There’s a selection of people practically screaming over you having low notes. But… there’s a few of them who say that of course it would be tough. Because you’re not talented enough to hit those notes.

You blink and force a smile. “But we’re all really excited. Stay makes it all worth it.”

Now more people are discussing how you’ve never taken the low notes before. You can’t help but read them all, frowning slightly. This wasn’t how you expected the live to go.

“Anyways, isn’t- Isn’t the craft cute?” You redirect their attention back to what the live was supposed to be about.

But you have this ominous feeling that tells you this isn’t the end.

And it isn’t the end. The interview you have the following day goes wrong is ways you had been dreading.

You zone out for the introduction, barely paying attention to the interview. There’s just so many of them. You know it’s a bad habit for an idol, but… It’s pretty boring.

Jeongin nudges you gently, a signal that the interview is being turned to you. You perk up and look to the interviewer, smiling politely.

“So you did a live the other day,” she calmly says, staring at the cards in her hands, “and your skill was brought up to scrutiny. How do you handle that as an idol?”

Your heart sinks. This is what you had been hoping to avoid. “Uh,” you begin nervously, “all I can really do is prove myself. I work hard and I hope it shows, and I hope Stay realizes that.”

The interviewer raises an eyebrow, leaning forwards more. “And recently, the media has been discussing you as well. Does this put a strain on any projects?”

“No, not really,” you answer. “Discussions like these aren’t unpopular, and I know that my group will support me. This will pass.”

“We are very excited for our upcoming projects, though,” Chan smoothly interjects, offering a pleasant smile. “Our comebacks are always a lot of fun, and we can’t wait to surprise Stay with it.”

“Oh, yes. The comeback.” The interviewer shifts in her seat, shuffling between cards. She looks to you again, and you hold in a sigh. “So you’re handling some of the low notes, yes?”

“Right,” you cheerily say. “But honestly, the songs we’re preparing are something we’re very proud of. There’s always so much to try and do, and I’m so thrilled to share it all.”

Changbin pats your shoulder reassuringly. “But don’t ask for any spoilers, though.”

Everyone laughs lightly at his words, and the interviewer moves the conversation along. It moves on from you and the low notes, but your mind still lingers on it.

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

You laugh, throwing your head back in delight as you chase after Felix. He darts ahead with a bright smile, effectively beating you in the little race you had challenged him to.

“Doesn’t count,” you stubbornly say when you catch up, overlooking the crowds.

“Yeah it does!” Felix argues, falling into place for a song. When you stick your tongue out at him, he rolls his eyes and says, “That’s so immature of you.”

“Meh-meh-meh,” you mock, hiding a grin at how annoyed he gets.

Minho smacks the back of your head, hissing out, “Shut up! We’re starting!”

And sure enough, the music begins right after he finishes talking. You throw yourself into the steps and the lines, looking at the others occasionally. Jisung seems to have gotten toilet paper stuck on his shoes somehow, and you can only shake your head.

“How did that even happen?” Hyunjin demands quietly as Felix jokes wth the audience. “We’ve been out on stage!”

Jisung narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “I don’t know!”

Jeongin walks by, muttering, “The fairies did it. They’ve been planning things…”

Seungmin blinks at him in disbelief. “Sometimes I think I’m the only normal one.”

“If you can’t handle the low notes, give them to someone else!” someone screams, startling you.

Chan glances over his shoulder in the direction it had come from, eyes flicking to you. You wave a hand at him discretely to tell him you’re fine.

“Just give Felix the low notes! We like him better!”

Changbin picks you up and carts you off to the other half of the stage, away from the shouting of insults. He squeezes your forearm. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” You nod and watch as Jisung starts to tell the audience about how he wishes he could show his abs off. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you should,” Hyunjin points out.

“Give me the signal, and I’ll rip their head off,” Minho promises darkly.

“What signal?” Chan questions before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Actually, whatever. That doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter if you can do the low notes as well as Felix, because you’re not Felix,” Seungmin tells you firmly. “They should realize that. You’re you, and of course you’re going to have problems with notes sometimes. But that’s okay.”

“We all struggle with things sometimes,” Felix adds. “Just work as hard as you can, and don’t worry about the people who want you to do better.”

You sigh and nod. “I guess. But… Why doesn’t Felix just take the-“

“Because we want to hear it with your voice,” Chan interjects as Jisung approaches, and a new song begins.

You smile. “Okay, thanks-“

Minho lunges in the direction of where the yelling had come from, before being caught by Changbin. He wriggles around furiously, and the crowd laughs at his silly antics.

“She gave the signal!” Minho exclaims as Changbin simply returns him to his spot. “She smiled! That’s the signal!”

“People smile all the time!” Jisung facepalms. “That’s a terrible signal!”

Seungmin gives Minho an unsure look. “Do you kill someone every time someone smiles?”

“Obviously not,” Minho murmurs as the group begins dancing. “Do you think we have enough closets for all those bodies?”

“The fairies have enough closets,” Jeongin whispers, barely audible.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @iwuberic @lezleeferguson-120 @strawberryscentedd @mbioooo0000

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zaineviu · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤

☆ Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

☆ Warnings: Mentions of bad family dynamics, anxiety attacks

☆ Characters: Chris, Y/N

☆ Word Count: 2.4k

☆ Synopsis: Y/N takes refuge in Chris after a difficult day with her family

She had to get out of here.

Her mind was screaming - pleading - at her to leave, to please, please, please bolt and make a beeline for the door on the other side of the room. The minimal sips of water Y/N had taken almost fifteen minutes ago still churned in the pit of her stomach, almost like an angry sea crashing against the vulnerability of a ship caught in a storm. But Y/N smiled politely regardless of the mayhem rupturing inside of her, the woman's face the picture of innocence and calm, completely betraying the tumultuous weather blooming deeper amongst the webbing of her veins.

She inclined her head. Nodded when necessary. Feigned the perfect upturn of her lips so as not to draw attention to herself. Y/N supposed there were perks, of being the odd one out amongst all of the people here. She was less likely to be made to talk, or pulled into conversations she didn't want. She was left to her own devices, for the most part. But despite the mild positives, the whole situation that had been forced upon her was beyond debilitating; being surrounded by so many laughing faces and so many conversations that were being held without her only enhanced the loneliness she had been accustomed to from early on in her life. It stung, even if she pretended it didn't. She let out a discreet little sigh, and her shoulders drooped just a touch as she averted her gaze from the people around her.

As much as she wanted to, Y/N couldn't just leave. Not for at least another hour or two - It would be considered rude, and incredibly offensive. Even if she was currently being completely ignored … her departure would bring the most attention to her out of anything else she could possibly say or do.

She didn't know why she had let herself believe for a small second that things might have been different this time around. She should have trusted her gut and not come at all; Y/N gulped slowly, swallowing back the beginning prickle of tears that threatened to cloud her vision. She turned a little to the side, hiding her face.

Y/N curled her fingers tighter around her phone, her eyes fluttering shut. Her skin buzzed a moment later, and for the first time that afternoon, Y/N smiled a real smile before she had even read the name spilling across her screen.

Chrissy ♡: How's my baby doing?

Chrissy ♡: Still alive, yeah?

There it was … that brief flicker of light which illuminated the shadows that had begun to creep over the depths of Y/N's mind.

Y/N: Barely

Y/N: Miss you …

Chrissy ♡: I know baby … I miss you more

Chrissy ♡: You come straight home as soon as you can, yeah? Ima be here ready to cuddle you hehe

Chrissy ♡: Been finishing up some work while I wait … thought we could watch a movie when you're back ;)

Y/N: Oh … you have no idea how good that sounds right now

Y/N: Don't work too hard

Chrissy ♡: Well, only because it's YOU telling me not to …

Her heart temporarily slowing to a much calmer speed, Y/N's smile grew. She curled up a little further into herself on her chair, cradling her phone in her fingers as if it was Chris's reassuring palm against hers.

Chrissy ♡: They're not saying anything awful to you, are they?

Chrissy ♡: I mean … the offer to give them all a piece of my mind still stands 🙂

Chrissy ♡: Just say the word and I'll be there

Y/N: It's okay baby

Y/N: Quite frankly they don't even deserve a piece of your mind

Y/N: It's too precious to give away to these people

Chrissy ♡: If you say so …

Chrissy ♡: Sure you don't want me to pick you up?

Chrissy ♡: It's no biggie, really

Y/N: I'm sure.

Y/N: It'd just give them another thing to talk about

Chrissy ♡: 🙂🙂🙂

Y/N: Put that emoji away, old man 😂

Chrissy ♡: 😝

*☆*☆*

“Ooh, you're so cold … “ Chris cooed, his cheek rubbing against Y/N's. “Lemme warm you up.”

Her voice muffled against the soft cotton of his t-shirt as she agreed, Y/N let Chris wrap his strong arms around her. The soft curves of his biceps pulsed and cushioned her head like little pillows, and she giggled as she tucked her face into the little hollow of his throat. A soft whisper of vanilla and deep musk tickled her nose, and Y/N inhaled deeply, her eyes falling shut. He smelled like home - her home - warm and sweet and unique in the way that only his skin could smell

“You smell so good … “ Y/N breathed against his skin. Her lips ghosted over the dip of his collarbone peeking out from the neckline of his tee, and she gently pressed her lips to the soft mole that was there in an adoring kiss.

“You smell better,” Chris squeezed her tight.

“You smell the best.”

Chris smiled. His hand was rubbing in slow circles as he held her securely in his lap, his lips peppering feather light kisses to the crown of her head. “You say that every time.”

“Because it's true,” Y/N giggled. “My favourite smell in the whole entire world.”

The chuckles that escaped him buzzed through his chest and brushed Y/N's cheek. “Weirdo.”

She tipped her head up then, and Chris's hands cupped her face, his eyes immediately softening. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “My weirdo.”

Her tired face breaking into a large smile, Y/N let herself be pulled further into his embrace. She had her arms looped around Chris's sturdy torso, and her fingers traced faintly over his sides, the grooves of his muscle soft beneath his top. For a while, she stayed like that, letting her breathing regulate as he held her close, his breath stirring her hair, and Y/N was sure she would have fallen asleep if it wasn't for Chris speaking a second later.

“Was it really bad?” Chris asked, his voice scarcely a whisper. “With your family, I mean.”

Y/N swallowed sleepily against him. Her response a gentle hum when she spoke a few moments later. “I don't fit in with any of them. They're so … bitter. All they do is gossip and bitch about everyone else and if I try to talk they talk over me. Like I don't even exist. And then when I stay quiet they have an issue with that too.”

Chris's hand tightened protectively over her shoulder. “Cunts.”

“Yeah,” Y/N laughed softly. “Cunts.”

“I'm glad you're here now,” Chris whispered. “Don't like when you're over there where they can hurt you. You should have let me come with you.”

At that, Y/N shook her head quickly against his chest. “No. They'd say bad things about you and I don't want that.”

“I don't mind. At least you wouldn't be lonely that way.”

Sitting up, Y/N pouted at him. “No. I hate when people are mean to you … you only deserve good things. Not mean people saying mean things.”

Chris's eyes sparkled. His fingers were soft as he traced the backs of them over Y/N's cheek. “You're so adorable. You know that, right?”

Y/N flushed. She hid her face against the crook of his neck again, relishing in the soothing quality of the vibrations in the man's chest as he laughed under his breath.

As the evening melted into night, Y/N found the day's events flooding out of her and leaving her completely still, her mind calm. Her cheek was nestled against Chris's arm as if it was a heated pillow, his body curled around hers from behind as she lay on her side. His other hand was soft as it traced the slowest of trails up and down the curve of her arm, his chin a steady, comforting weight atop her head. His rhythmic breathing was the only sound to Y/N's ears aside from the show they were watching together on the laptop propped up in front of them.

“Another?” Chris hummed at the end of the third episode, his fingers tickling her shoulder.

Y/N nodded. He smiled against her temple as they waited for it to load, and it was when a third of it had passed did Y/N notice the faint tightness inside her. Just a flutter, right at the pit of her throat.

Brushing it off, Y/N swallowed. It was still there. She swallowed again, deeper this time. The tightness grew. It slowly stretched from the midst of her neck to just above her collarbones until it felt as though something was lodged inside of her. Like a tiny golf ball, stuck at the bottom of her oesophagus; her breathing stuttered, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to swallow again.

The pain that followed was both dull yet sharp. like wood splintering, like thorns prickling against the inside of her skin. Y/N paused mid-inhale; it was suddenly too painful to breathe in, and her breathing became shallow, uneven -

“Baby?” Chris's voice was low. “You okay?”

Y/N's breath stuttered. “Y - yeah … “

At that, Chris frowned. With his arm still resting below her head, the man carefully propped himself up a little, his hand on her shoulder as he peered down at her slightly flushed face. “You don't look okay, baby girl … what's wrong?”

She tried to swallow again in hopes of clearing her throat. “Don't know … ‘s … tight.”

“Tight? Where?”

“Here,” Y/N brushed her fingers over her upper chest. “Hurts … t’ breathe.”

Eyes softening, Chris carefully slid his arm out from beneath her. “Sit up, baby. Here … lean against this.”

He pushed up his cushion, laying it flat against his headboard as he helped Y/N sit up; his hands were as gentle on her arms, adjusting her position and his own so he could sit beside her.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” Chris asked quietly, brushing stray strands of Y/N's hair away from her slightly clammy temple. “Chest? Arm?”

Y/N shook her head a little. “Just … here.” She lay a hand flat over the base of her throat.

“Here, sit up straight … “ Chris murmured. “Drop your shoulders, baby. That's it … unclench your jaw.”

“‘S not clenched,” Y/N hiccuped.

Chris's smile was tender. He gently traced his finger back and forth over the softness of her jaw, his heart blooming when he felt it gave way to his slow touch. “Not anymore. Good girl. Does it still hurt to breathe?”

She nodded.

“Take some tiny, shallow breaths,” Chris instructed her. “Go slow … and then deepen them up a little at a time … can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

Nodding again, Y/N did as he said. She inhaled just barely through her parted mouth, letting go of it almost instantly; Chris's hand slid up her side and landed at the top of her back, and his palm was almost burning with heat when he carefully rubbed the slowest of circles there. With the heat from his skin and the soft breaths she took, Y/N's inhales gradually transitioned into deeper ones; the pressure in her throat began to dislodge, and the trembling in her fingers came to a halt.

“There we go,” Chris smiled, leaning forward to kiss her temple. “Does it still hurt?”

Y/N shook her head. “Just … feel shakey. And cold.”

Chris's expression softened. “That's because you were so tense … your muscles must have relaxed now. And you probably had a hot flush, hm? Here … drink this.”

She watched as Chris cracked open the lid of a water bottle and held it out to her.

“Little sips,” Chris instructed. “Don't wanna get all excited.”

Smiling around the lip of the bottle, Y/N took soft sips of the chilled water. It made her shiver, and sighing, Y/N closed the bottle and let her head fall forward and land against the broadness of Chris's shoulder. The man immediately tucked her up into his arms all over again, his hand still sweeping over her back.

“I hated that,” Y/N whispered, gulping a little. “Felt like I was dying.”

“Poor baby,” Chris cooed. “You're not dying … it's just your anxiety, yeah?”

“But I don't feel anxious. I was completely fine.”

“I know, baby. But … you know anxiety is. Even if you're fine in the moment, it can creep up on you if you were anxious earlier on. It's probably all pent up stress from when you were with your family … it just came out now.”

Y/N hummed in agreement, her eyes fluttering closed. “‘S stupid.”

Chris's body shook slightly as he laughed silently. “Hey, think about it this way … maybe your body needed to get rid of the stress and it felt safe enough now to do it,” Chris hummed.

“That doesn't make sense,” Y/N giggled against him.

“Yeah it does.”

“You just wanna believe that.”

“Mhm. Maybe I do.”

Giggling again, Y/N lifted her head. “I do feel safe with you. So safe I nearly fell asleep before it happened.”

At that, Chris's eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh yeah? And you were teasing me saying I'd be the first one to fall asleep … now look at you.”

“Guilty,” Y/N yawned.

With a growing smile, Chris pulled her closer to him. “Maybe we should leave the rest of that episode for tomorrow. Looks like someone's getting all sleepy again.

Y/N's eyes began to droop again. The world began to turn hazy, and she barely noticed Chris gently laying her down, tucking his duvet around her shoulders.

“Sleep, baby,” Chris whispered against her forehead. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you now, okay? I'm gonna keep you safe all night. You don't gotta worry about anything anymore.”

She was warm - so warm. Chris's body was like a furnace as he cocooned himself around her, almost as though he was using his limbs to shield her from the outside. The gentle strum of his heartbeat seeped into her bones as she settled her cheek against him, and with a few deep breaths, she felt her own heart sync with his. All of the remaining tautness that had coiled itself inside her chest mere moments ago began to slip away, and the last thing Y/N was conscious of was the tender kiss to her nose, before a fuzzy cloud of sleep came and washed over her.

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