ę¨ď¸ a/n: this idea has been for a month and finally decided to get it out. i don't know where the depravity came from (i do) but i hope you like it all the same! forgive any typos especially with past/present tense as i usually write in present
ę¨ď¸ warnings: felix is a stalker. voyeurism. masturbation (m & f).
ę¨ď¸ word count: 1,561
It started your first day in the office. Your computer wasnât working, so IT sent Felix upstairs to fix it. And the moment he looked up and saw your smile, he was done for.
Obsessions werenât new to him. Usually, it was a new hobby, certainly never a person.
Until you, kitten.
What began as harmless curiosity quickly spun into something else entirely. His access to the security cameras told him when you arrived each morning. Your employee records gave him access to your phone number and address. Soon he was remotely checking your work computer throughout the day. Eventually, one of the three monitors on his desk was dedicated entirely to observing you.
It helped that you were terrible with electronics, always needing him to come fix something. Always giving him an excuse to be near you.
But work only gave him eight hours with you and he wanted the other sixteen too.
At first he slipped a tracking device on your car.
Itâs just to make sure you get home safely, kitten.
Then he started driving past your apartment occasionally, then weekly, then daily. He learned which lights belonged to your unit and which windows you liked to leave open. His favorite days were the ones where you exercised in the living room, dressed in biker shorts and a sports bra, completely unaware of your audience.
It felt wrongâthe first time his cock twitched while watching you. Invasive. But the guilt faded quickly. He convinced himself anyone with eyes would react that way to you and he has to be the one to keep an eye on you.
To protect you from them, kitten.
One evening after confirming you were gone, Felix let himself into your apartment. The electronic lock took less than a minute to hack.
The first camera went into the living room. The second overlooked the kitchen and dining area. The third was on a bookshelf across from your bed.
Obviously.
He meant to leave immediately after placing them, but curiosity pulled him toward your dresser. The top right drawer was the first he opened and held exactly what he was looking for. He ran his fingers along the lace panties, smiling softly at the various shades and imagining how theyâd look against your skin.
He took a red pair for himself.
Back at home, he was alerted to your arrival by the tracker and promptly darted to his computer to view the cameras.
It was surreal enough being there himself. But seeing you in your home now, hearing the sound of you moving throughout was entirely new, and fresh. And fuck, he wished he was there with you. Wished he could just tell you how much he wanted to be with you. Every waking moment.
His eyes followed you through the apartment on the cameras, but lost you when you entered your bathroom.
That felt like too private a place to watch you, kitten.
He had to have some standards.
He maximized the camera feed, letting the image of your room fill up the entire 45-inch monitor.
You returned a while later with a towel wrapped around your body and a bottle of lotion in your hand. His eyes darted to the windows in your room, making sure they were closed.
Canât have you exposed and vulnerable, kitten.
You sat at the edge of your bed and dried off, giving him glimpses of parts of you heâd never seen before. Thighs. Stomach. Tits.
His cock stirred beneath his sweats.
When you finally let the towel fall completely, he leaned back in his chair, pulse racing as he watched you moisturize.
He would have given anything to be the one doing that.
You stood and turned around, showing your ass to the camera. His hand flew to his cock, gripping it through his sweats as if that would stop itâs longing to be inside of you. He kneaded the length of it with his thumb as you returned the towel and bottle of lotion to the bathroom.
He used the time while you were off screen to pull down his sweats and boxers. He didnât care what you were about to do. If you sat there and scrolled on your phone or went to sleep, he wouldnât stop stroking his cock until he came with his eyes locked on you.
He spat into his hand then grabbed his hardened cock, slowly stroking it as you came back into frame. His brow furrowed when you climbed straight into bed without putting on any underwear or pajamas.
Is that how you always slept?
He could only hope.
You pulled out a Kindle from your nightstand and leaned back against the pillows. You bent your knees and his heart stopped at the sight of your cunt, peeking out from between your thighs. He gripped his cock tighter.
You propped up the device and after a few swipes, became impossibly still as you read.
What are you reading, kitten?
He wished he knew.
But he got a good idea fairly quickly when you started to rub your thighs together. And when you pinched your nipple between your fingers, he was certain it was of the smut variety.
The thought of you reading sexually explicit content and touching yourself (while he watched you with his cock in his hand) sent even more blood rushing to his already painfully erect appendage.
He rubbed his thumb across the tip of his cock, smearing the precum as you continued your own movements. When you released a soft moan, the sound came straight for his soul.
But hearing it through the speakers wasnât enough. He needed the sound closer. He grabbed his headphones and put them on before maxing out the volume.
He needed to clearly hear every sound that fell from your lips, every rustle of your sheets.
Felix squeezed his cock harder as he stroked it, watching closely as your hand snaked between your thighs, fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He was suspended in disbelief at what he was seeing. At how gracious you were to bless him with this presentation on his first night with you.
It was almost like you were touching yourselves together.
He could so easily picture himself on the bed with you, face between your thighs, nuzzling his nose against your cunt, inhaling your scent.
Bet you smell good, kitten.
You spread your legs further apart, plunged your fingers into your cunt then brought the back out to spread your juices around your clit. Your hips started to move as your breathing grew shallow.
He stroked his cock faster.
You moved your hand back up to your tits, cupping one and pinching the nipple, then moved it back to your clit. A soft whimper of frustration fell from your lips.
I could do both for you, kitten.
You worked yourselves up together, moaning and groaning as you both pleased yourselves. You returned your fingers into your cunt, slowly fucking yourself, then picking up speed, smacking your palm against your clit.
He gripped his cock harder, stroking from tip to hilt furiously. He wanted to know how his cock would feel inside you. Your cunt gripping him. Your juices coating his thighs.
He grunted at the thought.
He leaned back in the chair, teeth gritted as you rolled over. You placed the Kindle on your pillow and kept your right hand between your legs, fingers still driving into your wet cunt.
And the sounds it made, kitten.
Your hips bounced against your hand as you let loose on the bed, eyes still on the words giving you so much pleasure.
Was it possible to be jealous of an electronic device? Because he sure fucking was. Fuck that Kindle. Fuck whoever wrote that story. He was desperate to be the one making you feel like that.
Felix couldnât tear his eyes from the screen. And as far as he was concerned, even blinking was a waste of time with you in front of him like that.
He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, fighting off his release.
âOh fuck,â you moaned. âFuck me, please.â
Was that dialogue from the story?
Dare he believe it was meant for him?
Because he did.
He imagined mounting you from behind, plunging his cock into you, pounding your cunt until he filled you with his cum.
He couldnât hold back anymore and neither could you.
Come with me, kitten.
He groaned as you cried out. It was the most beautiful sound heâd ever heard, carrying him through his orgasm as cum spurt out the tip of his cock. It went everywhereâthe floor, his desk, the keyboard. He didnât fucking care.
When your hips stopped writhing against the bed, you flipped over onto your back and slipped your fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself.
His cock twitched.
He looked down at it with furrowed brows as if it had a mind of itâs own.
Not yet.
He would wait for you to fall asleep. He wanted to cum while imagining himself standing over you, waking you up with his warm cum drenching your angelic face.
You made your way to the bathroom again and he finally stood to clean himself up, too.
Felix was happier than heâd been in a while.
No longer did he ever have to spend his time without you.
how was that? 𫣠i could see a part two eventually but that's it for now, unless the thought becomes an obsession lol. i'm working on writing without censoring myself, without stopping and feeling the need to perfect and just posting it. such a relief. being a virgo blows sometimes đ
Just a thought, how would chan react when his s/o calls him something very endearing (more so than like regular nicknames like babe or love) for the first time in their relationship.
Cus rn my entire feed is the pic Jeongin sent with chan looking like the fluffy mashed potato he is and I just wanna be domestic with him looking all fluffy and cute.
Okok byeee love so much mwuah mwuah mwuah<33
Why are you guys so full of ideas, what đ?? đ¤đ¤đ¤
you called me WHAT? (bang chan)
This is all a made-up scenario!
Synopsis: You call Chan a name a bit too endearing for the stage in your relationship right now. He wants to set boundaries.
Warnings: Bang Chan x gn!reader, est relationship, miscommunication, gets kinda serious, fluff
A/N: I tried to make this as fluffy as possible without it being too seriously deep. I think Chan would take this seriously, so whoops... (It's fluffier at the end) This was requested!
warnings: super famous hyunjin, confident reader, suggestive
đ he's mine ¡ MoKenStef
THE APARTMENT was quiet in a comfortable way, filled only by the low sound of the television and the clinking of the glass in your hand.
on your phone screen, another edit. and another, and another.
and another one.
Hwang Hyunjin in slow motion leaving a fashion show in Paris like it had been engineered in a lab specifically to destroy the female publicâs sanity.
black coat slipping off his shoulders, tired gaze, rings shining on his fingers while he fixed his hair.
in the comments, a collective apocalypse:
âHE KNOWS THE EFFECT HE HASâ
âthis man ruined my lifeâ
âI would let him step on meâ
you let out a small laugh through your nose, resting your chin on your hand, the worst part was that you understood them, you really did.
Hyunjin was handsome in an irritating way.
almost unfair.
the kind of man that seemed to always exist under cinematic lighting, even in shaky airport videos.
the annoying part was that he was a handsome man, and he knew it.
the pop-up notification appeared on the screen, making you leave TikTok and open WhatsApp:
babe đ§Ą
iâm here, princess!
you took another sip of wine while waiting, less than two minutes later, the door code was typed from outside, and then he walked in.
the suitcase bumped lightly against the wall as it was dropped near the entrance.
Hyunjin looked exhausted.loose black hoodie. mask pulled down to his chin. messy travel hair. heavy sleepy eyes.
and still⌠beautiful, absurdly beautiful.
his eyes found you in the kitchen almost instantly, as if automatically searching.
â you didnât even come to greet me? â â his voice came out low, hoarse from the trip.you slowly lifted your phone.
â i was busy watching this mess â
he narrowed his eyes immediately.
â oh no â you laughed.
â Hyunjin, this girl said you two are spiritually married â â you started reading the comments out loud, getting closer to him.
â good for her â
â this one called you daddy! â
Hyunjin let out a tired sigh, walking slowly toward you.
â babe â â he squeezed your waist.
â hm? â
â put that phone down â
his calm tone didnât fool anyone, you knew him too well.Hyunjin stopped in front of you, sliding his hands slowly over your waist while you were still holding your unlocked phone showing his edits.his fingers gently pressed the fabric of your shirt.
â i spent the whole day hearing people scream my name â â he murmured, leaning his face closer to yours. â â and then i get home and youâre ignoring me because of me. â
you bit back a smile, sooo dramatic.
â poor k-pop sex symbol, it must be so hard being pretty. â â you pouted dramatically. he finally let out a short nasal laugh.
â you think itâs funny until someone tries to steal your boyfriend. â â he started drawing small invisible circles on your waist
.â no oneâs gonna steal you. â â you didnât even really look at him, you knew exactly what you meant, you were sure.
â i know â â he answered softly.
since you started dating, even with his wish, you never wanted to appear publicly with him, because you didnât want to lose your peace.
even though close friends said it would work as âprotectionâ for your relationship, you didnât care.
the whole world could want him to the point of madness, but at the end of the night, it was you wearing his shirt with nothing but underwear underneath.
it was you holding a glass of wine while he buried his face in your neck, tired from the trip.
Hyunjin snatched the phone from your hand without warning.
â hey! â â you pouted, watching the smile grow on his face.
â enough of my edits for today. â
â jealous of your own fandom? â â you raised an eyebrow.
â i miss you. â the answer came out so simple it made your chest tighten a little, he dropped the phone on the sofa without even looking where it landed, going back to holding your waist right after.
â come here â â he murmured, pulling you toward the bedroom.
damn, maybe the girls in the comments were right about one thing: it was impossible to say ânoâ to him.
â Synopsis : You come home sick and tired of life, you're about to sleep in your clothes of the day, to lazy to put pijamas on, but Chan enters home earlier, see you in a mess and doesn't accept it.
â Genre : fluff ; romance
â Characters Count : 3k
â Song Rec : Space Song by Beach House
â [Venus] : take care of youuu ! âĄ
đou had a bad day. It was so long, it felt like a week passed but no. It was one single day. But at least you ended work sooner than usually.
You return home tired, you're cold, your hands and lips are dry, your hair is messy because of the wind, your head hurts a lot, and on top of everything : you feel like you can't do anything.
You close the house's door behind you, remove your shoes to take slippers and go slump down on the couch. You're too tired to put your pajama.
You're eyelids start to be too heavy for you to keep your eyes open. You're about to sleep like that, until you hear some open your door.
âIs someone here ? you heard.
â Hmm.â
The person walks in until the couch and kneels next to your lying body. You open one eye to see Bangchan's face then push your head further in the cushion.
He kneels down in front of you and puts his hand down on your head, patting you.
âHey, is everything good ?
â Hmm.â
His eyebrows narrow. He lays his hand on your forehead.
âWow, you're sick !
â Am I ? you say, batting your lashes in tiredness.
â Try to take a hot shower, I'll bring your pajama to you.â
Soon, you wake up with his help before he lets you go to the bathroom on your own. He goes to search for you a pajama. When you're in the room, you turn on yourself to face the mirror and watch your very pale face with, still, almost closed eyes. With a knock on the door, Chan enters and put the clothes in your hand, then, with a kiss on your head and some sweet words he leaves.
Hot water, poured in a cup with a teabag, some cookies in the tray, next to it, and a glass of water. He takes the tray and walks through your shared room to put it on the dresser.
âHun ? he's now close to the bathroom's door, waiting for you to answer.â
Instead of hearing your voice, you open the door and smiles softly at him.
He watches your dripping hair for some seconds, then, he enters the room you're in, takes the towel and push you until you're sitting on the queen-sized bed.
âEat, it's for you.â
As you bite in a brownie, he sits behind you and dry your hair with the towel, carefully.
âIs it good ?â
You nod in answer.
âLixie handed them to me this morning, he says as he braids your hair.
â I'll let you some.
â You don't have to, don't worry.
â It's because I'm full, you say with a sly grin.
â Oh, you're mean !
â I'm not mean, I'm just lovely.
â Liar !â
He tickles you until you apologize to him. And after some long seconds, he stops and continue to bread your head.
âThank you, Channie.
â What ? Why ? he knot an elastic on the end of the braid.
â For taking care of me.â
Seconds pass.
âI'm your husband, Y/N. Of course I take care of you.â
You don't answer, and you feel, again, a kiss on your head as you almost finish the plate. Then, you lay on the bed and Chan covers you up.
And with that, the lasts words you heard before falling in Morpheus' arms were âI love youâ.
fic about you gaining weight after not eating regularly for awhile from a depressive episode and 'blank' notices of course and comforts you and helps you get back into eating regularly and when you get Insecure about gaining extra weight 'blank' insists you look perfect with all the extra weight
I'm thinking of writing this mainly because I need comfort on my body type so I wanted to regardless buuut I'm stuck between doing fem chan/skz because happy pride or just regular so I'll have yall choose since I'm indecisive
Synopsis: What happens when SKZ receives their first kiss from you?
Warnings: Stray Kids (Hyungs) x gn!reader, est relationship, fluff, headcanons
A/N: I recently finished watching the Descendants trilogy (I didn't like The Rise of Red, sorry!), and this song has been stuck in my head since.
â Bang Chan:
gets really flustered and kind of surprised (like an, "oh, me?" kind of thing)
giggles and kisses you back on the head
really just super giddy about it
â Lee Know:
is surprised, yet he knew it was gonna happen (he knows he's handsome)
doesn't kiss you back, but he hugs/cuddles you instead
if he does kiss you, it's a small peck on the cheek
â Changbin:
kisses you back thoughtfully
messes with your hair, ruffling it (he was waiting for this)
he's kinda the most typical one here
â Hyunjin:
kisses you back while running fingers through your hair, pulling you close (he's a hopeless romantic, what can I say)
he holds your hand, swinging it and kissing that, too
really just poetic about it
Warnings: Potentially bad angst, angst in general, mentions of insecurities - burn out, overwhelm, anxiety -, I think that's it.
A/N: First time writing angst in awhile but this is low key how I've been feeling lately aside from not dating Chris obviously. I wanted to express that in the idea of a fic so here it is and I tried making it longer since I feel my fics aren't very long. I hope this turns out good, I feel like the angst wasn't too crazy but the end is super fluffy so its okay. Okay thanks for reading enjoy!
~
It wasn't rare these days for you to be at home alone these days, despite the fact that you shared the spacious apartment with your boyfriend of 4 years. You've been together for so long now, been through many a fight and hardship together. Though lately it's been tense. Quiet like you both are tip-toeing around each other. Like you both know that anything could break the constructed normalcy between you two now.
Though it's easy to blame the other when your both to blame. You push Chris away when you're at your lowest expecting him to be able to read your mind, despite him already being wound so tight already. You're both struggling in your own ways but, you both find it hard to open up. You've been anxious and feeling so low not even having the energy to talk and, now with the worsening ache in your stomach today you can't help but feel worse. While Chris has been stressed and overwhelmed from working so hard.
You're exhausted and irritable. Chris has been sleeping at the dorms more and more lately. Truthfully he's scared. Scared to admit that you two are hurting, that you're broken, like you might be too far gone to fix. Chris is scared to lose you, it might be one of his biggest fears.
The sound of the front door closing behind him echos through the apartment. Usually you'd get up immediately rushing into his arms but with your with your cramps you're rooted in place - not that you'd be able to find anything to say.
"Hey babe... m'home..." Chris mumbles as he quietly makes his way into the bedroom. He talks as though he's scared to unsettle the room. You glance up at him nodding your head in his direction once before looking away again pressing harder against your abdomen.
"You okay...?"' He questions quietly his eyes worn and tired but the concern is hard to miss. "Stop.. please." You mutter back voice rough from not speaking in hours. He's taken aback, confusion striking his features now. "Stop...? ...Stop what- what do you mean I'm just-" He doesn't get to finish speaking â "You don't have to pretend to care." You cut in your rough voice making you sound colder. His face falls as he stops moving closer, his hands clenching and uncleching at his sides.
"You really think... I'm pretending to care...?" His voice gets lower not with anger but an unbelievable amount of hurt he's trying hard to mask. "I know things have been tense lately... so it might be hard to believe.. but I do still care about you." He runs a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh before he sits down on the edge of the bed.
"What... what happened to us Chris...?" The vulnerable question was expected at some point but it still catches him off guard. His first instinct is to get defensive, looking away his jaw jumps once before letting out an uneven breath. "Are you not gonna say anything? Chris im serious- "I know- its not like im unaware onlf you always pulling away and ignoring me." His words hit you hard, its not like it's not true but it hurt to hear out loud especially since hes been doing the same. "Are you kidding me.. what about you. You never even stay over here anymore of course I'm not going to be happy-go-lucky."
"And why do you think that is?"
"So all of this is my fault now- you're not going to sit here and act like you're not also to blame."
He sits and stares at you before his eyes dart away a heavy sigh leaving him. He runs a hand through his hair again his voice barely audible now.
"I don't know... we just... haven't been talking." He mutters looking down at his hands in his lap. He slowly reaches a hand out to rest on your thigh his eyes pleading. "I'm sorry... you're right- there's been so many times... I've wanted to just-"
He cuts himself off his eyes suspiciously watery before he looks away. You shift closer cupping his cheeks Turing him to face you again. "Talk to me- please... I can't keep going on like this." "You don't understand how many times I- I thought about ending things... how many times I thought it'd be better to leave then stay in this limbo..." The admitted words â 'breaking up', the fact that it's crossed your mind more then once. It absolutely breaks Chris in two.
He stares up at you mouth open and closing like he's unsure of what to even say. He simply pulls you into his arms holding you tight against him sniffling softly. "I was scared... and I was being selfish... I didn't want to admit we were struggling... "I didn't wanna lose you... I still don't..." His admission cracks your heart open. You let out a shaky breath holding him tight as tears spill over your blotchy cheeks.
"I don't wanna lose you either.. of course I don't... you think I haven't been scared...?" "I thought you stopped caring... I've missed you so much but... if I say anything I'm nagging and clingy." Your eyebrows pinch together as you try not to cry more. "Oh babygirl... I've never stopped caring about you... I just thought you wanted space and then eventually the work piled up." He groans under his breath frustrated with himself and the situation. "It felt like you were pushing me away... I thought I was doing the right thing." You look up at him with glassy eyes sighing softly. "We both pushed each away... I just get scared... if I say anything.. anything at all that's bothering me... I'll scare you off. I mean I get mean and moody why would you want to put up with that... why should you have to..." "Because I love you.. even when you get a little grumpy or you're just not having a good day or week.. whatever. You think you'll scare me away for being human, baby I've been thinking of ways to fix things for weeks... knowing I couldn't picture myself with anyone else."
"I know I've been distant... and so busy but I swear... There's no where else I wanted to be.
His words send a tender ache beneath your ribs one that has your eyes watering again. "Chris stop saying stuff like that..." You mutter with a watery laugh but the look in his eyes is tender, serious as he wipes your tears away. "I don't want this distance between us anymore. I miss you so much and I can't stand walking around our home worried it's just a breaking point for us." You nod as you cup his cheeks resting your forhead against his before you hiss softly under your breath. Your cramps picking the perfect moment to act up again. Chris's eyes lock on you immediately his hand finding your abdomen. Feeling the tense muscles under his palm his eyes soften with concern.
"Baby, how about I take care of you tonight, we can talk more tomorrow let me just be here for you right now...?" He looks at you with those soft worried eyes, a look you know all too well - before you shrug your shoulders. Your habit of not accepting help feeling full circle to the topic of your issues right now â though it's not a no.
He gets up and finds your heating pad plugging it in before adjusting it against you and tucking you back into the covers. "I'll be right back.. I'll make you some tea, have you eaten..?" He asks as his voice taken a noticeably softer edge. You look down at your lap shaking your head. He sighs softly in understanding before kissing your forehead, standing up to fix you a quick meal and tea.
He comes back a few minutes later with a steaming bowl of ramen and an equally steamy mug of green tea. Setting them both down on your side table before sitting down on the edge of the bed, he brushes some hair out of your face.
"Here baby eat up, I made you some ramen." His voice was soft and it coaxing. He hands you the bowl and watches you carefully for a moment as you eat before getting up to change into something more comfortable. "I'll be right back love, you just rest up and eat okay?" You nod softly as you continue to eat watching him move around the room, with an ease that wouldn't suggest how tense these walls have been lately.
By the time he makes it back into bed fresh faced and clingy. He slips into bed next to you as you're sipping your tea a small smile tugging at you lips. He wraps his arms around you tight watching you set you mug down before looking down at him. "Feeling any better baby?" His voice is soft devoid of the tense and rough cadence, his fingertips brushing gently against your arm. "Yeah... I am it's just..." You trail off the words left unsaid, obvious to Chris. "I know baby... but it's been a long day for us both yeah? Let's just try and get some rest and we can talk more in the morning hmm?" He asks softly his eyes soft and focused on you, his fingertips continuing their gentle movements up and down your arm.
You smile softly leaning down to kiss his cheek before nodding. "Okay... yeah that sounds good."
You move closer into his arms letting him hold you against his chest. "Missed this... missed you... so much."
You bury your face in his chest sniffling softly but Chris just holds you even tighter.
He holds you all night and he doesn't let go. Not even even when the sun begins to peek through the blinds and through your curtains. The same ones you two picked out together when you moved in together after two years of dating. You think back to moments like that a lot, especially lately.
Like how despite how busy Chris would be he'd always make sure when he's home you're right next to him even as he works. Or how he'll fight with you on making dinner despite you both being tired, wanting to be the one to take care of him. You think back to some of your first dates a lot â lots of late night walks and cooking dates at your apartment. All the times he'd help you take off your makeup when you were too tired to yourself or how you'd help style and take care of his curls.
You miss the simple moments the most with him. Sitting in peaceful silence together his arm around your waist or hand perched on your thigh, never letting you forget here's right by your side.
You turn in his arms brushing the dark strands of his curls out of his eyes. You smile a weary smile your nose pressing gently against his cheek. He shifts under your touch blinking slowly up at you.
"Mmm morning baby... how you feeling?"
Chris's morning voice has a grin tugging at your lips before you hum nodding slowly.
"I slept great.. how bout you?" You ask as your hand plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I slept pretty good... mhmm."
He says as he nods before leaning back staring up at you.
"Are you still upset... you know about everything...?"
The question catches you off guard, you pull back yourself watching him closely. "I'm upset that... it's taken this long for us to even acknowledge we were struggling." The words hit you both, it anchors you both to the room, the moment heavy and waiting.
"Me too... but we're here now... that's progress right...?" His words come out shaky, unsure like he's still scared you'll pull the rug out from under him and still suggest breaking up. "Yeah... progress... we just need to talk to each other... instead of pretending ignoring the problem is going to solve anything." Chris sits up nodding, suddenly more serious now.
"Okay let's just... lay everything out on the table.. talk about what's been bothering us and, maybe ways to fix the distance that's been happening between us. Do you... wanna start?" He's completely focused on you his tone soft and patient. You feel your stomach ease a little. You've been worried for weeks about this conversation but right now you feel like you can speak your mind.
"I've just been... really down, like I didn't have much energy to be in a relationship..." You look down as you admit not feeling being in the right mental space to be in a relationship a wave a guilt washing over you. "Like talking and having to be cheery and being nice to be around... it just felt like too much... I guess I was being selfish." He shakes his head quickly, taking your hands squeezing them gently.
"Baby please don't call yourself selfish just because you were struggling. If you don't feel like talking then tell me... we can just sit in silence until you feel like talking again. Just please don't push me away I want to help you.. be there for you always."
"Well you can't push me away either... it's like you're scared to come home these days." His face falls before sighing softly. "You're right... I thought I was giving you space but I was only making things worse... I should've talked to you... ask you what you needed instead of assuming and pulling away."
You sigh shakily before nodding slowly. "We both made some mistakes... yeah..." He lets out a small shaky laugh. "We just gotta tell each other what's on out mind... we can't keep bottling things up baby. It's not healthy and it's only hurting us in the long run."
"I know, I know... it's just hard... I get so scared letting people in... because it's just seems like everytime I do I feel like a burden like I'm being too much. He moves in closer cupping your cheeks his gaze steady and sure. "You're not a burden, you're not too much. You're human and sometimes you won't feel up to talking, you won't be happy all the time, and that's okay none of that means you're not deserving of love and being happy. I'll always take care of you and I'm sorry I haven't been doing a very good job of that lately."
A watery laugh escapes you as you fall into his arms tears streaming down your cheeks staining his shirt. He runs a hand up and down your back tugging you gently into his lap. He presses a few tender kisses to your temple keeping you wrapped tight in his arms. You feel safe like nothing could get to you right now.
You stay in his arms for a while, you're not sure for how long but it isn't until he pulls away kissing your forhead you remember he has work still to get to today. "Are you sure you have to go in today?"
He smiles that sweet lopsided grin you love, hugging him tighter at the sight of it.
"Yeah baby I gotta go... but only for a few hours I promise. I'll make sure I make it back soon okay?" He leans in nuzzling his nose with yours before kissing your lips a few times before nipping at your lip pulling away with a smirk.
"You're such a tease." You say with an eye roll as you watch him get up to get dressed. He playfully pouts at you before leaning back over the bed kissing you again before looking down at you.
"Don't act like you don't love it." He teases before heading off to the bathroom. You laugh to yourself as you get up to get ready for the day yourself. Feeling a weight off your shoulders now that you two have talked and came to an understanding. You two truly just need to work on opening up and being more honest with each other. It won't be easy and you won't unlearn every insecurity and bad habit over night but it's a start.
By the time Chris is dressed and ready for work your setting the dishes from breakfast in the sink he comes up wrapping his arm around you from behind. His voice is soft and full of affectionate promise.
"When I get home it'll just be me and you I promise."
He kisses your neck before you turn around in his arms kissing him slowly. Pulling back you look up at him with soft eyes and a nod.
"I'll hold you to it Christopher."
He laughs brightly shaking his head before squeezing you. "C'mon baby I gotta get going but I'll be back soon I promise." You laugh with him following along with him to the front door with a playful pout.
"No pouting baby â he kisses you once, then twice â you won't even notice I'm gone." You roll yours eyes again before kissing him playfully shoving him out the door. He laughs, his eyes crinkled at the corners as his dimples pop out. He leans in one last time for a sweet kiss before pulling back his voice as soft as his eyes. "I love you.. so much." You feel yourself melt under his touch whispering against his lips â "I love you too baby.. more than anything." You can see his eyes get a little brighter at your words before he gives a shy smile heading off now.
Once you say goodbye and close the door behind him you feel lighter than you have in weeks. Like there's been a weight lifted off your chest, your heart. You two talked, you held each other close you can feel the hope bloom between you like a rose bud. You're not scared to see a breaking point between you two - you're just looking forward to spending one day at time with the love of your life.
~
Okay that was the end I hope you all enjoyed. Hopefully the angst was good and it was worth reading to get to the fluff. I don't typically write angst but I was in a mood so here we are. Also the songs I listened to as inspo would've made it much angstier i should've listened again oh well. Thank you for reading please let me know what you thought and if you really liked please do reblog! Okay that's all byeee ily âĄ
â secret agent au | enemies to lovers | slow burn
wc: around 4.4k
[ @softasapril has sended you a message : this has been sitting on my drafts for way too long 𫩠; I DONâT LIKE THIS đđ ; also this was a request, idk if i should say the name of the person because stuff, so iâll just let yâall know this was a request. Enjoy your reading! ]
Thereâs a particular kind of silence that settles over a briefing room right before everything goes wrong.
Youâd learned to recognize it over the years. The specific quality of air when a mission is about to become a problem, something too still, too careful, like the room itself is holding its breath. Youâd felt it in Marseille right before the extraction went sideways. Youâd felt it in Prague two seconds before your handlerâs voice crackled off comms entirely.
You feel it now, sitting in the third chair from the left in Sub-Level 2, watching Director Yoon click to the next slide.
The slide has two photos on it.
One of them is you.
The other is Lee Minho.
âCodename: Stitch,â Director Yoon says, gesturing to you with the laser pointer. Then she moves it to him. âCodename: Thread.â A pause. âEffective immediately, youâll be operating as a joint unit under the Meridian protocol.â
The silence after that is a different kind. The kind that comes from two people in the same room deciding, simultaneously, not to say what theyâre thinking.
You glance sideways. Minho is already looking at you and the expression on his face is exactly what youâd expect â nothing. Controlled, clean, every reaction filed somewhere behind his eyes where you canât reach it. Itâs infuriating precisely because you know youâre doing the same thing.
âWith respect,â Minho says, looking back at Yoon. His voice is polite in that way that means the opposite. âIs there a reason youâre pairing two solo-track operatives on a joint assignment.â
âThereâs always a reason,â Yoon says. âIâm not required to share all of them.â
âThe op?â you ask.
She clicks forward. The next slide is a photograph of a man in his mid-fifties, silver-haired, the kind of face that looks trustworthy in the way only practiced liars manage. Below the photo: Viktor Selim. Arms broker. Six countries, fourteen aliases.
âSelim is attending a private auction in Vienna in eleven days,â Yoon says. âHeâs brokering the sale of a weapons guidance system stolen from a NATO facility in GdaĹsk eight months ago. The buyer is unknown. The system ends up in the wrong hands and weâre looking at a regional destabilization scenario with global implications.â She clicks again. The next slide is an invitation â cream colored, embossed â for something called the Weiss Foundation Gala. âThe auction is embedded within this event. Invitation only. Donors, diplomats, very old money.â
You already see where this is going.
âThe cover,â Minho says flatly.
âMarried couple. Recently relocated to Geneva. Heâs a private equity consultant, she works in art acquisition.â Yoon doesnât blink. âYouâll have eleven days of joint preparation. Backstory, behavioral alignment, social conditioning. The legend is already built. You just have to inhabit it.â
Another silence.
âWhen do we start,â you say. Not a question.
The apartment they put you in for prep is in the 4th arrondissement, which means Yoon either has a sense of humor or genuinely believes proximity to good pastry will improve your working relationship. Youâre not ruling either out.
Minho gets there first. You know this because when you let yourself in with the key card thereâs already a coffee on the kitchen counter â one cup, not two â and a folder open on the table, and his jacket draped over the back of a chair like heâs lived here for years. Like heâs already decided which parts of the space are his.
You drop your bag by the door, clock the apartment in about four seconds â two exits, good sightlines from the main windows, second bedroom door half open â and then look at the coffee.
âyou couldâve made two,â you say.
âI didnât know when youâd arrive.â
âWe were on the same flight.â
âI got off faster.â
You look at him. He looks at you. This is how it usually goes.
Youâd met Minho eighteen months ago during a joint debrief after an op in Jakarta where your paths had overlapped by about forty minutes of real time and considerably more in the aftermath. Youâd reached the same conclusions via slightly different routes and submitted reports that were nearly identical in structure, almost word for word on the key assessments. Director Yoon had apparently flagged this as remarkable.
Youâd found it annoying.
Not because he was wrong. Because he wasnât, and that was somehow worse â the particular irritation of encountering someone who thinks the way you do and having nowhere to put the friction of it. You could argue with someone sloppy. You could dismiss someone reckless. Minho was neither, which meant every disagreement you had with him was a real one, fully loaded, no cheap exits.
âWhatâs the social schedule,â you say, pulling out the chair across from him.
He slides the folder toward you. âThree pre-gala events. A private dinner on the eighth, a gallery opening on the tenth, the gala itself on the eleventh. Selim attends all three. Heâll be vetting potential buyers at the dinner which means we need to be visible and credible by then.â He leans back. âThe legend says weâve been married four years.â
âI know what the legend says.â
âThen you know we need a working shorthand by the eighth.â A slight tilt of his head. âThatâs six days.â
âIâm aware of how numbers work.â
He almost smiles. Doesnât reach anything. âyou keep doing that.â
âDoing what.â
âSaying things Iâve already accounted for, like youâre correcting me.â
âMaybe I am.â
âYouâre not.â
You hold his gaze a second longer than necessary, then look down at the folder. âThe gallery opening. Whatâs the objective.â
And like that, youâre working. Which is the only thing youâve ever been any good at.
The behavioral conditioning, as Yoon calls it, is a clinical way of describing something that is profoundly strange in practice.
You have to learn each other. Not the op-relevant surface stuff â you already know his field record, his response times, his preferred sidearm, the three languages heâs fluent in and the two he just functions in. You know his codename and his clearance and the general architecture of how he moves through a problem.
You donât know how he takes his coffee (black, no exceptions, you find out on day one) or what he does when he canât sleep (reads, apparently, actual novels, nothing useful) or the way he goes very quiet right before he says something that lands.
He doesnât know those things about you either and you can feel him cataloging them. The same way you are. Itâs like being studied by someone using the same methodology you use, which means you can see every observation as itâs being made, and it makes your skin feel strange.
âThe story of how we met,â he says on the second evening. Youâre both at the table, files spread out, working through the social logistics. âYoonâs team has a version in the legend packet.â
âI read it.â
âDo you like it.â
You glance up. âIt doesnât matter if I like it.â
âIt matters if you can deliver it convincingly.â He sets down his pen. âThe dinner is a small room. Twelve, maybe fifteen people. Someone will ask. Probably more than once.â
You look at the legend packet. The official story has you meeting at a charity function in London, introduced by a mutual friend. Itâs fine. Clean. Completely forgettable.
âItâs too smooth,â you say.
âAgreed.â
You look up again. Heâs watching you.
âCouples fight about how they met,â you say. âNot seriously but â one person always remembers it differently. Small things. Who spoke first, what the other person was wearing. Itâs not a problem, itâs texture. Makes it real.â
Minho is quiet for a second. âSo we adjust the legend.â
âWe keep the frame, change the details. Give ourselves something to disagree about.â
âWhat do we disagree about.â
You think. âYou thought I was with someone else when we met. Spent the whole conversation being careful about it. Found out later I wasnât.â
Something shifts briefly in his expression. âAnd your version.â
âI knew you thought that and I didnât correct you because I wanted to see what youâd do.â
The shift again. Harder to read this time.
âthatâs very you,â he says.
âItâs also very you,â you say. âYouâd have done the same.â
He looks at you for a moment. âprobably,â he says. And then he picks up his pen and you go back to work and you donât examine why that exchange feels like it settled something.
The first real test is a dry run at a restaurant on the fifth day â one of the agencyâs consultants playing a suspicious contact, stress-testing the cover.
Youâd agreed beforehand: minimal physical contact, only whatâs natural, let it develop in the room instead of choreographing it. Youâd both made this point separately, at almost the same time, and thereâd been a short pause where you both registered that.
The consultantâs name is Mr. Park and heâs good. Warm and probing in equal measure, the kind of social pressure that doesnât feel like pressure until youâre halfway through the main course and realize heâs gotten considerably more out of you than you intended.
He asks how you met. Minho tells the London story â their version, the one youâd built â and does something small with it, a slight smile at a specific detail, like the memory has texture. You pick it up without thinking, add the correction about what you were actually wearing, which contradicts what he said, and his eyes cut to you with exactly the right quality of fond exasperation.
âshe always does this,â he tells Park.
âYouâre wrong,â you say pleasantly.
âIâm not wrong, I was there.â
âSo was I, thatâs my point.â
Park laughs. The conversation moves on.
Afterward outside on the street Minho stops walking for a second. You stop too.
âthe detail about the dress,â he says.
âWhat about it.â
âThat wasnât in the legend.â
âNo.â
He looks at you. âIt was good.â
You start walking again. âI know.â
He falls into step beside you and youâre almost to the corner before he says, quietly: âyou picked up on the smile.â
âYou did it on purpose.â
âI wanted to see if youâd catch it.â
âI caught it.â
âyou did,â he says. And thereâs something in his voice that isnât quite the usual temperature, something slightly less managed, and you decide not to look at him for the rest of the walk back.
Six days of this and you know things about Lee Minho you didnât want to know.
You know he gets up before you every morning, not by much but enough. You know he makes noise in the kitchen on purpose because he figured out on day two that you wake up disoriented and the sound gives you a second to orient before you have to be a person. You know this because youâd do the exact same thing and you recognized the logic of it immediately and it made you furious.
You know he doesnât argue for the sake of winning. He argues when he thinks something matters. His threshold for what matters is very high and very specific and it lines up with yours in a way that should probably be classified.
You know that the thing that reads as coldness from the outside isnât coldness. Itâs precision. He doesnât waste warmth on things that donât warrant it, which means when it appears itâs real, and youâve started noticing when it appears.
This is a problem.
Not a mission problem. The mission is, professionally speaking, going fine. The cover is solid. You move well together in social environments which neither of you had been certain about, given that youâd never operated in the same room for longer than a debrief. The professional problem is actually the personal one â somewhere in six days of learning the shape of each other, the dislike had started to change texture.
It was still there. That was the thing. You still found him aggravating in all the specific ways you always had â the absolute certainty in his own assessments, the way he sometimes got to a conclusion a second before you and didnât announce it but you could tell, the complete lack of wasted motion in everything he did that made you want to introduce some chaos on principle.
But underneath that, or alongside it, something else had moved in.
You didnât say anything about it. Neither did he. You were both, you suspected, pretending very competently that it wasnât there, which was both a professional strength and a significant personal failing.
The dinner is on the eighth. A private house in the 16th, candlelit and expensive, twelve people including Viktor Selim and a woman you identify within four minutes as his security lead despite the evening gown.
You and Minho arrive slightly late, which is correct for the cover â established couple, comfortable, not performing eagerness. He has his hand at the small of your back when you walk in, which is also correct, the exact degree of casual familiarity that reads as long term, and youâre aware of it in a way you shouldnât be, or at least not this much.
Selim is across the room. You see him register you both in the first sweep he does of new arrivals â assessing, not suspicious, just the automatic cataloging of a careful man.
âheâs looking,â Minho says, very low, close to your ear. Not a whisper, just quiet. The kind of thing that looks like intimacy from across a room.
âI know. Donât react to him yet.â
âI know.â
You take a glass from a passing tray and turn slightly toward Minho, angling yourself so Selim has a profile view. âHeâll come to us,â you say. âHeâs that kind of man.â
âHow long.â
âForty minutes. He wants to watch first.â
Minho makes a small sound that means he agrees and you have a brief strange moment of registering that youâve developed a communication system that runs on sounds and small movements and youâre not entirely sure when that happened.
Selim comes over in thirty five minutes, which is close enough that you file it as a minor win. Heâs charming in that specific way that means heâs done it thousands of times. He asks the right questions â what brings you to Paris, how long in Geneva, do you know the so-and-sos in Zurich. Minho handles the business detail, you handle the social warmth, and it works the way things work when two people have divided a task correctly without discussing it.
At some point Selim says something mildly dismissive about art acquisition â your coverâs profession â in the way that men like him sometimes do, a light condescension dressed up as a joke, and you feel Minhoâs hand shift slightly against your back.
Not much. Just â present. A small pressure that says I noticed, Iâm here, do you want to handle it or should I.
You handle it. Smooth, smiling, precise enough that Selim adjusts his register for the rest of the conversation without quite knowing why.
Later in the car Minho says: âthe hand thing.â
âWhat hand thing,â you say. Even though you know.
âWhen he made the comment.â
âI noticed.â
âAnd?â
You watch the city go past outside the window. âIt was useful.â
âIt wasnât calculated,â he says. âI want to be accurate about that.â
You turn your head. Heâs looking out his own window.
âokay,â you say.
âIâm just â noting it.â
ânoted,â you say, and somehow that word carries a lot more than it should, and you both let it sit there for the rest of the drive.
The gallery opening is easy, comparatively. Youâve got Selimâs measure now and heâs warming to you â to the cover â the way marks do when theyâve decided youâre safe. The danger zone is always after that, when they start talking more freely, because free-talking men sometimes say something that makes them remember they should be careful.
You manage it. Minho manages it. You do the thing where you bicker mildly about something minor â this time whether youâd been to this particular artistâs last show â and Selim watches with the indulgent look people get watching other peopleâs long marriages, which means the cover is doing exactly what it needs to.
What isnât supposed to be happening is that the bickering is, increasingly, just you two talking. Overlapping, correcting, building on what the other said â the line between performing it and just doing it has become something youâre having trouble finding.
In the car again. Itâs become your space, the car. The in-between.
âyou told him weâd been to Lisboa in April,â Minho says.
âThe legend has us in Lisboa in April.â
âHe might verify.â
âI know. I already laid a trail. The hotel, the restaurant, the gallery we supposedly visited. Itâs clean.â
A pause. âwhen did you do that.â
âBefore the dinner.â
Another pause, different quality. âyou didnât mention it.â
âYouâd have done it yourself if I hadnât.â
âThatâs not the point. Weâre operating jointly. You should haveââ
âI wouldâve told you if youâd asked,â you say, and thereâs more edge in it than you intended. âI wasnât hiding it, I justââ You stop.
âyou just what,â he says. His voice has changed. Still even, but different even.
âIâm used to working alone,â you say. True. Also not the whole truth.
âSo am I,â he says.
Silence. The city moves past. Youâre tired in that specific way you get after hours of being on â performing, maintaining â and the tiredness has apparently decided to affect your defenses because you say, before youâve decided to: âYou were right about the Lisboa detail. I shouldâve told you.â
He doesnât say I know or yes you should have, which is half of what youâd expected.
He says: âIâve been doing the same thing. Two items I didnât table. Iâll send them over tonight.â
You look at him. Heâs looking forward, profile clean in the passing streetlights. âokay,â you say.
âWe work better when weâre actually joint,â he says. âI donât love it either but itâs true.â
âI know itâs true.â
âThen we should act like it.â
âAgreed,â you say, and somehow that sits easier than it should, and you both let the rest of the drive go quiet.
The night before the gala, neither of you sleeps much.
You know this about each other because youâre both in the kitchen at 2am, and the difference between this moment and the first evening is significant enough that you both notice it and neither of you says anything.
He makes two coffees this time without being asked.
You sit at the table with the operation files spread out even though you have them memorized, because having something to look at makes the sitting easier.
âContingencies,â Minho says.
âIf the security lead makes us, weâre tourists. Lost the invitation, a friend got us in, we donât know Selim.â
âIf Selim makes us.â
âMissionâs burned and we get out. The systemâs not on-site tonight, itâs in transit. Yoon has the intercept team on the transport route.â You pause. âThe gala is just the intelligence layer. Selimâs contact, the handoff protocol. Weâre not extraction, weâre information.â
âright.â He wraps both hands around his mug. âAnd if something else goes wrong.â
You look up. âDefine something else.â
He looks at you over the rim. âThe cover. If someone pushes harder than expected on the personal detail.â
âWe hold. The legend is solid.â
âThatâs not what I mean,â he says, and his voice has the quality it gets when heâs decided something matters.
You hold his gaze. The kitchen is quiet. Itâs 2am and youâre eleven days into an op and the line between cover and something else has been blurring for days in a way that is operationally inadvisable and you know it and so does he.
âMinho,â you say.
âIâm aware,â he says. âIâm not â Iâm not doing anything with it. I just think we should name it so it doesnât become a variable weâre not accounting for.â
This is such a him thing to say. Name the variable. Account for it. Donât let it run loose in the margins.
âfine,â you say. âitâs a variable.â
âyes.â
âIt doesnât affect the mission.â
âno,â he says. âbut itâs there.â
âitâs there,â you agree.
And then you both go back to the files and the kitchen stays quiet and neither of you does anything about the variable, because you are both, above everything else, professionals.
But itâs there. You both know it. And somehow thatâs enough for right now.
The gala is beautiful in the way that things built for the purposes of concealment often are â every surface worth looking at, every detail designed to direct the eye away from whateverâs actually happening underneath.
You understand this. Youâve been doing the same thing for eleven days.
You arrive as the Leins. Thatâs the legendâs surname â youâd found it mildly annoying when you first read it in the packet and youâve never said so. Minho, you suspect, feels the same. Heâd also never said so.
The room is large, high ceilinged, full of people doing what people do at these events â performing their own legend, everyone with a version of themselves calibrated for the occasion. You move through it well. You always have, both of you, and together youâre better at it than either of you alone, which is something youâd have resisted admitting three weeks ago and which is now simply true.
Selim is at the far end of the room. He sees you and raises his glass, which means youâve cleared his vetting process, which means the last eleven days worked.
âthere,â Minho says quietly.
âI see him.â Youâre watching the room, not Selim specifically â the contact will come to Selim, not the other way around. âThe contact arrives within the first hour. Yoonâs brief said Selim doesnât like to wait.â
âNortheast corner,â Minho says. âThe man in the grey jacket. Heâs been watching the entrance.â
You find him. Clock him. âHeâs not the contact.â
âNo, heâs the advance. Contact comes after the advance confirms the room.â
âTen minutes,â you say.
âEight,â Minho says.
You donât argue. Minor point.
Itâs seven minutes.
The contact is a woman, which youâd both flagged as a possibility in your respective assessments and which Yoonâs briefing had listed as unlikely. She moves to Selim smoothly, the greeting warm enough to read as social, and you reposition without discussing it â you drift right, Minho drifts left, covering angles.
This is the part youâre good at. Not just the social performance, though youâre good at that too. The spatial awareness, the way you read a roomâs geometry and slot into it, covering angles without referencing each other because you donât need to. Youâve done this in other configurations, other teams, other ops, and itâs never felt quite like this â the particular fluency of two people thinking the same way.
You get the contactâs name from a greeting exchange close enough to catch. Minho gets her associateâs name from the man she arrived with. You donât compare notes because you donât need to â youâre both noting everything and youâll debrief in the car.
Selim drifts toward you thirty minutes later, warm, relaxed, the ease of a man who thinks heâs read the room correctly.
âthe Leins,â he says, and that small possessive â already abbreviated to a group noun â means youâve been accepted.
Minho puts his hand at your waist and itâs the cover, entirely the cover, and you lean into it the minimal degree that reads as habitual, that reads as four years, and you feel rather than see the slight shift in how he holds himself â the precise millimeter adjustment that looks like ease but isnât, that looks like unconscious comfort but is something slightly more deliberate and slightly less calculated than either of those things.
The conversation with Selim runs twenty minutes. You gather what Yoon needs. Itâs enough.
The car again.
You give Yoonâs team the verbal summary over comms â names, logistics, confirmation of the handoff timeline. Six minutes. When youâre done Minho drops the earpiece into his jacket pocket and the silence is different from mission silence. Itâs the silence that comes after.
âgood,â he says.
âYes.â
âThe contactâs name checks against a flag in the German database. Yoon will have it.â
âI know. I flagged it while you were getting the associateâs ID.â
He nods. You watch the city again. Youâve watched this city go past so many times in this car that you know the route back in your bones.
âAfter the debrief,â Minho says.
You glance over.
âWeâll be reassigned. Separately, probably.â Heâs looking out his window. âYoon said the joint unit was specific to Meridian.â
âI know.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. âI wanted to name that one too,â he says. âso itâs notââ He pauses, which is unusual for him, Minho who is always precise with language. âso itâs not a variable weâre not accounting for.â
You look at him. The streetlights move across his face and youâve spent eleven days learning the architecture of his expressions, the small tells, the places where the control doesnât quite reach.
âThatâs a different kind of variable,â you say.
âyes,â he says. âI know.â
âMinho.â
âIâm notââ He stops again. âIâm not asking for anything. Iâm just being accurate.â
âYouâre always being accurate.â
âitâs a failing,â he says, and there it is â the thing underneath the precision, a small dry humor that surfaces when his guard is at low tide, that youâve come to catalog the way you catalog everything â carefully, and with more attention than you intended to give it.
âItâs not a failing,â you say.
He looks over.
âItâs annoying,â you say. âbut itâs not a failing.â
Something changes in his face. Not much. Enough.
âafter the debrief,â he says again.
âafter the debrief,â you agree.
The car keeps moving. The city keeps going past. You donât do anything about the variable because you are almost back to the apartment and the debrief is tomorrow and there are procedures to follow, reports to file, a mission to close properly.
But after the debrief.
Youâre both accounting for it.
and somewhere in the space between cover and collapse, the line disappears â not with a dramatic crossing but with the quiet, certain recognition that two people who think in the same sharp register have, without meaning to, started thinking of each othher.
@stryscribbles loveeee. Happy (late) birthday! this is for you, i hope you liked it and i'm sorry the latenessđ here's to many more!đ
Do You Meant It? - BC
Pairings: Chan x Reader. Established Relationship
Warnings: Fight. Chan is an ass at the beggining before he realizes he f-ed up. curse words.
Summary: âDo you know you can count on me for anything?â No, you donât. When you needed him, he yelled at you. Now, Chan is trying to make up for what he broke.
âDo you know you can count on me for anything?â Chan had once said, you smiled at him
âI don't want to bother you with my problemsâ You had said, your hands on his wrists
âYour problems are mine, you're my partner, I want to help you on these thingsâ
âOnly if you do the sameâ You looked up at him, resting your head on his chest
Your mind went back to that memory of him, his words back then were different to what he was saying now.
âListen to me, I have a comeback to finish preparing, I have songs to finish writing, I have daily meetings, dance and singing rehearsals; and youâre just getting in the way, you understand?â His voice raised âI've got a lot on my plate, and you just won't stop nitpicking! If it's not red, it's blue. You complain when it's sunny, and you complain when it rains. If you don't eat this, or if you eat that! I can't take it anymore! Everything that comes out of your mouth is nonsense, and I don't want to listen to you right now!â
âNonsense?â You replied, hands together and voice cracking up, you were starting to see blurry because of the tears âI'm just telling you how bad I'm having it now at work, Chan. Plus my studies. I'm tiredâ
âWell, guess what? We all are tired. It's not just you, don't feel too special about it, âkay?â He grabbed his gym bag âgosh, I don't need all of thisâ he murmured
And he left without giving you a proper goodbye.
If he thought your problems were a nuisance, well, youâd do as he asked. You wouldnât say another word to him about it.
You cried like never before, until you fell asleep on the sofa; Chris still hadnât come home.
And after that day, you never acted the same way around him again.
When he asked you about your day, you gave short, vague answers. You could tell he wanted to keep the conversation going, but your mind kept drifting back to that night.
"Anything new happened at work today?"
"No, nothing new."
"How are things going with Professor Kim?"
"Just the usual, he's still sending loads of homework"
"Hey, what do you think of this?"
"It looks great."
Everyone could tell. Youâd become withdrawn and a little insecure. Not just with Chan, but with your friends and some of your relatives, too.
You felt like a burden. Until that day came.
âCome on, Y/N.â One of your classmates and close friends, Si-woo, came over to you in the library. "We're working on this project together, and the one thing we're not doing is talking about what we need to do. Donât avoid me.â
âI told you youâd do your part and Iâd do mine.â
âBut I have a question about something. Can you help me?â You sighed.
âWhatâs up?â Si-woo smiled as he moved closer to you, his notebook already open and his highlighters in hand.
Between jokes and studying, Siwoo managed to get more than five words out of you.
Something no one had managed to do in the last three weeks.
âTomorrow. Same place, same time?â he asked, and after a few minutes of thinking it over, you nodded.
âThat sounds good.â
And just as he said, the next day, Siwoo was sitting at the table in the corner, with two cups of coffee on it and his head buried in a literature book.
âHow far have you gotten?â you asked, sitting down next to him.
âWell, Iâve found several references we can use to support our argument. I think it might be good.â
âLetâs see,â you said.
âBefore we start,â he said, grabbing a cup and handing it to you, "Black. Two sugars. I didnât know if you liked it any other way.â
âWith milk and three sugars. But this is fine; I need to stay awake as long as possible.â You both laughed.
âIâll keep that in mind for next time.â
You took a sip, nodding. âCome on, letâs get startedâweâve got a lot to do.â
And while Siwoo was tearing down those walls youâd built, little by little and without even realizing it.
Chan was a mess and didnât know what else to do.
You accepted his invitations; you accepted his caresses, you accepted his kisses, but it was as if you werenât fully there.
When he tried to bring up the subject, you deflected him, you grew cold, your posture stiffened, and you tried to leave or change the subject.
âWhat are you laughing at, gorgeous?â He asked with a small smile happy to see you smile finally after these past weeks
As soon as you heard his voice, your smile slowly disappeared âOh, itâs nothingâ You shook your head slowly âJust a texting with a friendâ
âRina?â
You shook your head âNot sure if you remember him, his nameâs Siwooâ
âDonât think Iâve met him beforeâ
âHeâs niceâ You said âWeâre doing a project together so yeahâ
But what hurt him the most was seeing you smile and laugh heartily at your phone. Whatever it wasâ or someone âwas making you happier than he had in recent days.
And it hurt him. Of course it did.
âI don't know what to do,â he said one day, lying on the floor of the practice room.
âI don't know what to tell you, Chan,â Minho replied, breathing heavily. âShe hasn't talked to me about anything either. I sent her a photo of SongDongDori a few days ago, and she left it unread.â
âAnd she loves getting SongDongDori pictures, we know thatâ Felix said fixing his cap
âKkami is her favoriteâ
âYou wish. We know Bbama is her babyâ
âGuysâ Chan asked, his voice sounded fragile, almost breathless. He sighed.
âThink about everything for a second, Hyungâ Jeongin said from the corner of the room, eyes never leaving his phone. âSince when has she been like this?â
Chanâs mind immediately went back four weeks
However, he couldnât quite pinpoint the exact night. He shook his head.
He knew he shouldnât be doing this at workâthey were in the middle of a rehearsal, for Godâs sake. But the guys could see that something was eating away at their leader; he wasnât his usual self.
And it hurt them to see him like this. They knew Chan would do everything he could to stay strong in front of them, but they wanted to let him know that if he fell, they were there to catch him.
âI don't know,â he admitted, running his hands through his hair.
âCome on, it could have been something,â Changbin said. âA message. Something you forgot. An argument.â
An argument? You haven't had any arguments lately.
Not since that time whenâ
It suddenly clicked in his mind.
Not since that time when he yelled at you for telling him about your problems.
âShitâ He murmured getting up âGuys, I-â
âIâll take it from here and let you knowâ Minho said nodding âGoâ
Chan grabbed his things and left the practice room. His thoughts were racing at 100 miles an hour.
Now he understood why you had acted the way you did. He felt like a piece of trash making you feel that way. He knew your insecurities, he knew your fears, and he used them against you on a day of desperation when everything was going wrong for him.
Meanwhile, you were laughing with Siwoo in your living room; homework already done; you made some coffee for the two of you and Siwoo brought some cookies
âWho would have thought, Y/L/N? Youâre back to your old self again.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âYouâre laughing again, youâre joking again, youâre being yourself again.â
âWell, youâve helped me a lot with that, Siwoo.â
âDonât let anyone bring you down, girl.â You sighed and took a sip of your coffee
âI just donât want to burden anyoneâ You said softly not knowing someone else was inside the house
âYouâre not a burdenâ Siwoo said shaking his head "I'm not sure who made you believe that, but they're idiots," you chuckled a little.
"Please," you said.
"All right, all right," he raised his hands but soon dropped them "I know how much it hurt you when he said that to you. Thank you for trusting me and letting me and the lads in once again." You smiled
Two weeks ago you started hanging out with your friends once again. Of course they asked you what had happened to you, and when you plucked up the courage to tell them, most of them werenât exactly happy that your boyfriend had treated you like that
âHow about a rematch on Just Dance?" He said changing the subject
"Now?" He nodded. "Come on, let's go! You wonât beat me.â You laughed, finished the last of your drink and cleared away the cups youâd used.
As you entered the kitchen, you saw Chan sitting in one of the chairs, looking towards the living room.
âOh! Youâre here,â you said, surprised. âI didnât hear you come in.â
âYeah, Iâve only been here a few minutes.â
"Oh, I see," you said. "How was training today?"
"I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to come homeâ
Your eyes widened, your hand instantly went to his forehead âYou donât have any feverâ You said âWhat are you feeling, baby?â
Chan shook his head âHeadacheâ He rested his head in your palm
âDo you want me to prepare something for you?â You asked softly
âY/N, everythingâs set up!â Siwooâs voice rang across the department
âYouâre busyâ He said sighing âIâll be fine, Iâll take a shower and lay down for a bitâ
âIâll prepare you something quickâ You said, Chan shook his head
âIâm okayâ He kissed you on the forehead and left the kitchen.
You sighed and, without paying him any mind, decided to put some water on to boil so you could make him a hot milk shake. It had been a long time since youâd seen Chan looking as downcast as he did at that moment.
If you pictured his face in your mind, youâd notice that his nose was red, his eyes were a little teary, and his voice was breaking.
What could have happened to him?
Your heart felt heavy.
"Y/N!" Siwoo came into the kitchen. "Earth calling Y/N," he snapped his fingers in front of your face. You blinked and looked at him.
"What's going on?" you asked.
"That's what I'd like to ask you. I got here and you were zoned out," he made a gesture that made you laugh.
"I was thinking about something."
"Everything okay?"
"I think so," you said. "Chan arrived; he didnât look too good."
"Mhm," Siwoo said. "Did he say anything to you?" You shook your head.
"No." You looked at the water, which was starting to come to a boil. "Let me take this to him and Iâll be right back."
"If you want, I can leave," He said, you shook your head once again
"I think he'd better calm down a bitâ
Siwoo nodded. "I'll warm up then," he said, and you laughed.
"Are you really that bad that you need to warm up?"
"It's not that I'm bad! It's just that I get cramps afterward. Age catches up with you." You laughed loudly at the last part
âGo, warm up old manâ You said between laughs
Siwoo left the kitchen laughing, and once again you were alone.
The water was ready; you took out a cup, some milk, a little cinnamon, and honey.
You carefully made him some milk tea and carried it up to your room on a small tray.
You knocked twice and opened the door.
Your heart broke.
There was Chan, fresh out of the shower, wearing sweatpants and no shirt. He was lying face down on the bed, his arms clutching your pillow tightly, his phone resting on the headboard watching something
Small sobs escaped his lips, and every now and then he sniffled. He was crying.
"Oh, Chris." You closed the door, lay down beside him, the cup on his nightstand. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was a complete idiot."
âCome on, I donât get it, Chris. What happened?â Your arms wrapped around his body, your chin resting on his neck, you looked at his phone; photos of the two of you together were on the screen
It was the first time youâd made physical contact with him in five weeks.
When he felt your touch, he cried a little more
"I promised myself I'd never hurt you. And that was the first thing I did." You sighed, hearing him. "You've been acting differently toward everyone, all because of me and my stupid mistakes."
"I know I don't deserve forgiveness this quickly, but it hurts to know that I brought one of your biggest insecurities to life." He turned slowly, you and him were face to face.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it. I'm sorry I yelled at you like that. I'm sorry I said all those thingsâthey're lies! I'm so sorry you've changed with everyone."
"You hurt me, Chan," you began.
"I know I did," you wiped away his tears, and he closed his eyes.
"I spent weeks bottling up everything I was feeling," you told him.
"Words can't even begin to express how sorry I am for that," he whispered.
"I understand your workload; youâre the leader, the oldestâeveryone expects the best from you, and everyone turns to you when thereâs a problem." Your hand ran through his hair. "I admire you so much, but you need to draw a line between when youâre at work and when youâre at home," you said. "We can talk about everything that happens to youâthe good and, above all, the bad. Weâre a team, Chan."
"But as much as I love you, Iâm not just someone you can yell at every time youâre frustrated, much less play with my insecurities just like that."
"I know. I know you deserve so much better. Believe me, seeing you laugh with other people and realizing how distant you were with me made me feel terrible. I felt like I failed as a partner."
"You havenât failed," you assured him. "You messed up a little, yes," you said, "but you realized your mistake and youâve started to make amends." Chan smiled. "Donât think youâre completely off the hook."
"I know Iâm not," he said, "but Iâll work to erase those words from your heart."
You nodded.
"I brought you some hot milk," you said, nodding toward the cup.
"You didnât have to."
"Just because Iâm mad at you doesnât mean Iâve stopped caring about you." You planted a kiss on his cheek. "Come on, drink it." You stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"Iâm going to get you some acetaminophen."
"No, donât go."
"But Chanâ"
"Trust me, Iâm already feeling a little better," he said, sniffling. "With the milk, Iâll feel even better."
You sighed, sitting back down on the bed. You looked into his eyes and smiled slowly.
"Can we cuddle for a bit?"
"I canât stay long. Siwoo is downstairs waiting."
"Just while I drink the milk?" You looked at him. "I know Iâm not forgiven yet; I know I have to earn it. But I missed you so much these past few weeks.â
âYouâre lucky youâre cute,â Chan laughed.
You positioned yourself behind him; Chan turned slightly to the side, his face buried in your chest, one of his arms around your waist, while yours were around his shoulders. One hand in his hair and the other on his arm.
You stayed like that for a few minutes; you saw Chan stretch out his arm, setting the cup on the nightstand.
âBetter?â He nodded without saying anything else.
You watched his eyes begin to close, his cheeks red, and his grip on you tightened slightly.
You smiled.
You grabbed your phone and opened the messaging app
âSiwoo
Before you could send another message, three more came in
âI'm gone now. Don't worry
âHope youâve worked everything out
âRematch next Friday
You laughed and set the phone aside. After planting a kiss on Chanâs hair, you settled in slowly.
