#this happens every time i go in the water with them and i hate it

[g00d--m0urning]

Final Destination: Your House (CH. 7)

(CW: none for this chapter, i think)

Everyone finally gets to apologize. Turns out you're not on the same page.

ok, so I kind of hate this chapter, but… Oh well. I also posted this on shitty hotel wifi, so if there's mistakes or anything, please tell me.

(one-shot reqs are still open. I currently have 23 on the list, so I'll obvi tell you if yours is already on the list.)

You’re awake, have been for hours, but your eyes have remained closed. If you keep them closed then you don’t have to face the reality of what’s going to happen today. Everything could go wrong, then again, everything could go right.

Birds chirp directly outside of your window, seemingly getting more insistent with each passing moment. One of them pecks at the window until you finally have enough, throwing the covers off. You glare at the bird, who you swear smirks at you before flying off.

You prolong your morning routine as long as you can, taking your sweet time with every little thing. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long while, tracing over the small mark on your forehead; the stitches dissolved a few days ago and all that’s left is a tiny scar.

You splash your face, letting the water drip down your face, exhaling deeply. You can’t avoid this, as much as you want to, you promised Skylar. When you walk back into your bedroom, you notice a note on the bedside table, the familiar symbol of Celia's office stationery embossed on the corner:

 ‘Please meet us in the Breaker Box, dearest. -your lovers’

The vague message does little to soothe your ever fraying nerves, placing the glasses on a few minutes later. The Breaker Box sounds quiet from the outside; no laughter, none of Johnny’s crooning, nothing.

It takes you by surprise when you walk in, discovering that almost everybody is in the bar. You’ve never seen so many of them in one place, even during movie nights people rotate in and out. 

The murmurings you couldn’t hear from outside fall hush when the door shuts behind you, announcing your presence to the room, “Hello,” you choke out, resisting the urge to shrink under all the eyes on you.

“Thank you for coming,” Celia smiles, stepping through the throngs of people, offering a hand for you to take.

You hesitantly set your hand in hers, allowing her to guide you to your booth, “What’s going on?” you ask, looking around the room, watching as they shrivel when you meet their eyes.

“We’re doing what we should’ve done in the first place: talking to you- and apologizing,” Skylar comes forward to explain, “And after, you can say whatever you want, no matter how much you think it might hurt us, we want you to say it, okay?”

“Alright,” you confirm, fine with the terms, “You guys do know that apologies aren’t going to fix everything, right?” 

“We do, yes,” Skylar nods fervently, coming closer to you, “We all know that apologizing is the first step of a long process and we’re all okay with that.”

You nod back, going to thank her, but she cuts you off, “and please don’t thank us. It’s the bare minimum, probably even less,” she states, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Now, I think we’re going to start.”

The dateables line up near the stage, taking turns in front of the microphone; some had prepared speeches, others spoke on the fly, speaking whatever came to mind. There’s lots of tears, like a lot. Not just from you, though; everybody did.

It means a lot, hearing them all apologize so deeply from the heart. After everybody has had their turn, they all take seats somewhere, ready for you. You take your place on the stage, looking over the crowd, “Hi,” you speak into the mic, wincing when it crackles in return.

“I… I appreciate everyone’s apologies, deeply,” you trail off, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath to compose yourself, “But I was to speak my mind, so I will.”

“Over the past week, I have been hurt immensely and I’m not talking about my accidents. The way you all treated me was…Horrible. The off and on hurt worse than it would’ve had you all just outright told me you hated me,” you tell them, picking at dry skin on your palms.

 “And it was over a movie. All of you ignored me so easily, not once thinking to talk to me about it,” your voice breaks, but you keep going, “I know why you did it, but I can’t understand it.”

Your face crumples, setting a hand over your eyes, gasping for air between broken sobs, “How was it so easy for all of you to do that to me?” you ask, unsure if you truly want the answer. 

------------

If you listen closely, you can hear the sounds of their hearts shattering. When this all started, they figured you’d see it the way they did. Apparently not. Nobody knows what to do. They hate watching you break down, but it seems like comfort from them is the last thing you want. 

“We’re sorry,” Skylar apologizes again, standing up from her chair.

“I don’t want more fucking apolgies, Skylar! I want an explanation, a reason, anything!” you shout, backing away from her, “You said it yourself, you know apologies aren’t fixing this.”

“I know, I know! Please,” she begs, stopping her approach when you back away, “we did it for you! We just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And where’d that get you?” you spit, trying to keep yourself in check. Anger wars with a deep sense of betrayal, battling for dominance in your own mind, “...Did you do it for me or for yourselves?”

That question sucks all the air from the room, a suffocating tension falling over the room. They did it for you, of course they did. They did. Sure, they were scared and didn’t talk to you to see what you thought, and did it so they wouldn’t carry the guilt of hurting you… 

------------

“That’s all I need you to admit,” you whisper, staring at Skylar expectantly, then turning to everyone else, “I don’t care if you did, but you can’t claim this was for me because this is not what I wanted. All I wanted was you guys.”

“You’re right,” it’s Dorian that admits it, his face as stoic as ever, “We were scared and it made us selfish. All we thought about was ourselves.”

You can’t find the words, only able to nod in response. It’s all you wanted to hear; it doesn’t change anything. Dorian begins approaching, keeping his steps slow and light, like coming up to a skittish animal.

He pulls you into his arms, tucking you against his wide frame. You protest weakly, smacking against his chest until you’re too tired to continue fighting, “Fuck you.”

He doesn’t apologize, nor does his grip on you falter. He holds you the way he always does, like he’s scared he might lose you if he lets go. For once, he’s worried that might be the case. 

“Don’t leave again, please. I can't do this.”

[girlwithadragonheart]

Episodes Pt. 2

Eddie x Fem!Reader x Volt

Summary: There are multiple ways to help cramps when you're on your period. The boys are more than happy to help

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Endometriosis, chronic pain, fatigue, mood swings, SMUT, period sex, oral (f! receiving), fingering (vaginal and anal, f!receiving), spit play (light), praise, reader is called a good girl multiple times, p in v sex, unprotected sex, lube, slight hand job (Volt receiving, mostly teasing), anal (f!receiving), double creampie, aftercare, cuddles, swearing, let me know if I missed something important!

A/N: This is smut, I am not responsible for the media you consume. also I'm sorry this took sooooo long I got carried away with it. Okay that's it, enjoy!!

Episodes pt 1 Masterlist

Several days had passed, but your flow continued steadily no matter what you did or how much you continued to wallow in agony. Having two very attentive boyfriends was helpful, and as the days continued they learned more of the things that relieved your pain even if only by a little bit. Heating pads or hot water bottles, which medicine of yours was the best, and which clothes were the most comfortable. All without you having to ask, of course. It was in their nature to observe you and learn your ticks just as much as it was in yours for them.

Of course, you hated feeling like an inconvenience, and insisted on still coming to the bar every night to watch the show and help out where you could. You were on your period, not crippled—-even if it physically may feel that way at times. You could wipe down tables and put the chairs up, much to your boyfriends’ collective dismay. Nothing would stop them from telling you to rest, and likewise, nothing would stop you from not listening. 

Whenever you caught a look from one of them you flashed your best and brightest smile. Only half of the time were you using it to hide a wince of pain. 

You hated feeling like an inconvenience, but more than that, you hated feeling useless. 

Volt had left momentarily to escort a particularly drunk patron to their place, ensuring they were safe, and Eddie had gone to the back to check stock. You were working on mopping the floor after picking all the chairs up and flipping them over the sides of tables.

You pulled your hair up into a loose bun, holding your hair tie between your teeth before wrapping it around your clusterfuck of hair in your hand. Moving around the bar, you grabbed the mop and got to work on the floor, ignoring the occasional twinge of pain in your abdomen.

Things were going swimmingly until you had a particularly painful cramp. It wasn’t even what did you in, honestly. It was when you doubled over and reached to brace yourself against a table that you knocked a loose chair with your shoulder. It went crashing to the ground, hitting the front of your thigh and the back of your calf. It didn’t even really hurt, it just sort of… startled you.

And you were fine, honest.

Until you glanced up, and your two boys were rushing toward you. You weren’t sure what made you tear up first. Maybe it was the hot flush of embarrassment that rose to your cheeks or frustration that this one thing didn’t go right, or you were simply having one of those days. Either way, the rush of tears that pooled to your eyes had Eddie rushing to your side.

“Shit, are you okay?” He didn’t seem like he quite knew what to do without you having any visible wounds.

A moment later, Volt’s hands were cradling your face, pulling your gaze up to his bright silver eyes. Eddie spoke again, inspecting you for any injury. “You should’ve let us handle it—“

Whether it was the sympathetic look that felt like pity from Volt or Eddie scolding you like a child, you physically pushed away from them both. “Fuck, I’m fine! It was just a stupid chair falling, nothing even happened!” You shouted with exasperation. 

Volt recoiled in shock, but not Eddie. Likely from his time dealing with Volt’s more… electric personality. “We know that. We just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Eddie said quietly.

“I’m not,” you said harshly. “Everyone gets hurt sometimes. I’m fine.” Without another word, you replaced the fallen chair and moved across the room to finish mopping. You didn’t miss the glance the two shared as you stomped away.

Did they deserve your outburst? No, probably not.

Did it stop you from feeling the slightest satisfaction at seeing them pause their overreaction? Also no.

“Live wire…” Volt began.

“I’m fine. Leave it alone,” you huffed, swiping the mop back and forth across the floor and between table legs. You heard him sigh, and the smallest amount of regret began to twist in your gut. Not enough to make you any less headstrong. Just enough to twist the metaphorical knife. 

When you were done, you brushed past the two of them, quietly chatting at the bar as Eddie wiped it down, and put your mop back in its place before removing the apron you had donned. Your remorse for lashing out had only grown in the tense silence of the empty bar. You really hadn’t meant it, only having been overwhelmed by the sudden attention while you tried to complete what was supposed to be a menial task.

You pulled the clip out of your hair, letting it tumble down loosely framing your face and removing the tension from having it up. With your clip secured to the bottom of your fantastic red shirt—if you did say so yourself—you made your way out to the bar. 

The boys’ eyes were on you as you entered. Eddie behind the bar, and Volt leaning forward on it. You barely managed to give them a tired smile before sliding yourself in front of Volt, who quickly let you in. There was a low, “Hey!” of protest from Eddie as you jumped up to sit on the bar, but a glance back just revealed his flushed face. You smiled, gently gripping his throat to tilt his head up as you pressed a kiss to his soft lips, stubble scratching your jaw pleasantly.

You felt Volt’s hands gripping your wide thighs, his touch tingling like a live current. And yet you were the live wire here. As you pulled back from Eddie, lips warm and eyes lidded, he tried to follow you, but you turned to see Volt practically buzzing impatiently for his turn. Before you had the chance, his lips were on you, prying your mouth open for his tongue to sweep inside. Eddie groaned behind you, and you felt him pressed up against your back as he started kissing and sucking on your neck.

 It was easy to relax back against Eddie’s chest as Volt’s mouth trailed wet hot kisses down your jaw and neck. “I’m sorry for being a bitch,” you said breathily as your eyelids fluttered, fighting to stay open through all the sensations around you.

Volt pulled back to look at you, his platinum eyes bright, “Apology accepted, live wire…” His fingers trailed deftly over your jaw before brushing down your neck, and you were sure he could feel your pulse spike under his touch. Eddie hummed in agreement, pulling his face away to tuck your hair behind your ear and ghosting his lips behind the shell of your ear.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He muttered huskily into your ear, one of his hands snaking to your front to rest on your lower belly. You instinctively sucked in, but he gave a grunt of disapproval, and you relaxed. The warmth of his touch eased some of the pain you hadn’t realized was still there.

You sighed with relief, your hand moving to rest over his as your body sagged against him. Volt’s hands had moved from your thighs to your hips, keeping your bottom half in place while Eddie supported your torso. The throbbing between your legs had momentarily distracted you from the pain radiating through your midsection.

“Spark?” Eddie prompted when you didn’t respond.

“Yeah. I’m alright, I promise.” As alright as you could be, anyway. You weren’t in any pain from your earlier stunt, but you were sure there would be small bruises in the morning. That was the last thing you were worried about—being sandwiched between the two hottest men you had ever seen, that is. 

Despite your current predicament, however, lingering insecurities still ran beneath your skin like lightning in water. Insecurities created by past partners and the life of being born a woman. Insecurities that resurfaced as Volt’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your comfy pants. Faster than light, you tensed, gripping around his wrist to stop him.

Silver eyes met your wide, anxious expression quickly and with concern, “Forgive me, live wire, I shouldn’t have assumed,” he said quickly, seemingly with poise, though you could hear his nervousness beneath. Despite the obvious tent in his pants, he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want him to.

You frowned, pulling your hand away, “No, I– it’s okay, I didn’t—” You stumbled over your words, huffing as your gaze traveled around the room rather than meet his.

Eddie’s thumb ran in soothing circles on your abdomen, “Take your time,” he mumbled into your skin, only for you to hear. “We can wait.”

The words helped you relax and take a deep breath. They didn’t want to take anything from you, and you knew that, despite your own past experiences. Volt’s hand fell back to your thigh, soothing over your skin up and down, warm and tingling with energy. Energy that you had helped restore to the both of them.

You sighed, your hand moving on its own and playing with the ends of Volt’s hair. Soft as downy feathers and just as weightless, but almost buzzing and faintly warm like the rest of him. It was mesmerizing to see drift over your skin, almost tickling your nerves. 

“I’m still on my period,” you said, gaze flicking up to see his expression as you said it.

He was attentive and waiting, as though expecting you to say more. After a beat of awkward silence, you felt more than saw the boys exchange a glance. “Is that all?” Eddie asked.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“He didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t, Spark, we would never—”

You cut Volt off, “It’s so… gross, and messy, and- and…”

Volt looked absolutely dumbfounded by your words. “Wait…” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Are you not?” You questioned.

“No,” the two replied simultaneously. You just looked between them—as best you could in this compromising position—completely speechless. For once, you had no idea what to say. You were just so used to guys shying away from you completely at any mention of it, you had no idea what to do now.

“I assure you, live wire, it will not deter us. It’s perfectly natural, after all,” Volt said, pressing close to you and nipping at your earlobe.

“I was worried we would hurt you or some shit,” Eddie admitted. “The research didn’t cover sex.”

“Research?” You blurted, twisting to look at him.

“What? It’s not like objects have them. I’m not completely sure if or how we could reproduce, so what was I supposed to do?” He shrugged, like it was nothing, face almost more flushed than yours. Almost.

You cleared your throat, turning back the way you were, still vaguely aware of Eddie’s warm hand on your stomach. Best to just get this out of the way, right? You put your hand over your eyes as you spoke, finding it easier to keep from embarrassing yourself further.

“It hurts more initially, I think, but I’ve heard orgasms are really good to soothe cramps, though I’m not sure how true that is, especially in my case, I think if it was you two, I would be willing to find out–” You quickly shut your mouth, face hot beneath your palm.

“I’ll say, Eddie, our little live wire is adorable when she’s flustered,” Volt purred over you. “Why don’t we move this little gathering upstairs, hmm?”

“Only if she’s okay with it,” Eddie said. 

Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, and from the clink of metal coils, you knew it was Volt before he pulled your hand from your eyes. “How about it, Live wire?” You nodded shyly, and he gripped your jaw, “Ah-ah, words, darling.”

“Yes, Volt,” you muttered quietly.

“Good girl,” Volt smirked, and you whimpered quietly. Without another word, Volt lifted you bridal style into his arms, jacket long since discarded over one of the barstools. As the two of you rounded the bar to head toward the stairs, Eddie stepped in front of you. 

Before either of you could react, Eddie reached past you, fist curling into the collar of Volt’s undershirt and dragging him with just enough force for him to comply, chuckling lowly as Eddie pressed their lips together. You practically moaned at the sight of your boyfriends eating each other’s tongues. One your hands wandered behind Volt’s neck, fingers tangling into his downy locks and giving a slight tug. A groan fell from Volt’s lips as the two disconnected, a thin line of spit connecting them.

Platinum eyes found yours as your cheeks flushed and thighs clenched with need. “Naughty…” Volt purred as you released your hand from his hair. Eddie caught your wrist as you removed it, and he pushed your hand back firmly with lidded steel eyes.

“Keep it there, live wire. He liked that,” Eddie muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple that was softly at odds with the rest of the situation.

Volt hummed. “Do indulge, little spark. I aim to please.” Something about his words or his voice or that gods damned accent had you tightening your fist in his hair the way he tightened his grip on the flesh of your thigh.

The unfair, painful tightening in your stomach made you wince as your lips turned down. Eddie tilted your chin toward him with a knowing, loving gaze that was reserved only for the two of you. 

“When’s the last time you took something?” He asked.

“An hour ago,” you gritted out. “It should kick in soon, but I could really use a distraction,” you grinned weakly. Eddie and Volt shared a look and seconds later you were sitting on the edge of the bed, practically salivating as the two removed their vests, tossing them to the side somewhere.

Their eyes practically devoured you, Volt’s unnaturally bright, platinum tinged with blue, only shadowed by his downcast lashes, and Eddie’s steel gray that only seemed darker with lust. They were the perfect foils to each other in every way. Not quite one being, not quite two, somewhere in between. Both unequivocally and irrevocably in love with you.

Volt, always the first to reach for you, grabbed your hands and spun you around, your back to his chest. One of his hands moved to hold your belly, applying heat and a lovely tingly sensation that distracted from the pain and set your insides alive at the same time. His other drifted up and down your arm, just light enough to feel as goosebumps raised on your skin where he touched, a mix of static that put your hair on end and a ticklish sensation from his feather-light ministrations.

Eddie came to stand in front of you, tucking stray hair behind your ear in the way he often did to see your whole face. “What’s your word?” It was something he asked every time, no matter the activities that were about to take place or how gruelling they might be. It was his check in to make sure you were ready and okay before doing anything, and honestly, it was the sweetest thing ever despite the nature of the question.

“Circuit,” you said easily, reaching out to brush his cheek with the back of your hand, smiling fondly.

“Good,” he nodded, kneeling before you. The tent in his pants was obvious, and it must have been painful, but he did nothing about it as he lowered to the ground, holding your gaze all the while. You shivered under the intensity of it, hips pressing back into Volt as the man slipped his fingers under your waistband.

The white haired man grunted in your ear as he ground into you slowly, gently pushing away the loose fabric of your pants. When he got halfway, he dropped them into Eddie’s waiting hands, and he held them for you to step out of before tossing them to the side.

Eddie’s hands moved reverently up your legs—never mind that you hadn’t shaved, never mind that you felt like shit—making sure that you felt seen and heard and loved all the while. He leaned up with a smirk, pressing soft kisses to your belly before dragging your panties down with his teeth and letting them drop. Carefully, you stepped out of them, kicking them to the side as well.

Volt’s hands moved up under your shirt to squeeze and massage your breasts, paying extra attention to the places you reacted to most—as much as he could through your bra. After a moment of groping, he got impatient with the fabric, and lifted it. You put your arms up, letting him drag the shirt over your head and the fabric bra next. You whimpered as his hands moved back to your tender bosom, sore from your hormones.

“V- Volt…” you whimpered.

“Yes, live wire?” He purred in your ear, teasing his canines over the soft lobe.

Your breath left you in a whoosh of air as Eddie gripped your thighs, pulling one up over his broad shoulder to rest. “Eddie,” you said, barely over a whisper. His steel eyes were dark with lust as they flicked up to your face. “You don’t have to,” you said quietly.

He scoffed, practically rolling his eyes at the statement. “Please, you think a little blood is going to stop me from devouring you?” He looked directly at your mound in front of him as he spoke, as though talking directly to it as he licked his lips.

“That’s our Eddie for you, live wire. Look how eager he is,” Volt crooned in that low voice of his right beside your ear. You shivered, your body jolting as a startled moan erupted from your lips, Eddie wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking harshly. Your head jerked back, hitting Volt’s chest and shoulder as he continued to grope your chest.

Eddie’s tongue darted out, swiping a long stroke all the way up your slit, swirling the muscle around your pearl. You felt breathless, one hand gripping Volt’s forearm, the other darting to Eddie’s head as your hips ground needily into his face. “F- fuck…” you moaned.

Your hand tightened in the wires woven throughout Eddie’s hair, and he groaned, sending delicious vibrations through your whole being. “There you go, little wire. Use our Eddie for your pleasure, hmm?” Volt mumbled into your skin before sinking his teeth gently into the junction between your neck and shoulder and sucking a bruise into your skin. His free hand traveled over the planes of your body, groping your waist, your belly, your hips, and finally your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh before spreading your cheeks and slipping his middle finger between them. 

You sucked in a breath at the unexpected intrusion. “Breathe, little spark. Good,” he praised as you did what he said. At the same time, Eddie sunk his first finger knuckle deep in your cunt, suckling at your clit. Your hand in his hair tightened, a ragged moan releasing from somewhere in your chest as you clenched around both of them. Eddie moved first, slowly pumping his finger in and out before adding his middle, slowly stretching you out. Volt slowly started doing the same as you relaxed into both of them.

“Such a good girl, you are spark,” Volt muttered, and you moaned, involuntarily clenching around Eddie’s fingers.

“Fuck, she liked that,” the dark haired man groaned.

Volt chuckled, and you felt that knot starting to tighten in your abdomen. No longer cramps, but something much more fulfilling. Something you were craving more than anything. Your mouth hung open as Eddie’s fingers curled into that spongy spot within your walls. You keened, your leg squeezing his shoulder as he hit it again and again, maintaining his ministrations on your clit.

“Oh, she’s so close,” Volt purred. “Look at him, feasting like a man starved,” Volt groaned, and you felt his hips shift, searching for some kind of release. You tried to look, really you did, but your head refused to move, too tense or too caught in the moment. Volt tsked, his hand moving to your hair at the base of your neck and tightening his fist, forcing your gaze down.

Steel eyes met yours, and he looked so beautiful. Tousled hair and lust darkened eyes. Face shining with your juices as he lapped eagerly at your cunt, fingers plunging in and out while his free hand gripped your thigh to stay grounded.

You felt that knot inside you shatter, a broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed around his fingers. Eddie pulled his face away, his thumb circling your clit, chest heaving for breath as he looked up at you, hard dick straining in his pants as he licked around his lips. A mixture of blood and cum covered his stubble, but he seemed far from caring about it.

You had almost forgotten Volt’s fingers buried in your ass until he pulled them from you at the same time Eddie removed his, and you whined from the sudden loss. Before you could recover from your high, Eddie was on his feet in front of you, shoving his fingers soaked with you into your mouth. The musk of your own taste and the metallic tang of blood rested heavily on your tongue as you obediently sucked his fingers clean. 

He breathed heavily through his lips as he watched your mouth eagerly before Volt reached for him, dragging the dark haired man closer with a hand on the back of his head. Their lips met above you, all lips and tongue, soft moans falling from both of their mouths, the sight only making you pulse with need. 

You continued to lick and suck on Eddie’s fingers as his free hand wrapped around the taller man’s throat, both pulling away for a moment, a line of spit connecting their lips. Volt opened his mouth, and Eddie smirked, spitting into it. Volt’s hair sparked as he groaned, swallowing greedily.

“Amp, you taste divine, live wire,” he groaned. You moaned around the other’s fingers before they were pulled from your mouth.

“Want a taste?” Eddie looked down at you, the way his thumb softly brushed your cheek contrasted heavily with what he was suggesting. Still, you nodded. “Ah ah,” he gripped your jaw lightly. “Say it.”

You let out a breath, your cheeks warm and mind dazed from your first orgasm. “I… I want to taste,” You said, albeit a bit breathlessly. You opened your mouth, tongue out to receive, proving you wanted it.

“Fuck…” Eddie groaned, pulling your face close to his before spitting into your mouth. You held it for only a moment before swallowing, sticking your tongue out for inspection. “Very good, little spark,” he brushed his thumb over your cheek lovingly. “Do you think you’re ready to take both of us?” he asked, a callused hand running over your soft skin and sending goosebumps all over your body.

It was hard to think with both of them touching you, teasing you, making you feel things you’d only ever heard about. You breathed heavily, chest rising and falling with every breath as four hands wandered your body.

“Yes… Please,” you begged, just wanting to feel them anywhere, everywhere you could.

You felt more than heard the rumble in Volt’s chest as your hips pressed back against his aching erection. You whined as Eddie started to pull away. He chuckled, and you felt the scratch of his stubble against your cheek as he pressed a kiss to it. 

“Just a sec, live wire.” He moved to the end table next to the bed, pulling out a bottle of lube from the drawer.

Behind you, Volt was stripping the rest of his clothes. Having somewhat of an idea of what was coming next, you held your hand out. Eddie raised a brow at you before squeezing a generous amount of the lubricant in your palm. The moment Volt returned to his place, you reached behind you, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, hearing him hiss at the contact.

“Naughty,” he purred. You had been so focused on your task, you hadn’t noticed Eddie pouring some on Volt’s fingers until they circled your hole, pressing into you fast enough that your breath hitched. “Two can play that game, dear spark.”

Eddie was stripping down in front of you, and you moaned as he stroked lube over his own cock, heavy and leaking with need.

At the unspoken question in your eyes, he smiled. “Just a precaution. We want this to be as painless as possible for you.” His unoccupied hand tilted your chin up, pressing his lips to yours and tugging lightly on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Tonight is about you.”

“Just you,” Volt added as you opened your mouth to protest. “We want for nothing and we need nothing but to ensure our little live wire is happy and taken care of. Especially during this time for you,” he nuzzled his nose in your hair.

You slowly released his cock, looping your hand around his neck. “Okay,” you said quietly, finally admitting you needed help.

“I’m going to lift you, alright spark?” Volt warned you before hooking his arms behind your knees and pulling you up, your back to his chest with Eddie in front of you. 

You were practically folded in half, and as Eddie stepped closer, your calves rested over his shoulders. He lined himself up with your entrance, hands gripping your ass to take half of your weight off Volt, leaning your lower half into his torso. 

“Ready?” He asked, double checking.

You nodded.

“What’s the word?”

“Circuit.”

“Good girl.” He said the words like they meant nothing and everything, but you knew it was the acknowledgment he needed before pushing into your heat. Already you were squeezing him so tight, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

“Take a breath and remember to relax darling,” Volt mumbled into your neck as he slowly lowered you onto his dick. You did your best, and after what felt like forever, they were both fully sheathed in your heat.

You had never felt so full in your life, your head hanging back against Volt’s shoulder, eyes rolled back and jaw slack as you moaned unabashedly into the hot air of the room.

“Oh, Amp, live wire you feel so incredible,” Volt moaned, thrusting shallowly into you. Eddie moved slowly, but thoroughly, making sure you felt every thrust and every inch of his cock as it nearly kissed your cervix with every thrust. “Fuck…” Volt groaned. “Eddie, I–”

“I know,” he grunted. “Me too.”

“Fuck, you’re amazing, spark. So good. So good for us, my little live wire,” Volt muttered nonsensically into your skin as he thrust his hips up into you. Between his words and fucked out voice, and Eddie’s pointed thrusts into your sweet spot, you were seeing spots.

Somehow, they pushed impossibly closer to each other, your knees now up to your chest, Eddie’s cock reaching impossibly deeper. A high pitched whine fell from your lips, both of your hands in the mass of energy that was Volt’s hair, tingling and warm, just enough to keep you grounded. It shocked you gently every time he groaned into your skin, sparking and moving as though it was alive.

Volt was the first to fall off the cliff, spilling deep within your walls. The sensation flooding you pushed you over next, moaning and calling their names as you ground your hips as best you could from this angle. Eddie grunted unintelligibly as your cunt squeezed him impossibly tighter, and his thrusts became erratic as he neared the edge, falling just as you started to near the end of your high, spilling into your womb.

Your body felt like jello, and the boys didn’t move for several minutes. After everyone caught their breath, they carefully adjusted, pulling out of you and leaving you feeling thoroughly empty as their spend dripped from your holes.

They moved you around so that you could wrap your legs around Eddie’s waist, his arms supporting you as Volt moved to get a cloth dampened with warm water. When the man returned, he slowly ran his hand over your back, easing the shock of the rag as he cleaned you up gently, hushing you as you whined.

“Alright, live wire,” Volt said softly. “What do you need before bed?” he asked.

You hummed, sleep trying to take over as your body finally relaxed, blessedly free of cramps for the first time in days. “Just my underwear is fine. The pad I put in less than an hour ago, it’ll be fine to sleep in.”

Volt retrieved the item as Eddie carefully set you on the edge of the bed. The white haired man knelt and helped you into the garment before falling into the bed behind you. You curled up on his chest, and Eddie pulled the blankets over the three of you before settling in with an arm around your waist from behind. 

“We love you, Y/N. I hope you know that,” Volt said quietly, the soft use of your name bringing tears to your eyes.

“I love you too,” you whispered, not trusting your voice not to break at the sincerity of it all.

A/N: This is not proofread, so if you see any typos, no u didn't <3 I know a lot of you guys were waiting for this!!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Tags: @hawke1917 @bhaalschosenbunny

Banner credit to @/cafekitsune

[shedelulululu]

Inspired by this video which has haunted me for years (it's a very disturbing story told very jovially) I suggest you watch it but the tldr here is athletes trust their team doctors and don't ask questions about medications they're given!

So new team doctor! Mel King and NHL player! Frank Langdon cw: intentional drugging, sabotage via medications (below the cut)

Mel King does not get into sports medicine because she has a crush on the players. It's bothered her from the time she took to the ice herself at 3 years old that her interest was always centered around men. She plays into college, she's good enough to get a scholarship to an okay school, she's not good enough to go pro, she made peace with that long ago -- it's not until recent that there was any money in women's hockey and it's still not that good. She didn't think she had it in her to coach, she wanted something stable, she liked helping people, she's one of the few athletes to take advantage of the fact that her classes were paid for, and so majors in biochem and kinesiology, and kisses a lot of ass in order to get a residency in orthopeadic surgery, a fellowship in sports medicine, and abuses every connection she's made since the time she was born to earn herself a position affiliated with a team.

Mel King does not work for the Pittsburgh Penguins because she has a crush Frank Langdon. Really, she tried to get a job with the PWHL, she had friends in the league, but there's only a handful of US teams and none of them were hiring and while she has no doubts about being able to get a visa to work in Canada, the paperwork it would require for Becca too would be too much. She applied to work with every NHL team with an open position, she poked around her networks for anywhere they could squeeze her in, she even applied to a couple teams in other sports (that she restricted to staying in California). When she got the call from the practice associated with the Penguins offering her a job, she didn't think twice, she said yes.

She had one crush on one hockey player her whole life, she usually preferred the swimmers and tennis players, she ran into him once at party while she was doing her fellowship at UCLA (a couple of the Kings players took a liking to her and invited her out sometimes), they flirted a bit, well she certainly was flirting, but eventually he got pulled away, as is to happen when you're the second line centre and attractive in a way that makes you wonder why he'd pick a sport that could so easily ruin his face. It's not like anything could happen now anyways, he has a girlfriend, Abby, typical hockey WAG profile (blonde, long hair, perfect body, modest instagram following but not too large -- that was saved for athletes in sports people actually cared about like Basketball and Football) and she was nice to all the staff, even made sure to bring people cupcakes on their birthday. She had posted some vaguely antivaxx posts, Mel tried not to think about it too much, there was something in the water with women with a certain level of wealth.

He doesn't remember her, which is fine. He calls her Dr. Barbie, which initially she hates (does he really not respect her just because she's a woman?) he eventually catches wind of this and clears up that he has the utmost respect for Barbie (he saw the movie three times in theatres!), and she catches on that he has other oddly Mattel themed nicknames for the other doctors she works with (Dr. Hot Wheels -- he did have a red sports car, Dr. Bob the Builder -- ortho joke?). Sometimes he'll try a reckless trick shot in practice and point to her saying "this one's for you!" Which she can only assume to mean she's the one tasked with ensuring he didn't tear his ACL or rupture his patella in the process.

At first she's horrified to learn how much he trusts her -- or maybe she's horrified by her own reaction. She gives the players ambien as they disembark their flight in Seattle, in case they need help sleeping that night. The next day is an earlier game, 3 PM on a Sunday, there's a very early morning skate which she hangs around for, but mostly she's going over her game day checklist on the bench. Suddenly she hears the sharp sound of skates stopping in front of her, blue eyes wild and peering down at her "The pill you gave us yesterday is for sleep right?" She tilts her head to the side, "Yes" he grins back "Perfect you're the best". She doesn't think anything of it, until 10 minutes until the first period, she notices Frank's not skating right. His edges less precise, his body unresistant to hits. She then notices the players talking between the benches, clearly gesturing to Langdon. She should tell the coach to pull him from the game immediately, but she's not sure he'd listen, she doesn't think he trusts her judgement yet (he thinks she's overly cautious). In between periods she pulls him away from the locker room into the away exam room, and does a quick cognitive assessment, but she's already put the pieces together. "Langdon, did you take the pill today?" "Yeah, I always struggled to take naps when we play the west" "Langdon, the medication you took was an Ambien" he's slurring his words, "Yeah sure okay and?" She realizes then, after pulling him from the game and babysitting him that he trusts her unconditionally, and he might be a little stupid.

It's not Mel's fault she overhears a lot of 'locker room talk'. Honestly she tries to tune most of it out lest she develop animosity towards the players she's paid to treat because they talked about this 'rocket' that 'took both of them' and how the others should 'take her for a spin'. The guys with girlfriends and wives are no more respectful she's learned, some of them -- a lot of them -- cheat, others treat it all like a game, showing off what they have, one upping each other. Frank Langdon, while more tolerable than the others, is no exception. "Cap, what do you mean you just go home and pass out after every win? I'm so keyed up after, not even going out tires me out, I go multiple rounds with Abby after it's the only thing that wear me out. I'm pretty sure she only allows me to fuck her in her sleep now because she's too tired to keep up with me". So if after the next win she corners him before he leaves the arena with 'something to help his recovery' that totally kills his libido, she's just a doctor treating symptoms that her patient expressed concern with, nothing more. So when she's seated next to the WAGs at the next team dinner (which is a sexism thing because the other doctor travelling with her is next to the coaching staff) and overhears Abby complain that Frank never seems to want to touch her anymore, she doesn't smile (too hard).

Langdon doesn't make the All Star team, he honestly doesn't want to, it's extra work for a little bit of meaningless glory (it's not the fuck stanley cup or an olympic medal, why would he care?), and he'd rather take the vacation time. When he tells Mel his plans, she's surprised to hear that instead of jetting off to the Bahamas or Mexico like some of his teammates, he's visiting Abby's family in Louisiana. He tells her that she comes from a Big Oil family, they look down on him which he thinks is ridiculous because unlike their daughter at least he has a job and it pays fucking well thank you. She gives him two unmarked bottles of pills, tells him to take one of each in the morning during his trip. She doesn't bother giving him an excuse for why he has to take them, he never seemed to care anyways. The pills themselves will be mostly harmless for him, together they might interact to make him more irritable, on edge, prone to aggression, but it's not like he's ever minded side effects before. They don't come back from All Star break broken up, but he does ask her if it's possible to return a custom ring. She's happy to help.

Abby is absent from their next travel game. Frank Langdon is decidedly not morally above his teammates. She was invited out to the bar after this win, one of the rookie's girlfriend's (Cecilia Eze) had taken a shining to her and begged her to come out (she was a college sweetheart, she had a remote job and was studying for law school on the side, she didn't dislike the other WAGs but she felt she had way more in common with Mel than them). She watches as Frank disappears into the bathroom, followed by a woman with shocking red hair. Cecilia, who never got sick while drinking (oh to be 23 again), but did easily lose her filter, giggled when she looked between the bathroom and Mel "the guys look at you sometimes yknow? Have you ever noticed there's a line up of minor issues on days you're working?" Mel furrowed her brow, she was surprised when her coworkers notes were much shorter than hers but she never thought much of it, Cecilia barrels on, "There's this stupid bet, I berated them for it btw but I think they just took a note to be more discreet around me, about who is going to get you first." Mel raised a brow, shocked, she was pretty sure, but it's not like she really tired around them, she asked "Who is in the lead?" Cecilia barks a laugh "Well for a while it was Barzy because they never see him with girls over, they're too stupid to figure out he's gay, in second was Shensy because he had the most obvious crush on you even though you can barely even stand to talk to him for longer than a minute. But now that things have gotten rocky with Abby and Langdon..." she clasps a hand over her mouth "Oh I really shouldn't be saying this, Abby's been nothing but super nice and welcoming to me. But I mean..." her eyes dart back to the single stall bathroom door "Anyways, it's not a big deal, I don't think any of them think you'd actually agree, it is funny when they take home girls that could be your carbon copy though"

Mel doesn't think she's a calculated person, she recognizes the opportunities in front of her and takes action. After a particularly grueling bag skate, Langdon approaches Mel about optimal recovery and training workouts. Naturally she suggests pilates. Frank contemplates her suggestion "I'm not like against pilates, I know it's not just like a girl thing or whatever, I've been to a couple classes with Abby" he winces at her name "they're hard, but every instructor has this annoying fucking attitude I can't stand." Mel taught pilates in undergrad, it was good extra money, fit well with her classes, and she was able to score a position at the campus gym so they were really accommodating. So she offered to workout with him, they could start with just stuff on the mat and if he liked it they could talk to the team about getting a reformer set up. She goes back and forth between pharmacology texts, research articles, and online anecdotes, when deciding whether to give him a microdose of shrooms or opiates before every session. She just wants to make sure he feels good when they're together.

It's nice this routine they start to develop, pill, pilates, and drinking smoothies while they walk his dog in the park when they're done. "My bosses are really getting on my ass for all the extra hours I spend with the team. I'm super behind on the surgeries I'm supposed to scrub in on outside of working with the team." She reveals to him one afternoon. The next day she's informed that she's been relieved from her regular duties and she will now serve as Frank Langdon's personal physician in addition to being one of the team doctors. "You didn't have to do that for me" Frank laughs "Good. Because I didn't. C'mon you have to know you're my favourite. I did this for me."

They both dress really slutty (for work out wear) and get overly handsy during these pilates classes okay! What is she supposed to do? Not slot her body between his legs and help deepen his stretch? Not bring her hands around his hips to fix his position? Avoid tilting his chin forward so he doesn't injure his neck?

Cecilia let's it slip that Abby is frustrated that Langdon is never around anymore. She's worried he's fucking his new workout partner. Mel nods along, afraid if she speaks up it will become apparent that she's the partner.

They're out in Los Angeles, it feels full circle to be at a house party hosted by her favourite Kings player with her new team. She was talking to Frank, figuring she should finally let it slip, "You probably don't remember this, but we actually met here for the first time" "Oh I could never forget that night--" she was unceremoniously dragged into playing beer pong with the host, annoyed it interrupted their conversation but as the game went on it was freeing to hang out with someone friendly and so unencumbered by the dynamics of her job. Her partner had his arm around her, going for a shot and missing, she can feel it when Langdon enters the room, eyes boring into the side of her skull. Her partner finishing chugging his beer, takes notice of him "Hey! I hear you're the guy who stole King from the Kings" she groaned, they were always saying cheesy stuff like that when she worked with them, Mel coughed on her own beer, "Uh, I don't think you guys really get a say in that." Their opponents laughed at her, "Oh Mel, when it came to you we made our voices heard. I guess some pockets were deeper than others." He gave a pointed look towards Langdon, who didn't even have the decency to look sheepish. In a haze she finishes out the game, winning despite her partner, and drags Frank towards an empty hallway. She hands him a water bottle, "drink this, it'll help your hangover". That wasn't exactly true, but she finally had him where she wanted him and she needed to stick the landing here and now, lest the moment be lost. MDMA is perfectly safe when drinking alcohol. Now she just needed to get him alone so there was no one else to touch when the effects kicked in.

He was all over her that night, but he struggled to get it up long enough to fuck her. When they were back at home she stared longingly at a bottle in her medicine cabinet she swore was her boundary, a line she'd never cross, but a girl had needs and she was tired of playing the long game. Really, it would be recreational use to give it to him unknowingly, its not like he cared about all the drugs before, never interrogated her the next day, never avoided her. Gamma-hydroxybutryic acid was just a scary name for a little guaranteed fun.

When the league drug testers come around by surprise she swaps his sample with her own.

[bullet-prooflove]

Your Shawnstown idea: yessss! The ultimate cross over. I love all of your ideas for this and am already building on them in my head haha.

Pope getting a fresh start away from the stigma of his family. Falling in love and not needing to worry about Smurf driving his love interest away. Maybe (long shot since he's a felon) he somehow gets custody of Lena. Shows up to a town meeting to voice his support for Sammy's new skatepark idea at the outdoor center and the entire is town is like 'oh this guy can actually speak?'

Jack as SAR getting to find peace in nature! Love under the stars!

I love Sammy no matter what he does. He could work stocking shelves at the grocery store and I'd still follow his story. He's totally over being a cop. No interest in rejoining the force. But also constantly critiquing the way Charlie Reid runs things and so annoyed whenever he needs to interact with the police. Not enemies per say but maybe a touch of professional animosity. Baby Nate growing up in the safe embrace of Shawnstown. Much easier place to be a single parent than LA. He also gets super into the outdoor center and maybe runs an Outward Bound-style camp every summer where inner city kids get to spend time in nature.

Mayor Emerson knows he's hated by most of the town but dammit, these cuts need to happen now or else it will only get worse next year. Excel spreadsheets and QuickBooks have never been so sexy.

Your town is full enough as is, but an unwritten background character in my mind is Stan, the high school football coach, who refuses to ever talk about his own experience in a high school he left far behind (always hard to make Stan happen as an adult because how does one incorporate a canon alien invasion into a fic world.)

Anyway, this is all to say that I super excited to read whatever you write for this idea!

So I’m thinking one town, five stories.

I don’t think we can do Lena especially if he disappeared under a new ID but babe I am fucking loving the skatepark idea. I can see that being the way he starts to get back into the community, helping to build it with Sammy, they kinda become friends.

I imagine for Jack being under the stars was the only place he felt at peace when he was abroad and he missed the vastness of being able to see them when he came back hence why he left the city for somewhere more rural.

Sammy’s completely done with cop life, wants to raise his kid somewhere less dangerous so moves to Shawnstown after winning custody from Tammi. << Also reader is well going to make fun of Sammy/Tammi as couple name. I can defo see him running summer camp activities and little Nate in a tiny lifejacket. They love going out on the water together first thing in the morning or last thing at night.

I could defo see him and Charlie being at odds esp during council meetings and esp over the funding being cut, esp if the bankruptcy isn’t known on a pubic level.

Hahah Mayor Emerson I can see being a bit enemies to lovers. She’s a city girl in heels and he’s like, you aren’t gonna last a minute here with those. She’s ruthless with the cuts and he’s always arguing ‘no, this is needed’ and they have to keep coming to compromises and discussing harsh truths.

I nearly spat my fucking tea out at Stan and The Faculty reference. His dad was the town nutter who was always convinced his family had been taken by aliens, the reality is his mom left with the kids because he was always doing mushrooms in the woods. Stan returns after going pro for a few years and messing up his knee, he’s employed as coach like the fella in Sweet Magnolias.

I just wish his name wasn’t Stan, maybe he comes back as Lee Rosado, like the Lee part of Stanley because it rang better when he was going pro.

[radioactivatedspider]

Still Breathing

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Pairings; Dean Winchester x sister!reader, Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Genre; Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family Bond

Warnings; Injury, near-death experience, protective brothers, mild language

Summary: A hunt gone wrong nearly takes their little sister from them. Now, Dean and Sam are struggling to cope—and trying (and failing) to hide how often they check to make sure she's still breathing.

Requested: Could you please do a Dean and Sam x sister reader (but she’s closer to dean) where she’s around 16 or 17 and a hunt goes wrong and she almost dies but in the weeks after she starts to realize the boys are always like making sure she’s breathing and checking her pulse just to reassure themselves she’s still alive but they’ll do it thinking they’re sneaky but she notices

582 words

You don’t remember much after the impact—just cold ground, the weight of rubble, and Dean’s voice breaking.

The medics said it was a miracle. A few inches to the right, and the concrete beam that crushed you would’ve snapped your spine. Instead, you walked away with broken ribs, a concussion, and a fractured arm. You were lucky.

Dean hasn’t said the word lucky once.

Neither has Sam.

At first, you thought you were imagining things.

The way Sam lingered longer in the doorway than usual, even after he’d brought you water or checked your bandages. Or how Dean, who always made a show of hating hospital visits, refused to leave your side for three days straight—sleeping in a chair with his boot propped up, watching your heart monitor like it owed him answers.

Then it followed you home.

At the bunker, the energy was… off. Smothering.

You’d wake up and find Dean already sitting in the chair beside your bed. He’d play it cool—say he was just up early, couldn’t sleep. But sometimes, you’d feel the tips of his fingers brush your wrist before he pulled away like he’d touched a hot stove. And every time you coughed or winced, Sam would appear from around the corner, trying way too hard to act casual, like he wasn’t already halfway through a panic spiral.

You weren’t supposed to notice. That was the point.

But you did.

Two weeks later, you’re on the couch with a blanket over your legs and your arm in a sling, flipping through a book, when it happens again.

Dean walks past you with a bowl of popcorn—“Movie night?” he offers—and as he hands it over, you feel the barely-there tap of two fingers against the inside of your wrist.

Pulse check.

You look up at him. His face doesn’t flinch. He even smirks a little.

But it’s fake.

“I’m not gonna die,” you mutter.

Dean stiffens slightly, popcorn bowl in hand. “Didn’t say you were.”

“You checked my pulse, like, five minutes ago.”

He doesn’t deny it.

From the hallway, Sam walks in and freezes mid-step. He’s holding a water bottle and a book and wearing the same guilty older brother caught eavesdropping face he’s worn all week.

“Is this… about the wrist thing?” Sam asks.

Dean sighs.

You glance between them and say, softer this time, “You both keep doing it. Thinking I’m asleep. Or distracted. I know you mean well, but… I’m okay now.”

Dean rubs a hand down his face. “Yeah, well. You weren’t okay. And we’ve seen a lot of people go down, kid. We just… can’t unsee that.”

You see it now—underneath the smirks and soft jokes and lame action movies: fear. The kind that lingers, haunts.

Sam sits on the arm of the couch and gently sets the water beside you. “I didn’t sleep the night it happened. Neither did Dean. We just kept… listening. Making sure you were breathing.”

“I’m not trying to be annoying,” Dean says quietly. “It’s just… sometimes I need to know, okay? Just need to feel it. That you’re still here.”

You reach out with your uninjured arm and wrap your fingers around Dean’s hand.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I promise.”

He squeezes your hand, eyes glassy. Sam leans over and kisses the top of your head like he used to when you were ten and scared of ghosts under the bed.

For the first time in weeks, no one checks your pulse.

They just hold on.

Taglist: @globetrotter28 @adrienneleclerc @multiversefanfics @smoothdogsgirl @deansbbyx @star-yawnznn @eagerlycyberchaos

[ask-outside-stars]

Bro, I can just see Ford being right by his husband's side while he gives birth, holding his hand and comforting him the best he can. I've been thinking about this for the longest time. I love them. They're so adorable... AGH AND I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE SEQUEL! I'm so HYPED for it!! But the real question is do you think they'd possibly want more than just 1 or 2 kids? They can barely keep their hands off each other.. I'm not sure you never know with these two lovebirds lol

Oh they DEFINITELY intend to have as many kids as they can get away with. Ford enjoys the idea of having little ones to teach and educate about the wonders of the world around them, and Will likes knowing that he won't be the last Euclydian anymore. Plus, they're just suckers for their little ones.

(Spoilers below the cut. CW for depictions of labor. Please keep in mind that this scene is fairly late in the fic and may be subject to change as editing starts.)

All around Will alarms blared as he staggered down the bright white corridor, clutching his abdomen with one hand while supporting himself against the wall with the other.

“You two picked a real bad time to do this, ya know?” he growled through gritted teeth. “You couldn’t have waited, I dunno, another 24 hours or something?”

Another contraction hit and he doubled over from the force of it, nearly dropping to his knees. Once it passed he was up and walking again, but each step felt like it was being made through waist-deep water. The floor in front of him swam in his vision, but he couldn’t pass out. Not yet. Not until he got to the teleportation pad.

Even over the howling of the alarms, he could hear footsteps rapidly approaching. His eyes darted around, looking for a place to hide, but there were no doors to duck into and no furniture to hide behind. With a desperate whine, he used a little more of his energy to ignite his hands in blue fire as he staggered upright, despite the weight around his midsection threatening to drag him to the floor with every breath. Whoever was coming around that corner better be ready for a fight…

But the man who skidded into view wasn’t a doctor or a patient, despite the stolen lab coat. The man’s eyes were wide, manic, and desperately searching. When they landed on Will, they softened and the man’s entire body seemed to slump with relief.

“William!”

At the oh-so-familiar call of his name, Will let the flames extinguish from his hands and he sobbed out, “Ford!”

He was safe! His Sixer was here! Everything was going to be okay! Will gave a feeble cry of relief and pitched forward, nearly collapsing. Ford was quicker on the draw, however, and caught him under his arms before lowering the two of them to the floor with Will’s back propped against the wall. “It’s alright, William. I’m here.”

“You- you actually came,” Will sniffled, not bothering to hold back the tears that finally burst their confines and spilled down his face. “What- what happened to your hair?”

He reached up with shaky fingers to fiddle with a rich, brown curl but Ford caught the hand and pressed a desperate kiss to the palm.

“I’ll explain once we get out of here. Come on.”

Will went to stand, but cried out in pain as a contraction swept through him. His whole body felt like it had locked up into a knot of pure agony and he could barely force out more than a simple sound of pain. Immediately Ford’s hands were on his stomach. “What is it? Is it the girls?”

“Yeah, they’re coming,” groaned Will once the contraction passed. He slumped, exhausted, against the wall. Every single one just left him feeling more and more drained than the last. He didn’t want to think about where he’d be if Ford hadn’t found him in time.

“Okay, how far along are you?” Ford asked, his voice calm and measured even as his hands and eyes refused to be still.

“Don’t know. But it hasn’t been long. Maybe an hour?” Will winced.

“That’s good. We still have time, then. Can you stand?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Will hated how weak and afraid he sounded to his own ears. It was embarrassing, sitting on the floor like a drunkard and unable to even stand beneath the crushing pressure of his own body’s exhaustion and betrayal. And labor was only going to get worse from there. He needed to get out before he couldn’t move at all.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Just hold onto me.”

With the thought of his children being born in some overly sterile bone-white Theraprism corridor, Will clasped Ford’s arms and dug his fingers into the muscle. He grit his teeth hard enough that his jaw muscle ached from the force of it as, with agonizing slowness, the two of them rose to their feet. Once he was actually upright, he found it easier to move.

“Okay. Okay. I think we can go. Do you know the way out?” Will panted.

“Yes, and let me worry about getting you there. Just focus on breathing and staying awake,” Ford urged as they slowly began walking down the hallway back in the direction Ford had come from.

“But what about the guards?” Will whimpered.

The answering smile he received was unnervingly smug. “Stanley’s taking care of that.”

As if on cue, there came a deafening boom from somewhere deep within the facility and the lights flickered overhead. Will gaped in astonishment. “Fez is here?”

“Of course. His exact words were ‘just try and keep me away’.”

Will shook his head and gave a defeated, exhausted chuckle of fondness. “I shoulda known.”

[heraldofhope]

on another note I hate realm public test I take NOTHING but Ls. I got my mace last night and it was all downhill from there

[demarogue]

Gettin' Through the Holidays Mental Health Tricks

If y'all are anything like me, this time of year is triggering AF. Here are some small, very easy grounding exercises that I was taught by my therapist, basically in order of how much I like them for this rage-inducing season. You make like them in a different order, depending on your rage-to-despair ratio.

Push a wall: literally go up to a wall and try to push it over. Really try. I promise you won't push it over, but give it your best shot. Try to hold it as long as you can, and then take a breather and assess whether you need to repeat. Why it works: This is a quick, physical expulsion of the fight-or-flight feeling. It's a bit like punching a wall, but without the potential to hurt yourself/look scary/damage things. You can even do it in front of people and say you're stretching, they'll never know (unless the wall actually falls down, but this will not happen, I assure you).

Shake like a dog: Animals shake to release stress, and you are also an animal. Setting aside time to just shake it out, as vigorously as you can, arms and legs, face, stick your tongue out, pretend you're shaking like a wet dog. You can dance instead, if that feels better, and you can do this to music, but basically the more unhinged you can be, the better. If you are in a place you can scream, scream too! Why it works: like the above, this is a release of pent-up stress and anxiety. Especially if your rage-to-woe ratio is high, some kind of physical exertion is often the best way to burn through the cortisol and adrenaline you're building up.

Bilateral Tapping: Cross your arms over your chest so that your fingertips are at your shoulders, and slowly tap, one hand at a time, back and forth, for about a minute. Breathe slowly. Why it works: This is weird as hell, but because this engages both sides of your brain, it helps override the activity of the amygdala, which is the part of your brain that Makes The Fear. If you're being literally triggered in a situation, i.e. you're having a trauma response, or reliving some family trauma, this is a good one.

Box Breathing: From a comfortable position (can really be seated, laying down or standing), inhale slowly for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, exhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, then repeat. You can do it for shorter counts or longer counts, but if you vary the counts make sure the exhale is longer than the inhale. You can close your eyes or leave them open. Why it works: This exercise helps you move from a sympathetic (activated) nervous system response to a parasympathetic (balanced) response. I do this one every day, and it's a good gateway to meditation. Especially helpful in anxious or tense situations, but I find if I'm very triggered I need one of the other ones first, or it can make anxiety worse. Breathwork is amazing but not usually as a first exercise if you're very activated, or have been activated a long time.

Ice: Lots of ways to do this one – hands in cold water for 30 seconds, ice pack on the back of your neck, dip your entire face into a bowl of ice water (this one's the most effective). Why it works: I kinda think this is hilarious, but this activates your mammalian dive reflex. It immediately slows your heart-rate, so if you are feeling your blood pressure and heart rate rising, this one is very good. The only reason this one's at the bottom of my list is because I hate being cold.

I wish you all a very get-through-the-holidays-without-hurting-yourself. Take time alone if you need it.

[syluses]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”

[tbaluver]

Seeing You In A Bikini- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb summary: seeing you in a bikini ( the first time implied ) + slight mentions of a day at the beach with them genre: suggestive, corny, slight fluff, silly a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i hope you all are at least having a happy summer ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) pls make sure to stay hydrated and wear sunscreen wheneva you go out! anyways enjoy reading this short! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

do not ask him the color of anything, nothing. 

The moment you slip out of your clothes and reveal your bikini, his breath hitches, his attention locks onto you completely. The way the fabric hugs your curves, the way your skin glows under the sun, and how the breeze plays with your hair, has him completely stunned. The image of you is burned to the back of his head that he didn’t even realize most of his snacks were stolen by the seagulls

Luckily he’ll have his snack (meal) when he gets home with you

He hates the idea of people seeing you in a bikini because nobody deserves to see you like that or in general. If it happens that the beach did get full and people did look your way, he would not hesitate and flash bang them with his evol and casually walk away.

Zayne:

You could always make this snowman melt without even trying

A soft smile tugs at his lips as his eyes trace every dip and curve of your body. He’s absolutely stunned by your beauty that he doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring without saying anything. When you call out his name for the third time, he coughs awkwardly and glances away, his ears bright red and his glasses slightly fogged.

Feels somewhat guilty that his eyes keep trailing back down. It's like his eyes can't seem to control themselves today

Zayne would help you apply sunscreen to every spot of exposed skin, all while reminding you how important it is to protect your skin but more so to distract what’s happening on the lower half of his body

He isn’t the type to go fully shirtless but he’ll casually unbutton a few buttons and roll up his sleeves and pants to dip into the water with you. And if you ever want to cover up, he’ll quickly offer his button up to you or most likely, he keeps an extra packed just in case

Rafayel:

forget the sandcastles and collecting sea shells. you two are repopulating lemuria and it’s even better if it was in the water

as always he thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s seen on land and on sea.

The moment you slip out of your clothes and reveal your bikini, his breath hitches. His eyes widen, taking you all in before that familiar smile of his appears, accompanied with a playful head tilt.

Compliments would be thrown left and right the entire day whether it were through his words or through his actions. He’ll reach out to you, drawing you close so he can twirl you slowly, admiring his cutie in all angles.

Most definitely will ask for you to model or pose near the water or anywhere near the beach so he can keep the moment of his breathtaking bride by the sea

Sylus:

Sylus was never a fan of the beach. It was too bright with little to no shade, making him irritated. But because you wanted to go, he was willing to make an exception.

He sat patiently under the umbrella, phone in hand, until the moment you started slipping out of your clothes. His eyes flicked up instantly, his piercing gaze roam over your body, taking in how perfectly the bikini hugged every curve.

He fails to hide that devilish smirk that tugs at his lips. You looked absolutely divine that he needs to take just a closer look. And maybe have you sit on his lap for a while and help fix that tent forming in his shorts

Maybe, just maybe, he’d start making more exceptions for beach days. Or better yet, buy a private area just so he can enjoy this beautiful view all to himself

Caleb:

KABOOOM

another explosion happened but this time it’s in his pants. hopefully the water can clean him up or maybe you

Caleb cannot keep his eyes and hands off you. Whether he’s lifting you up and dipping you both into the water, or splashing big waves your way with a mischievous grin, his gaze stays on you for a while. Every curve and dip of your body in that bikini has him completely captivated. The combination of your laughter and the water making your skin glisten was everything to him.

Hates the idea of people staring at you for so long and the idea of you being uncomfortable so of course he opts out for a either a secluded area on the beach or even better a private island that he can fly to

Also insists on helping you wipe off your sandy cheeks which was totally his fault and definitely on purpose when you two were building sand castles

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ beta read by @ilovemitsuya MWAH ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others places you can find me:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but idk how to use it or interact with people )

[4linos]

even if it’s a secret.

bang chan x manager!reader

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

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

wc: 15,450

[even if it’s a secret part 2]

You knew better.

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

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

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

You didn’t know when it shifted.

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

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

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

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

But the cracks began to show.

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

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

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

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

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

You turned. “You okay?”

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

You blinked. “Doing what?”

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

“Chan…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I love you.”

You closed your eyes.

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

The silence stretched between you like a wound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then we face it together.”

You wanted to believe him. Desperately.

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t.”

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

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

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

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

And you broke.

You kissed him.

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

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

His eyes widened slightly. “Okay?”

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

“We’ll talk about it,” he promised.

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

Because that’s all you could do.

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

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

-

The first few days were strange.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You answered quickly but softly. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if his texts came with little sad faces sometimes.

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

And you’d whisper back, “Never.”

During the day, it was like nothing had changed.

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

It was in the glances.

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

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

It was unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a long silence after that.

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

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

You swallowed hard. “Me too.”

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

You didn’t reply.

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

“What part?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful. Blinding.

And impossible to keep forever.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even look through the peephole.

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

And nearly dropped the towel in your hands.

Because it was him.

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

Mischievous. Slightly smug. And breathtakingly beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer.

Not with words, at least.

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

Your breath caught in your throat.

The world tilted.

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

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

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep.”

“And how reckless.”

“Totally.”

You groaned again. “Chan—”

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

You stared at him.

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

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

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

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

Your stomach dropped.

He wasn’t serious. You knew that.

But the second he said it, you panicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. “Fine. You can stay.”

He gave a little celebratory bounce in place.

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

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

“And if anyone finds out about this—”

“They won’t.”

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

“I was born to help in kitchens.”

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

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

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

You glanced at him, heart suddenly thudding again.

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

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

He didn’t need you to say anything.

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

Not tonight.

Tonight, he was yours.

-

Dinner passed in a haze of warmth and light laughter.

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

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

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

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

You hadn’t invited him to sit so close.

He just did.

And you didn’t stop him.

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

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

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

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

“It is to me.”

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

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

You tensed just slightly.

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

“Chan…”

He looked down at you, eyes curious.

You gave a quiet sigh. “You can’t.”

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

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

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

He said it without bitterness. Just acceptance.

But it still stung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

Your smile vanished instantly.

“No,” you said, too fast, too firmly.

His eyes searched your face. “Not ever?”

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

He frowned. “Why not?”

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

He stayed quiet, letting you speak.

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

You wrapped your arms around your knees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hit your chest like something physical.

You blinked slowly, biting the inside of your cheek.

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

But the truth hung heavy in the room.

You couldn’t have that.

Not openly. Not safely.

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

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

He just held you a little tighter.

The room got quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until something shifted.

A breath. A heartbeat. A blink too long.

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

He inhaled sharply.

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

You didn’t look at him right away.

But then you felt it.

A hand sliding slowly from your waist to your hip.

Careful. Deliberate. Barely there.

Your breath caught in your throat.

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

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

Because something had changed.

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

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

It would’ve been so easy to pull away.

You should’ve pulled away.

But you didn’t.

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

Just want.

Just need.

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

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

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

It was still a kiss.

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

And then he whispered your name.

Soft. Reverent.

You kissed him again.

Deeper.

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

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

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

“I know,” he murmured.

But neither of you moved.

Because stopping felt impossible.

Because stopping meant going back to pretending.

And pretending hurt more than this ever could.

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

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

The silence between you was thick.

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

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

His gaze searched yours, slow and careful.

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

“I know.”

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

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

His lips quirked into a faint, sad smile.

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

You nodded, eyes stinging.

He kissed your forehead, slow and lingering.

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

It wasn’t the moment either of you planned.

But it was real.

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

-

The night blurred into stillness.

Neither of you planned to fall asleep.

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

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

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

And then… morning.

It wasn’t the sun that woke you.

It was the buzz.

Shrill. Relentless.

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

The buzzing didn’t stop.

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

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

Minji (Team SKZ).

Shit.

You sat bolt upright.

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

You answered the call before checking.

“Hello—?”

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

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

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

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

Your breath hitched. “I—uh—what?”

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

You froze, throat closing.

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

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

The line went dead.

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

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

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll leave first.”

“There’s no time—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turned to him, chest aching.

“I can’t lose this job.”

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

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

“Hey.”

You paused, heart still racing.

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

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

You didn’t smile back.

You just nodded and walked away.

-

You made it in twenty-two minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

You turned quickly, scanning the room.

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

No Chan.

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

Ten minutes passed.

Exactly ten.

And then, the salon door opened.

You looked up before you could stop yourself.

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

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

It was perfect. Effortless.

No one questioned him.

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

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

You turned away before your expression gave too much away.

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

Your phone buzzed in your hand a moment later.


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

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


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

A beat passed.

Your phone lit up again.


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

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

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

“Hey, Y/N?”

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

“Yeah?” you asked, pocketing your phone.

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

Right. Work.

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

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

“Thanks, Seungmin.”

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

But he didn’t say anything else.

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

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

Eventually, another buzz.

You checked when no one was looking.

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

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

This couldn’t keep happening.

You knew that.

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

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

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

And that made pretending feel so much heavier.

So much harder.

So much more dangerous.

-

The hours blurred.

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

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

And he wasn’t helping.

He was being good, technically.

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

But you noticed everything.

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

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

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

You were watching.

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

You kept telling yourself you had it under control.

But you didn’t.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


you: don’t push your luck.

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

But your feet didn’t turn that way.

They led you to the third floor.

To the rehearsal room.

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

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

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

Something grateful.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

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

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

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

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

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

It felt anything but safe.

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

You spoke before you could stop yourself.

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

He turned his head slightly. “I know.”

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

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

But he didn’t look away.

You did.

There was a long pause.

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

“But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

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

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

You sighed, leaning your head back against the mirror.

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

“Because it is.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

“I know.”

The silence hung heavy.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

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

“I have to go,” you murmured.

He didn’t ask you to stay.

Just nodded, watching you like you might disappear entirely.

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

chan: you’re my favorite risk.

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

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

You had both been doing well.

Better than you thought either of you would, actually.

Subtle, quiet, careful.

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

To anyone else, nothing had changed.

But to you? Everything had.

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

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

But you couldn’t stop walking it.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

You took the elevator up to the familiar floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes, though your heart stuttered.

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you let yourself fold, just a little.

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

“Chan—”

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t have time to argue.

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

And then..

Click.

The door opened.

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

“Chan, you left your—oh.”

The world froze.

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

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

All three of you were completely still.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

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

“…Seriously?”

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

“Guys—listen—”

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

“Jisung—”

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitched.

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“And dragging her into it?”

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

That made Minho pause.

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

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

And then he followed.

The door clicked shut.

The studio fell silent again.

Chan turned to you slowly.

Your whole body was shaking.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

You stared at the door.

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

“I know.”

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

“I know.”

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

You didn’t step into his arms.

Not this time.

The silence after the door closed felt like a scream.

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

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

But it had.

They had.

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

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

You swallowed hard.

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

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

You shook your head.

“Don’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Don’t what?”

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

He froze mid-step. “You’re… mad.”

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

He blinked.

You took a step back.

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

“I know you did.”

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

He flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

That stopped him cold.

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

You turned away, blinking rapidly.

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

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

You didn’t answer.

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

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

Silence again.

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

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

You didn’t sob. Didn’t make a sound.

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

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

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

His face fell.

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

His shoulders slumped.

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

He just nodded.

“Okay,” he said, barely audible.

You hesitated by the door, hand on the knob.

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

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

But you couldn’t afford to be selfish anymore.

So, you left.

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

-

It had only been a day.

Just twenty-four hours.

But it felt like a week.

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

You didn’t answer his morning text either.

He kept it simple.


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

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

At work, you avoided looking at him.

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

And it killed you.

Because he noticed.

He noticed everything.

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

Until he couldn’t anymore.

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

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

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

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

You looked away again. “I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

“Not even to me?”

That hurt.

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

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

You blinked. Slowly.

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

You looked up sharply, breath catching in your throat.

“You told them?”

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

Your heart skipped. Your stomach sank.

“Chan…”

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

“Protect us?”

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

You blinked again, trying to make sense of it.

“They’re not mad?” you asked quietly.

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

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

Chan noticed. And his shoulders relaxed just a little.

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

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

You looked up at him.

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

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

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

His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

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

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

Your heart clenched.

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

“I missed you too.”

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

“Ughhhhh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chan could only groan in response.

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal,” Chan agreed.

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

And maybe that was enough for now.

Nine months.

That’s how long it had been.

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

You were proud of how careful you’d been.

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

Like now.

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

You tried not to look too often.

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

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

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

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

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

You choked.

Literally choked.

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

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

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

But you could feel his eyes on you.

Not just his.

Minho. Jisung.

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

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

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

Your heart dropped.

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

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

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

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

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

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

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

You swallowed hard.

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

There. That was safe. That was believable.

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

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

But the damage had already been done.

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

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

You broke eye contact first.

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

But it still felt like you’d betrayed something.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re both fired,” you muttered.

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

You sighed.

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

It was late now.

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

You had stayed behind.

So had Chan.

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

Except it was.

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

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

And then, his voice broke it.

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

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

Your body stilled.

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

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

Your heart thudded.

You swallowed. “Chan—”

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

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

“You always have a choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded slowly.

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

“I know,” you murmured.

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

That made your heart pause.

“Scared of what?” you whispered.

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

Your breath hitched.

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

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

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

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

You could feel it. Beating fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Each other.

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

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

“I do have a boyfriend,” you mumbled.

He smiled against your hair.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

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

Chan laughed softly.

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

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

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

-

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

You told yourselves it was working.

And maybe it was.

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

It began with a scheduling change.

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

You tried not to overthink it.

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

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

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

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

But then—

“They’re watching you.”

The words came from Minho.

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, throat tightening.

“I thought she was just—”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll talk to him,” you said quietly.

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

You nodded back. “I always am.”

But were you?

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

“They’re watching you.”

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

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

So, instead of telling him, you just texted:

“Can you come over? I need to talk.”

You didn't expect him to answer so quickly.

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

He replied within seconds.

“Be there in 20.”

He was earlier than that.

And you knew why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was the moment.

The one where the dam broke.

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

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

//

masterlist.

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

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

[moved-to-slayfk]

posting here because this just doesn’t feel right to talk about in the horseimagebarn voice but this is extremely important to talk about.

my partner and i have returned to our hometown to stay with her family and my own has gotten a hotel here too (they moved to the town we currently live in after we did) so we are all safe and out of the thick of it

however there are tens of thousands of people who are not both in my own town and in the many surrounding it. appalachia will take an extremely long time to recover from this and there are more storms on the way. all i see on social media right now is people asking for shelter because their homes have been destroyed, or people asking for help searching for family members who are missing. hundreds of trees have fallen. hundreds of homes have flooded. roads are literally falling apart. preexisting sinkholes due to shitty pipes are opening up and consuming land. dams are on the verge of bursting and the only way to stop it is to release water so quickly it floods whole towns. all but one of our cell towers are down, so only people with at&t have service and the rest can’t contact anyone. over half the town still doesn’t have power. a major water supply issue occurred and the entire town is on a water boil order with no electricity to boil with. people are trapped in their homes and workplaces or out on the street because they have nowhere to go. law enforcement is blocking off roads but trapping people in the process. people have to be rescued by helicopter. our animal shelter has no water or power and boarding facilities have been flooded. entire villages like chimney rock nc are gone, and entire cities like asheville are cut off from the rest of the state and are completely inaccessible. ALL OF THE ROADS IN WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA ARE CLOSED. 400+ roads are closed because they are unsafe . that is INSANE!!!

when people say that climate change isn’t real, they don’t know what they’re talking about. climate change and its father capitalism are only going to continue to worsen lives in every way possible. i live in the mountains and our infrastructure is completely unprepared to handle hurricanes and it’s only going to get worse. it’s such a strange and eye-opening experience to live something like this when you think that it could never happen to you because that type of weather shouldn’t reach you in your environment. climate change doesn’t care where you live. it’s real.

western north carolina and the rest of the southeast that has been hit by helene need help. more people need to be talking about this so that the government DOES SOMETHING because the government historically fucking hates appalachia and it still does!!! the major state institution near me took DAYS to respond despite being the only place in town with power and wifi connection because they had to wait for the state to approve their response—they could have allowed thousands of people to evacuate days prior to the hurricane hitting us but they didn’t do anything before or after until it was too late!!! it’s bullshit!!! PLEASE get talking about this because something has to be done. climate change is going to continue happening and our mountains and the people in them are going to suffer immensely. hundreds if not thousands are now homeless. please talk about this look at the footage online of the wreckage and look how quickly our infrastructure crumbled. we need better. the people of appalachia deserve better.

i’ll get back to posting horses soon. but for now this is a lot. my friends are homeless and my family had to get off the mountain or be trapped there without power and water for days. we’re all safe but exhausted. i hope everyone who has been affected by this is staying safe. if you are in western nc, dm me. when i come back, if you’re in my area, im happy to bring supplies. stay safe everyone

[drdemonprince]

any advice for coping with being on the receiving end of a public callout ?

Oh yes:

Do not acknowledge the callout publicly. It will only further its spread, lend it legitimacy, cause you to be interpreted as guilty, and convey to anyone who bears you ill will that you are rattled and feeling socially threatened.

Do not act out of urgency. One of the ways that cancelled people get themselves in far worse trouble is by spiraling due to anxiety and rushing to issue a statement about what has happened, or to attempt to socially manage public impressions about what has happened. Do not do this. Anything that you say will be picked apart and used against you. The situation is truly not as urgent as it might feel. A lot of times, doing nothing and being quiet is the best way to proceed, and the dust will settle better if you do.

Do not issue a public apology. If you truly feel that you have wronged someone, that conflict should be worked out in private with the people you have directly affected. You do not owe the anonymous public audience a damn thing. Do not apologize for something you don't honestly believe that you have done wrong. Take time and really think about what happened, and seek the counsel of people whom you trust in PRIVATE.

Do not attempt to disprove the callout unless you have crystal clear, smoking gun evidence that the person who accused you is actually victimizing you. And even then, probably don't do it. I have only seen a disproof of a callout work ONCE, and that was when Juniper Abernathy revealed the person cancelling her had been abusing her. Even if the facts are on your side, acknowledging the accusations will only make more people aware of them, give your detractors ground to criticize your every word, and will muddy the waters and make people find the situation confusing and troubling rather than clear.

GET THE FUCK OFFLINE. Delete your social media apps for the time being. Turn off notifications. Turn off DMs requests. Change your settings so that you only ever hear from people you already follow (I do this, on the advice of Philosophy Tube). Get away from the computer.

Connect with IRL friends. When you're wrapped up in a cancellation, the negative opinions of a handful of foaming at the mouth freaks loom way larger than they actually are. And social media dramatically skews our sense of social priorities such that the approval rating of complete strangers starts to seem more important than people we actually know, and trust, and who actually know us. Go get a meal with a buddy. Watch a dumb movie. Talk to your grandma about her plans for her garden. Surround yourself with real people you care about and focus on their life and problems, to help put things in perspective.

Find distracting, active, rewarding activities that bring you out of the digital space and into physical reality. Not everyone is talking about you, not everybody hates you, most people have no fucking clue what has been said about you, and most people do not give a fuck about you (that's good). There are so many areas of life that are completely fucking untouched by what a bunch of social media power users have to say online. Go volunteer to clean up a park, run some errands, take an exercise class, foster a dog, regrout your bathroom, knit a hat. Even if the worst case scenario happens and a cancellation sticks, it's really only among a certain very vocal group of miserable fucking people. There is a whole world around you that will not ever care, and you will have a life outside of this.

Good luck!!

[kathaelipwse]

The Bang Chan Husband Files | Headcanons

Warnings: Soft!Chan | Domestic fluff | Mild smut references | Overwhelming emotional support | Possible delusions of the perfect man | MDNI Trope: Husband Material™ | Soft Dom!Chan | Acts of Service + Touch Love Language | Overprotective but Gentle | Golden Retriever x Guard Dog hybrid energy

Dates

Thoughtful to the Core: Bang Chan doesn’t just take you on dates—he curates experiences. A picnic with your favorite snacks, a playlist he made just for the mood, fairy lights, and heartfelt conversation is his idea of perfect. Quality Time Lover: He values genuine connection. Watching your favorite movies with takeout and tangled limbs on the couch is his love language. Memory Maker: Keeps old movie tickets, dried flowers, and Polaroids in a memory box. Every anniversary, he shows you how far you’ve come. Surprise Artist: Plans spontaneous bookstore or museum dates where he pretends to be clueless but clearly researched the exhibits beforehand. Homebody at Heart (But For You, He’ll Step Out): Prefers quiet moments at home, but if you want a night out, he puts in effort—clean button-up, styled hair, hand always in yours. Says the Cutest Things: On casual dates, he’ll blurt things like: “I could do this forever with you. This—us.”

Protective

Silent Guardian Energy: He doesn’t need to say much—his stance, his gaze, and the way he subtly moves closer when someone makes you uncomfortable say it all. The “Step-Forward” Move: Whenever you're walking in a crowded place, he gently shifts his body in front of you to shield you, especially from pushy people or stares. Mild Jealousy, Major Control: If someone flirts, he won’t cause a scene. Just leans down and whispers, “Remind me later that you’re mine, yeah?” with that low, playful voice. Always Prepared: Makes you share your location for your safety, and if you don’t respond after a while, he calls—not to scold, but because he’s scared something happened. Protects You From Yourself Too: If you’re overthinking, insecure, or spiraling, he’ll stop everything and say, “You don’t get to talk about someone I love like that.” Gentle Shield: When things overwhelm you, he wraps his arms around you and says, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Love Language: Acts of Service + Physical Touch

Acts of Service King: He notices the little things you hate doing—laundry, trash, bills—and does them before you can even ask. Fix-It Husband™: Will spend hours figuring out how to assemble something just to make your life easier. You’re always his priority. Can’t Keep His Hands to Himself: Always touching you—thigh squeezes, back rubs while you're cooking, brushing hair from your face. Sleeping Entangled: You wake up with his legs wrapped around yours, his face buried in your neck, and arms locked around your waist. Small, Sweet Gestures: Tucks your hair behind your ear, zips your dress, ties your laces, and kisses your temple like second nature. Handwritten Notes Guy: Leaves sticky notes in your lunch, on your laptop, on the mirror— “You’re stronger than you feel.” “Drink water or I’ll fight you.”

In Fights

When He’s Wrong: Withdraws Out of Guilt: Becomes quiet, not defensive. Hates that he hurt you, even unintentionally. Self-Reflects First: Gives you space so he can cool down, then comes back with a calm, genuine apology. Full Accountability: “You didn’t deserve that. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll do better, I promise.” Physical Apology: Offers a hug—not to escape consequences, but because he needs to feel close while fixing things. Words + Actions: Follows through on change. If the fight was about time, he makes time. If it was about communication, he listens better. Won’t Let You Go to Bed Upset: Even if it’s late, he’ll sit beside you, pinky out, whispering, “I love you. Let’s not sleep angry.” When You’re Wrong: Stays Calm: Doesn’t raise his voice. Just gets quiet and sad, which somehow hurts more. Still Respects You: Doesn’t insult or belittle. Instead, he says things like, “You know I love you, right? But that wasn’t okay.” Clear Boundaries: Tells you how it affected him—but never guilt-trips you. Waits for Your Growth: Won’t rush your apology but also won’t pretend nothing happened. Mature and grounded. Forgives Fully: Once it’s resolved, he doesn’t bring it up again. The past stays in the past. Reaffirms Love: Even in tension, you’ll hear: “I’m still yours. We’re okay, alright?”

Overworking

Workaholic Habits: Gets lost in producing, mixing, fixing—time vanishes until you show up like: “Chris. Have you eaten?” You = His Break Reminder: You have to pry him away with kisses or a snack in your hand, and he’ll act grumpy but follow you. Acts Tough, Is Mush: Once you get him on the couch, he immediately melts into you. Whispers, “You’re the only thing that can stop me, you know that?” When YOU Overwork: He notices. Instantly. Pulls you onto his lap, shuts your laptop, and tells you: “You can’t take care of everything if you burn out. Let me take care of you now.” Midnight Caregiver: If you’re working late, he’ll show up with a drink and rub your shoulders until you give in. Reluctantly Accepts Balance: Tries hard to make time for both his passion and you—because he knows you are his home.

Hypeman

Loudest Cheerleader: Doesn’t matter if you baked bread or landed a promotion—he hypes you like you just won an Oscar. Physical Praise Too: Sees you all dressed up and nearly drops whatever he’s holding: “You can’t be real. I married a goddess.” Social Media Stan: Posts blurry selfies with captions like: “She made me breakfast today. Wife material. Don’t be jealous.” Random Affection Attacks: Walks in, sees you doing dishes, and just hugs you from behind saying, “How are you so amazing all the time?” Annoyingly Obsessed (In the Best Way): Constantly brags about you to the members, staff, strangers. “My wife’s smarter than me. I’m not even ashamed.” Genuinely Inspired by You: Sees you chasing dreams and says, “You make me want to be better. Just by being you.”

In the Bedroom~

King of Build-Up: It always starts slow. Teasing touches, whispered praise, the kind of eye contact that sets your skin on fire. He savors the tension before he breaks it. Voice Gets Deep, Dirty, & Dangerous: When things heat up, his voice drops to a sinful growl—thick with that Aussie accent as he breathes, “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.” Dom But Tender: He’s in control, but not rough unless you want him to be. Holds your wrists gently. His commands sound like worship: “Let me take care of you. Just relax for me, baby.” Obsessed With Your Pleasure: He memorizes what you like, down to the sound you make when he kisses just below your ear. He’s not done until you're shaking and breathless. Eye Contact Demon: Doesn’t look away. He watches every reaction, chases it. And if you close your eyes? “Nah, don’t hide from me. Look at me when you fall apart.” Aftercare Legend: Warm towel. Water. Cuddles. He tucks you into his chest and strokes your hair, whispering, “You did so good. I’ve got you now, angel.”

When You’re on Your Period

Fully Trained, Zero Shame: He’s got the cycle tracked, your cravings memorized, and your go-to comfort movie queued up. “It’s day two, right? I made you soup and cleared the couch.” Zero Ick Factor: Buys pads and tampons without blinking. Talks about cramps and blood like it’s no big deal because it isn’t. “It’s your body being a badass. I respect that.” Snuggle Sandwich Mode: He sandwiches you between pillows and himself, rubbing your belly while muttering sweet things like, “If I could take the pain for you, I would.” On Call for Cravings: Midnight store runs? Done. Heating pad short-circuited? Already replaced. He stocks your favorite snacks before you even realize you want them. Comfort > Everything: Wraps you in his hoodie, tucks a blanket around you, and presses kisses to your temple like medicine. “Let’s just be soft today, baby.” Emotional Anchor: If your emotions spike or you start crying for no reason, he doesn’t flinch. “You don’t have to explain. I’m here. Just cry, I’ll hold you.”

Cooking (He Tries)

Effort 100%, Skill 60%: He watches cooking TikToks like they’re tutorials—but somehow always forgets something important like salt... or timing. Kitchen Chaos King: Expect mess. Flour on his cheeks, three pans going at once, and him muttering, “Why is it burning? I just looked away for two seconds!” Minho = Lifeline: Minho is his emergency contact during culinary crises. “Bro, she’s gonna wake up and the eggs are still moving. Help me.” Plates Like a Masterchef Contestant: No matter how it turns out, he garnishes with herbs, arranges the food perfectly, and says, “Bon appétit, my queen.” Needs Validation Desperately: He watches you chew like his life depends on it. “Do you hate it? Is it edible? Be honest. No, wait—lie to me. Just say it’s amazing.” Laughter Over Perfection: Even if the food’s mid, the love behind it makes it the best meal ever. And when you laugh at his mess, he grins and says, “Hey, at least I made you smile, yeah?”

When He’s Jealous

Silent but Deadly™ Jealousy: He doesn’t lash out—he broods. His jaw clenches, he goes quiet, and suddenly he’s glued to your side with his arm tight around your waist. Subtle Territorial Moves: Starts calling you “baby” louder than usual. Leans in to whisper things like, “You’re mine, yeah? Just so we’re clear.”—right when someone’s clearly checking you out. Polite but Frosty to the Offender™: He won’t be rude… unless the other guy really pushes. Then it’s a low-toned, “You need something, mate?” with the faintest smile and the darkest eyes. Pulls You Close Later: At home, he’ll kiss your shoulder and mutter, “I know it’s dumb, but I hate the idea of someone else looking at you like I do.” Jealous, Then Insecure: The moment fades and guilt kicks in. “You’re with me… but sometimes I wonder if you could do better.” Cue you reassuring him for 10 straight minutes. Jealousy-Fueled Spiciness™: …And then he kisses you like he’s proving something. “Mine. Say it.” (You're not complaining.)

When You Have Random Baby Fever

Soft Panic + Adoration™: The second you say “That baby is so cute,” he chokes on air and gives you a side glance like, “Wait. Are we doing this? Now?” Sudden Overthinking Mode: “Okay but… what if the kid gets your stubbornness and my insomnia? That’s chaos in a diaper.” Would Still Be the Best Dad™: Even while fake-panicking, he’s already imagining your future kid curled up on his chest. “Imagine if they had your eyes though… damn. I’m doomed.” Soft Daydreaming Moments: If he sees you holding a baby? He melts. Later whispers, “You’d be such a good mom. Like… you already take care of me.” Baby Fever Hits Him Too: One random night while brushing his teeth, he mumbles, “So… what if we had two? A girl and a boy?” Like sir. Calm down. “Practice” Time: “Wanna practice being a parent? Starting with… bedtime?” —And suddenly you forget about the baby and remember why Chan needs supervision.

Gaming Nights with the Boys (When You Call)

Hyper-Focused Gamer Mode: Headset on, yelling at Changbin about a grenade throw, fully immersed—until he sees your name light up his phone. Instant Soft Switch™: “Yo, pause—she’s calling.” Drops the controller mid-match just to answer with, “Hey, baby. You okay?” “Y/N Gets Priority” Rule: If it’s not an emergency but you want cuddles or food, he’s already logging off. “The game’ll be here tomorrow. She won’t sleep without me.” Boys Clown Him, But Respect It: Seungmin: “Whipped.” Chan: “Yeah. And?” Sneaks You Into the Headset: He’ll say, “Wanna say hi to the guys?” and hold the mic up for you. The boys greet you like you’re part of the crew already. Post-Game Snuggles Required: As soon as he’s off, he beelines to you on the couch, wraps his arms around you, and mumbles, “Missed you. Even if it was just two hours.”

Sick!Reader (Bang Chan as Caregiver)

Immediately Takes Over: The moment he hears you’re not feeling well, Chan’s brain switches into “nurturing mode.” He’s dropping everything—work, plans, socializing. You come first. “I’m canceling everything. You’re more important than any meeting.” The Ultimate Comforter™: Chan will text you all day long to check in. If you’re running a fever, he’ll cool down your skin with a cold compress, gently rubbing your temples and whispering, “You’re gonna be okay, baby. I’m right here.” Spoiling You with Comfort Food: He’s in the kitchen, whipping up soup (which is admittedly a bit burnt, but made with so much care). “I made this for you, baby. It’s not Michelin star, but it’s full of love.” Guilt Trip Chan™: If you try to say you’re okay when you’re clearly not, he gets a little pouty. “Baby, I told you to rest. You’re going to make me worry even more if you keep getting up like this.” He’ll gently push you back onto the couch, ready to pamper you some more. Cuddles & Rest: When you need sleep, he’s there, either lying with you or making sure you’re cozy. “I’m gonna stay here. You can sleep, and I’ll be right by your side.” He’s a giant teddy bear, making sure you’re not alone. He might even nap with you. “Tell Me What You Need” Mode: If you feel guilty for being “a burden,” he’ll reassure you with, “You’re never a burden. I love taking care of you. You’re my everything.” Even if he’s secretly a little tired, his focus is entirely on you and your recovery.

Anniversaries with Bang Chan

Memory Keeper™: For your anniversary, he remembers every little detail. He’ll bring up your first date, the first time you held hands, and how the two of you grew together. “You remember that day we stayed up all night talking? I’ll never forget that.” Romantic Surprise Planner: Chan doesn’t just get you flowers. He surprises you with a carefully planned day, like a picnic at your favorite park or a movie marathon of all the films you’ve talked about watching together. “I got the perfect spot ready. Thought we’d watch the sunset first.” Gifts with Meaning: He’s not the type to just buy a gift off the shelf. Everything he gets you has meaning. A necklace? It has a charm that represents a moment you both shared. A book? It's something you both love or something that holds sentimental value. “This is from the day we... It’s just a little reminder that every moment with you counts.” Sweet Love Notes: Chan’s a sucker for writing handwritten notes or love letters on anniversaries. He’ll leave them where you’ll find them—tucked in your bag, under your pillow, in your favorite book. “For every year, for every moment. I’ll love you more each day.” Anniversary “Us” Time: He loves nothing more than a quiet, intimate day with you. Even if the world is chaotic around you, he cherishes these peaceful moments with just the two of you. “No need to make it extravagant. Just you, me, and a whole lot of love.” Anniversary Reflections: Chan’s the type to reflect deeply on the year, especially when it comes to your relationship. At the end of the day, he’ll pull you close, whisper, “Look at how far we’ve come. I can’t wait to see what the next year holds for us.”

Jealous!Reader (Chan's Response to His "Jealous" Reader)

Instant Reassurance™: When you show signs of jealousy—whether it’s through an offhand comment or by getting possessive—Chan’s first instinct is to reassure you, showering you with affection. “You don’t have to worry about anyone but you. You’re the one I want. Always.” He’ll emphasize that your place in his life is irreplaceable. Gentle Confidence: Even if he sees you feeling a little insecure, he won’t let you feel inferior. He’ll gently touch your cheek, make eye contact, and say something sweet like, “I only have eyes for you. No one could ever compare to you, no matter what.” Playful Jealousy Back™: If he notices you getting jealous, he’ll tease you—flirting even more, giving you a taste of your own medicine. He’ll act like he’s enjoying the attention, just to make you a little crazy. “Oh, you want to fight for me? I guess I am pretty irresistible.” But it’s all in good fun, just to remind you that he’s the one who gets to claim your attention. Exclusively Yours™: He has no problem showing the world who you belong to. Whether it’s holding your hand in public or showing affection in front of others, Chan’s constant gestures say: “Yeah, she’s mine. And I’m proud of it.” Jealous? He’ll Handle It. If someone really crosses the line with you, Chan steps up in a way that’s both protective and respectful. “Hey, you got a problem with her? Take it up with me.” He won’t let anyone disrespect you, no matter how big or small the offense. Post-Jealousy Cuddles: After any jealousy moment, he’ll always come back to you with an extra dose of affection. He’ll cuddle you, whispering into your ear, “You’re all I want, baby. No one else comes close.”

When He’s Flirty

Innuendo Master™: Chan is full of playful comments that make you blush, like, “I’d say I’m not the jealous type… but if I was, you’d be the only one I’d be jealous of.” Teasing Touches: His hands are always close—resting on your lower back, brushing against your arm, or gently tugging you closer whenever you’re talking to someone else. The Whisper Game™: He’ll lean in close when you’re out in public and whisper something flirtatious in your ear, “You look so good, I might just have to take you home early.” His voice drops to that low, smooth tone that leaves you blushing. Proud Smirks: Whenever he catches you looking at him, he’ll send you a knowing, playful look, as if saying, “I know you’re thinking about me.” Subtle Challenges™: He’ll challenge you to make him blush or make him lose his cool, but deep down, he loves watching you try.

When the reader turns Chan on while he's away on tour~

Sultry Voice Notes™ While he’s away, you send him voice notes that are full of playful teasing and hints. You’ll whisper something like, “I miss you so much… I wish you were here to kiss me right now…” The low tone of your voice and the suggestiveness leave him desperately trying to keep his composure, especially during interviews or rehearsals. Spicy Texts™ You know just how to get under his skin—sending him texts with cheeky comments like, “I bet I’d look good on my knees for you right now…” or “I’ve been imagining how you’ll hold me when you get back…” The words hit him like a punch to the gut, making his thoughts drift away from his setlist or the choreography. He’ll be left biting his lip, trying not to blush when he reads them during breaks. Teasing Photos™ While he’s stuck in a hotel room or on the tour bus, you send him a photo of yourself in something that drives him wild—maybe it’s something you know he loves you in, like a cute but revealing outfit or you lying on the bed in your lingerie. He can’t stop staring at it, fighting the urge to touch himself while he's stuck on tour. “You know what you do to me, right?” he’ll text back, trying to focus on his performance but clearly distracted. Subtle Flirty Videos™ You send him a video of yourself, maybe something simple like you cooking dinner or getting dressed for the day, but you make sure to be extra flirty. A slow motion walk past the camera, a wink, or the way you bite your lip in the middle of your sentence will completely mess with his focus. He’ll be replaying that video on loop, trying to hide his reactions from the other guys. Erotic Daydreaming™ During an off-day or in-between interviews, you know exactly how to turn him on. You send a message saying, “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do to you when you get home… I can’t wait to have you in my arms and show you just how much I missed you…” It’ll catch him off-guard, making his heart race, palms sweat, and thoughts go straight to how he wants to have you when he returns. The Promise of What’s to Come™ You’ll make playful, suggestive promises like, “I’ll let you make up for all the teasing when you get home…” knowing how badly he’ll want to make those words come to life. It’s not just what you’re saying—it’s the anticipation of finally being alone together again. When he reads those texts, he can’t help but imagine all the ways he’ll take control once he's back with you.

-- The End --

[noredemptionhere]

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 ⋆˙⟡♡ 𝚆𝙸𝙵𝙴!𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙺𝙰 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼!𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

no warnings—just fluff

ᡣ𐭩| sevika isn’t ticklish. except in one spot. you found it by accident, barely brushed your fingers there, and she flinched. the realization hit you both at the same time. she narrowed her eyes. “don’t.” you grinned. “got your ass.”

ᡣ𐭩| sevika is secretly the biggest hypocrite. tells you to “be careful” but gets into fights twice a week. says she “doesn’t like sweets” but always steals bites from your dessert. acts like she’s all serious, but the moment you’re out of sight? she’s wrapping herself in your blanket like a burrito.

ᡣ𐭩| sevika rarely gets sick, but when she does? she’s miserable. won’t admit she’s sick, won’t take medicine, just sulks in bed with a blanket over her face. you try to help, and she just groans, “leave me here to die.”

ᡣ𐭩| sevika makes the worst coffee. it’s either jet fuel or straight-up bean water—there is no in-between. and yet, she still drinks it like it’s fine. if you complain, she just slides the cup toward you. “all you jealous bitches got nothing on me.”

ᡣ𐭩| sevika is good at cards. too good. it’s infuriating. she doesn’t even try. she just sits there, unreadable, waiting for you to make a mistake. when you finally do lose, she just smirks, shuffling the deck with lazy precision. “wanna go again?”

ᡣ𐭩| sevika does not ‘scoot over.’ if you want to sit beside her, you make it work. you push at her, wriggle into the smallest available space, throw a leg over hers—and she still won’t move. just lets you struggle until you’re satisfied, smirking the entire time.

ᡣ𐭩| she does not like sticky things. syrup? hate. honey? disgust. the one time you kissed her after eating a popsicle, she physically recoiled. you had to follow her around the apartment with sticky lips while she threatened to throw you out.

ᡣ𐭩| she talks in her sleep. not often, but when she does, it’s nonsense. once, she mumbled, “no, i don’t want the frog,” and you spent weeks trying to figure out what it meant. she refuses to acknowledge this ever happened.

ᡣ𐭩| her sneezes are terrifying. she tries to hold them back, but when they come out, it’s like a gunshot. the first time it happened, you screamed. she laughed so hard she had to sit down.

ᡣ𐭩| sevika’s hands are always warm. annoyingly so. you press your cold fingers against her just to hear her complain, and she always does. “fuck’s sake—” but she doesn’t pull away. just sighs and lets you steal her warmth like the menace you are.

ᡣ𐭩| she has a soft spot for the dumb things you love. that one stupid tv show you’re obsessed with? she’s seen every episode. that weird little stuffed animal you’ve had since childhood? guarded with her life. she pretends to be indifferent, but then you catch her muttering about the plot holes in your favorite series like it personally offended her.

ᡣ𐭩| she grumbles when you move too much in bed. full-on, deep-chested grumbling, like a bear being disturbed from hibernation. you shift once? she sighs. you shift again? she tightens her grip. the third time? “seriously?” and suddenly you’re locked in place.

ᡣ𐭩| sevika has the world’s worst sleep schedule. she’ll tell you she’s going to bed early, and then you’ll wake up at 3 AM to find her standing in the kitchen, eating leftovers with her fingers and flipping through a book she has been obsessed with like she’s solving a murder case.

ᡣ𐭩| sevika cannot whisper. she thinks she can, but her whisper is just her normal voice, slightly lower. if she tries to say something discreet in public, people from across the room will turn to look. you’ve stopped letting her tell you secrets in quiet places.

ᡣ𐭩| she refuses to eat the last bite of anything. no explanation. no logic. just a deep-seated refusal to finish a plate completely. she’ll sit there, arms crossed, staring at the single remaining bite like it personally offended her. you’ve started eating it for her out of spite.

ᡣ𐭩| sevika hates when you’re mad at her. not because she can’t handle it—she can. but because she doesn’t know what to do. she just kind of… hovers. pokes at you. drops things near you so you have to pick them up and acknowledge her existence.

ᡣ𐭩| she thinks she’s subtle when she checks you out. she is not. she does the whole slow, full-body glance, then immediately acts like she wasn’t just devouring you with her eyes.

ᡣ𐭩| sevika sighs like she’s got a mortgage and three kids. you’ll say something mildly annoying, and she’ll exhale like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. you once asked her why she does that. she just looked at you and sighed again.

ᡣ𐭩| she pretends she doesn’t like sweets. but every time you get something sugary, she takes a bite. every. single. time. and if you ever try to call her out on it, she just shrugs. “tastes better when it’s yours.”

ᡣ𐭩| sevika acts like she’s above petty behavior—but she’s not. one time, you jokingly called another woman “pretty,” and for the rest of the night, sevika miraculously forgot how to do anything for herself. needed help unbuckling her belt, unbuttoning her shirt, everything.

[hvnlygrl]

rafe Cameron has started blowing off gf!reader to hangout with his friends like cancelling plans last minute, leaving in the middle of a date, and just ignoring/neglecting her when all she wants is to just spend time with him. And it makes her so sad and insecure and she finally confronts him when he tries to leave their plans and she says "if you don't want me anymore please just say it and stop stringing me along" and just breaks down and he feels terrible, she's the love of his life and he didn't realize what he had been doing and makes it up to her with cuddles gifts breakfast in bed and maybeee some smut

⌞ STRUNG ALONG THE LINE ⌝

જ⁀➴ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

જ⁀➴ word count | 1.2k

જ⁀➴ warnings | lotta hurt lotta comfort, near-break up, make-up, fluff

જ⁀➴ synopsis | after rafe stops putting in enough effort into your relationship, you confront him about stringing you along.

જ⁀➴ notes | ugh my heart. why are boys so stupid sometimes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the first time it happened, it stung a little, but you were sure it wasn’t on purpose. rafe didn’t show up to the date, leaving you to sit in the parking lot of the restaurant, tears streaming down your cheeks. it was more disappointment than anything else, but rafe chalked it up to getting caught up with topper and kelce at the paintball place, the date completely slipping his mind. 

you left it at that, opting to give him another chance. he missed that one too, his excuse being something to do with ward and some kook bullshit you didn’t understand. the last time, however, was different. 

the two of you were in the middle of dinner at your apartment. you’d made a home-cooked meal you found a recipe for online, and the two of you sat at the couch, about an hour into a movie you’d been begging him to watch for weeks. he was there, but mentally he was somewhere else. 

it felt like every minute on the minute he was checking his phone or texting someone. as the movie progressed, you became more and more fed up. then you watched him send a text and then look at you, face screaming i hate to do this, but. 

“you’re leaving, aren’t you?” the words only amplify your anger. 

“yeah, the boys wanna go try out topper’s new wave-runners, can we take a raincheck?” it’s almost as if he has no idea how much this hurts. or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

you scoff, shaking your head as you stand from the couch. you pick the plates up from the table and walk into the kitchen without saying a word. you rinse the dishes and place them into the dishwasher, dropping a pod into it and hitting the start button. 

“babe? is it cool if i dip? they’re blowing up my phone right now,” he reiterates from the couch, brows raised expectantly. 

“whatever, rafe,” you shrug emotionlessly as you make your way back to the living room. you curl into yourself on the opposite side of the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the throw blankets as you back out of the movie and put on the show you’d been binging recently. 

“you mad at me?” he asks, confused. 

you let out a wry laugh at that, cutting a glare at him. “what do you think, rafe?” 

“i don’t get why you’re mad, though?” 

“i’m not mad, rafe,” you look at him, eyes watering, “if you don’t wanna be here anymore i’m not gonna hold you hostage.” 

“what?” he cocks his head back at that, “what are you talking about?” 

“dude,” you scoff, “it just feels like you want nothing to do with me anymore. like every time we have a date or try to hang out you either leave early or just don’t show up and i just-” you can't help the way your voice cracks, “i just can’t keep waiting around for you all the time, rafe. this is killing me, so if you don’t wanna do this anymore just tell me now, okay? stop stringing me along, please.” 

rafe’s face falls with realization, his heart clenching at the look on your face alone. “oh shit, babe,” he starts, expression riddled with regret and agony. “fuck, i’m so sorry, i-i’ve been such a terrible boyfriend lately. it’s not you, i promise you that, i don’t know why i haven’t been putting in enough effort, i just have been so carried away with kelce and topper that i haven’t even noticed what i’ve been doing to you. i’m so sorry, baby. i do wanna be here, more than anything, i want to be with you more than anything.” 

his words send you spiralling a bit, tears flowing more freely now. you sob softly, hands flying up to cover your face. “i just don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“i know, baby,” he can't help the way his own voice cracks this time, “i never meant for it to be this way, please, please just give me one more chance. let me make it up to you, okay? i promise i’ll be a better boyfriend.”

“i wanna believe you, rafe, i really do,” you sniffle, shoulders falling in exhaustion, “but i just don’t think I can anymore.” 

rafe drags his hands over his head anxiously, “c’mon, baby, please. i swear to god, if i fuck up again you never have to see or talk to me again, okay? just let me prove it to you?”

you gnaw at the inside of your cheek for a bit, eyes locked on his bright blue irises. “fine. but don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“i swear i won’t,” he holds his pinky out to yours, waiting for you to link your own pinky with his. once you do, he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your soft skin. 

he texts topper and kelce, telling them to fuck off since he’s at dinner with his girl, and puts his phone on do not disturb. he cuddles into you on the couch, pulling your head onto his chest while his ringed hand rubs soft shapes onto your back. “i love you,” he hums into your scalp before pressing a kiss onto the hair.

“i love you, rafe,” you mutter back, heart panging at his words but aching to believe that it’s true. “more than anything.” 

“more than everything,” rafe retorts before pulling you tighter into his chest, nearly suffocating you in a hug. “i really am sorry.” 

you nod against his chest, feeling the tears well up in your eyes again. you desperately blink them away, hand gripping his t-shirt tightly as you control your breathing.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you aren’t entirely sure when you fell asleep, or when rafe moved you to your bed. you woke up to the smell of bacon, eggs, and maple syrup. you pulled the charger from your phone and checked the time, a glaring 7:45 shining back at you. 

you scrolled on your phone for a few minutes before rafe made his way to the room with a tray of fruit, tiny pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs, just like you liked them. he even went to the store to get you more of your favorite breakfast drink; cranberry juice. 

“bon appetit,” he grinned at you as he placed the tray in your lap. 

“oh my god, rafe, when did you have time to do all this?” you look at him tenderly, heart fluttering at the time and energy he put into your meal. 

“i couldn’t sleep so I went to the store and got some stuff for breakfast,” he shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “it’s no biggie, plus I know you don’t eat unless someone feeds you most of the time.” 

“that’s an exaggeration,” you huff, “i'm just not hungry most of the time.” 

“yea, well, you still gotta eat, babe,” he shrugs again as he scooches in next to you. “how is it?”

“it looks amazing,” you can practically hear your stomach growling at you just from the smell of the food, much less the sight. after taking a bite of everything on your plate, you look at him, nodding in approval, “it’s delicious.” 

“good,” rafe smiles at you, “i’m glad.” 

once you finish the meal, rafe takes your dishes from you and spends a few minutes in the kitchen as he cleans his mess. once he comes back, he gets comfortable next to you, this time letting you lay your head on his lap as he turns your favorite show on. 

“thank you, rafey,” you hum happily. 

“of course, baby,” he gives your bicep a tender squeeze, “anything for my girl.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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