frequentlykit

[frequentlykit]

I’M TIRED OF SMUT, I WANT TOOTH ACHING FLUFF AND HEART SHATTERING ANGST.

[frequentlykit]

This is a place where I feel at home

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Summary: After dance practice, you collapse with a seizure.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Requestee, you specifically asked for this. I know seizures can look different and vary from person-to-person, based upon the type of seizures and diagnosis, so I just did a general overview. I hope I managed to write something, that's difficult irl for you, and create something that can make you smile <3 (actually, I hope it makes you laugh)

_ _ _

Sweat seeped out of every pore. In the center of the group, all nine of you became a single entity. Breathing, moving, and creating movements that rippled through time. You were soaked in your own sweat. The collar of your shirt clung damply to your neck. It stuck between your armpits, but there wasn’t time to pull it away from your skin. 

Stomps echoed and the swell of music caused your fingers to stretch in front of you. You grabbed the open air before jerking your body back and fitting between an open pocket of empty space. Between Han and Seungmin, your lungs heaved for air, but none of you stopped. There wasn’t any time. 

You spun and rocked your weight from one foot to the other in a hop motion. Another twirl, bigger arm movements, and the facial expressions didn’t matter yet. You lost count of how many times you’d gone through all these motions. Another dance practice, another day spent losing yourself in the music. Your lungs ached, but you didn’t complain. 

You lived for this. All the sweat didn’t matter. You caught glimpses of everyone in the mirror. You still didn’t understand how one choreographer taught all nine of you the dance moves. Over and over again, she went over the moves and helped you turn your body on time. Each movement translated to the beat and you flew again. 

“Come on! You’re nearly finished! Keep up the energy!” 

Behind you, she stood in the corner watching your formation. Her eyes swayed from person-to-person, trying to make sure nothing seemed amiss. It all ran perfectly, just like she imagined it to go. Everyone moved like she wanted them to. 

When the song came to an end, loud claps came from the same corner. “Great job everyone! You did so well!” 

Han was the first to sink to his knees. Muscular arms stretched outward in his sleeveless black top. “Oh, god. My arms are on fire, I think I’m going to die.” 

The muscles in your arms felt the same way. No matter how much you danced, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the burning sensation from swinging your arms around so much. You chuckled at his antics, shook your head, and went to your bag to grab your water.

Changbin’s laughter cut through the air. He pointed at Hyunjin, making fun of him. “Look at you, you’re practically drowning in your own sweat.” 

“I don’t have the energy to fight you right now.” 

“Looking good as per usual, hyung,” Felix teased. 

A hand ran through Hyunjin’s hair. Sweaty strands jerked back and fell right back into his face. He huffed and collapsed beside Han. “Ugh, I wanna go home, but I think I need to take five. Just a few minutes to catch my breath.” 

You’d been with the guys for so long, the scent of combined sweat didn’t bother you anymore. You’d gone nose blind to it, but you could feel the warmth of the room. The heat that built from moving bodies, flying limbs, and the stuffy contained feeling that caused your skin to itch. 

“Hey.” A finger reached out and poked you in the back of your shoulder blade. You turned around to find Minho staring at you. “Am I taking you home today, or are you going with one of the other guys?” 

“I wanted to go with you, if that’s okay. Chan, Changbin, and Han are all staying over. I don’t know what the rest of the guys are doing.” 

Minho spun around to face everyone else and his voice raised. “Who needs a ride back to the dorms?” 

Felix and Seungmin’s arms shot up. Jeongin glanced up from digging in his backpack. “Wait! Don’t make me drive back alone! Yongbok, be my passenger princess.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“I guess that means I’m with the cat and dog,” you mumbled beneath your breath. 

“What was that?” Minho asked. 

“Nothing.” 

He blinked multiple times and shook his head. “Alright, Seungmin, let’s go.” He walked beside the leather couch, grabbed his bag, and headed towards the door. 

You barely had time to grab your bag and follow him. Seungmin rushed after both of you. He waved to the guys, promised Felix he’d see him back home, and hurried into the hall. You and Minho were already halfway down it. From the practice room, Hyunjin grumbled, insisting that nobody loved him because nobody wanted to ride home with him. It didn’t take long for Changbin to straddle his back and confess his love. 

In the air conditioned hall, you grabbed your water bottle and slowly sipped, relishing the cool water. The insulated bottle kept your ice water cold. When it came to days like this, you were always thankful for it. You spent a pretty penny on it, but it came from the recommendation of Chan. He used the same brand and always liked having cold water at his disposal, no matter the day. 

“Can you two slow down?” Seungmin called out. “You’re acting like race horses and we have nowhere to be right now.” 

“I have a place to be, it’s called the shower. I don’t know about you, but it’s calling my name.” Minho rushed down the stairs. “I’m in a hurry to get there because, unlike you, I don’t try to attract people to me via my scent.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You chuckled at their antics and took your time going down the stairs. In the lobby, a group of trainees was being addressed by their own manager. When the group spotted the three seniors, they ducked into a respectful bow. You smiled and waved at them. Blushes and shy eyes looked away. Seungmin greeted them back and Minho dropped a respectable nod. 

All three of you knew what it was like meeting senior groups. The butterflies and nerves came fluttering back. It’d been years ago, but you remembered it like it was yesterday. As you walked past them, nostalgia hit you hard. 

Minho held the door open for you and you thanked him. When it came to Seungmin, he let the door go before he walked through the exit. The door started to retract and bumped into Seungmin as he left the building. “Real mature. Thanks a lot, hyung.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” 

“I’m getting the passenger’s seat.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I’m calling dibs.” 

“Overruled. It’s my car and I pick the assigned seats.” Minho glanced back at you. “You can have the passenger’s seat.” 

Your head shook. “No, that’s okay. Seungmin can have it if he wants it.” 

“Did you not hear me? I said I pick the assigned seats. You’re up front with me.” 

“Yeah, okay. Seungmin?” You spun around. “Give me your bag and I’ll put it in the trunk.” He tossed his duffle bag in your direction, you caught it with a grunt. 

Minho pressed a button on his key fob and the back of his trunk retracted. Without complaint, you headed over and placed your bags in his trunk. Seungmin threw open the back door and slipped inside. Just as he was about to buckle, Minho tossed his bag between the driver and passenger’s seat, causing it to slam into Seungmin’s chest. “Hold that.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“Did I stutter? Can you hear?” His eyes narrowed. “Should we take you to a doctor and get your ears cleaned out? They’re probably full of wax. No wonder why you don’t listen to what you’re told.”

“Real mature.” 

You shut the trunk and looked over. Afternoon slipped into an early evening. The tangerine sky laid with highlights of soft pink. Supple streaky white clouds rolled warmth into your heart. It’d been a while since you’d been out of work early enough to catch the sunset before it faded into darkness.  

Seungmin huffed and pushed Minho’s bag to his side. It stayed upright on the leather seats. Minho looked in the rearview mirror and glared. “Hey, I said hold onto that.” 

“I’m not holding your bag the entire drive home.” 

“You have no respect for your elders.” 

“And the only thing you’re good at is bossing today’s youth around. I’m sorry you're bitter because your joints creak and your back aches. Don’t take it out on me, take it up with your geriatrician and try some fish oil pills.” 

“What the hell did you just say to me, punk?” He unbuckled his seatbelt and jerked around in his seat. “Say it again and see what happens.” 

“I said take it up with the doctor that specializes in old people!” 

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

“Do you kiss anyone at all?” 

Minho lunged back, trying to smack the back of Seungmin’s head, but Seungmin ducked down, just narrowly avoiding it. “Missed me, asshole.” 

“Come here!” 

Meanwhile, your hand expanded outwards and you reached out for the side of the car. You mumbled Minho’s name, but he couldn’t hear it as he argued with Seungmin. It became a sixth sense, an inkling that you were on the verge of something happening. You tried again, softly calling out for Seungmin, but it didn’t work. 

Light fractured and your body caved in. Knees buckled and you tried to stay upright, but your fingers caught nothing, only the smooth black paint of Minho’s car. A loud thud and a sharp pain filled your head. The sharp colors of the sky blended into a watercolor painting. An empty static and then the eerie silence of nothingness. 

The moment a loud bang came from the back of the vehicle, Minho stopped reaching for Seungmin and glanced out the trunk window. “Hey, where’d they go?” 

“Weren’t they just putting the bags in the trunk?” 

“Yeah, but they did and– ah, shit.” 

Seungmin’s eyes widened and he jerked his car door open. It wasn’t always, but you did have seizures every so often. Usually, the guys tried to keep an eye on you, but their actions were limited. You couldn’t spend your whole life being watched twenty-four-seven. He slammed his car door shut and rushed around the car. 

Minho cursed and dropped down beside your shaking body. Every muscle in your body tensed and you jerked unconsciously. A faint noise left your throat. Unaware of it all, there was nothing you could do to stop your brain from firing in all the wrong ways. Muscles spasmed and your fingers twitched.  

“Help me get them onto their side!” Minho barked. 

Seungmin dropped down on your other side. Together, they worked to shift you onto your left side. One of your shoes dug into the cement and scraped across the pavement in the process. He popped up over your body, opened the truck, and quickly unzipped his bag. Minho glanced up in confusion. 

“Here, use this to stabilize their head.” He pulled out a hoodie and folded it into a square. 

Minho grabbed it and gently worked it beneath your head. “There you go. It’s okay, we’ve got you.” 

Seungmin’s hand reached out and grabbed your top ankle. He tried to be cautious, but also stop you from jerking back onto your back. The recovery position, laying on your side, is important when a seizure is active. Minho’s hand hovered above your shoulder. If you jerked back, he gently steadied you. 

“Should we call for an ambulance?” 

“Not unless it doesn’t stop. We’ve been over this, remember?” 

“I know, but I still worry.” 

“We have to trust that they know their own body.” 

For so long, you’d dealt with seizures. Your doctor tried medicine to stabilize you, but sometimes your brain had a mind of its own. You just had to wait for them to pass on their own. 

When it finally stopped, you didn’t know if you were still in your own body. Dance practice already made you sore, but a seizure and aggressive tensing muscles made it so much worse. You sucked in a sharp breath and your eyes fluttered open. 

Minho uttered your name and carefully cupped your face. You groggily looked up, but it sounded like you were beneath water. Whatever he said, you couldn’t understand it fully. Seungmin’s worried face appeared next to his. Your eyes shut. 

“What’s happening?” Seungmin whispered. 

“Exhaustion. Their body totally just freaked out on them. It’s not easy to handle.” Minho called your name again. This time, you could finally understand what he said. 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m going to pick you up and take you back inside, okay? We’re just going to make sure you’re stable before we put you in a moving car and take you home. Do you need anything?” 

“My water.” 

“Let’s get you inside and you can have some. This concrete can’t be comfortable. Seungmin, get the water. Is your head okay? There’s a red spot on your forehead. I think you slammed the bumper of my car when you fell.” 

You shrugged, still feeling a little out of it. Minho’s strong arms slipped beneath your body. He stood up, scooped you into his chest, and slowly walked back to the company building. “If you need something, just let me know.” 

“Okay.” 

You were quiet all the way back upstairs. The pair chose the elevator and Minho instructed Seungmin to press all the buttons. Chan, Changbin, and Han were all in one of the recording studios. When Minho arrived with you in tow, the three of them glanced over. 

“What happened?” Chan asked. 

“Seizure in the parking lot.”

They were up within seconds, worrying about you. You wanted to be embarrassed, but you couldn’t be. Your head felt so fuzzy and you were tired. Minho gently placed you onto the couch. Your eyes reopened. 

“Are you okay?” Changbin approached you first. “Do you need anything?” 

“My water.” 

Seungmin handed it to Changbin. He helped you sit up and watched as you took a few sips of the cool water. Multiple pairs of eyes fell on you, but you tried to ignore it. You didn’t like being the center of attention, but in times like this, you didn’t get a choice. 

Han finally appeared and slowly slipped behind your legs. “You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired.” 

“Do you want to stay here for a bit? Chan, Changbin, and I were just about to rearrange our next song. It’s a ballad, so it shouldn’t cause your head to ache.” 

“Or I can take you back home,” Minho added. “With Seungmin, it’s up to you.”

“Can I stay here? I just wanna rest.” 

“Of course. Seungmin, let’s head out and give them some space. We can’t have you stenching up the place with your wet dog scent.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Minho waved him to the door. He rolled his eyes, placed your bag beside the couch, and headed away. “Whatever. Take care, you know where to find us if you need us.” 

“If they make it home without murdering each other,” Chan joked. 

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” 

Your eyes shut, but you listened to the bickering with amusement. Their taunts would never get old. Changbin glanced at you once more before heading back to one of the chairs in front of the recording booth. 

Han gently patted your legs. “I’m going to stay right here beside you. Maybe if I’m here, I can keep the seizures away. Like a mosquito repellant, but for seizures.” 

“You think so?” You asked.

“I hope so.” 

Chan shut the door and sighed. “I guess it could be worse. The other three went home earlier.” He headed back to the spot beside Changbin. “Maybe it’s better they’re not here because-” 

The door jerked open and Hyunjin rushed in, nearly tripping over himself. He called your name with worry and dropped in front of the couch. “Are you alive? Are you a ghost? Tell me you can still see me! How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Hyung, Minho said not to bother them and let them rest.” Jeongin entered the room with crossed arms. “You’re going to stress them out more.”

“Am I not allowed to worry? How many fingers? You’re not responding!” 

“Probably because their eyes are shut.” 

Your eyes reopened at the sound of Felix’s voice. He placed an arm around Jeongin’s shoulder and waved at you. “Hey, we heard what happened from Minho. We just came to see if you’re okay.” 

“I thought the three of you went home?” Chan uttered from his spot. 

“Oh, yeah, we were going to, but-” 

“I don’t want to drive home alone!” Hyunjin whined. “It’s like nobody in this group loves me. I stole Jeongin’s car keys and he keeps chasing me and trying to get them back.” He called your name. “Tell Innie that he can’t drive home with Lix. I need a passenger princess, too.” 

The worry from your seizure melted away a little. Your seizures were serious and always would be, but with the antics of the guys, you couldn’t worry for long. Before you could speak, Minho appeared. “Hwang Hyunjin, I’m about to roast your ass in the airfryer. Get over here!” 

“I had to make sure they were still alive!” 

“I’m about to make ferret kabobs in the next five seconds if you don’t leave.” 

“But hyung!” 

Chan groaned and rubbed his face. “I can’t believe I picked all of you and have to put up with all of this years later.” 

“Who wants to try a wolf kabob next?” Minho asked. 

Every single hand went up, including yours.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv

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Ko-fi

[frequentlykit]

its been a whole week now...i miss stray kids....that concert lasted what felt like minutes...i wanna go back

[frequentlykit]

His smile is so addicting!

Im gonna assume you were mostly focused on these photos

Bc yes you are correct his smiling is addicting asf

But also

INNIE STOP

[frequentlykit]

PLAYING WITH HIS HAIR.

chan likes his hair played with.

side note: his long hair has been looking so good, it really suits him. oh god i hope he doesn’t cut it!!

[ (stray kids) bang chan x reader ] mild suggestive content | blurb, domestic fluff, soft moments, hair play, established relationship | warning/s: feeding delusions

you love chan’s hair.

like, really… really love it.

it’s gotten to a certain length in which it’s not super curly anymore, but there’s still a slight wave to it, and you just love it.

you run your fingers through it whenever you can, and you even go as far as to making it your job to wash his hair when you shower together.

“i can wash my own hair, darling,” chan chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist as you worked the shampoo into a lather on his scalp.

“i know,” you smiled, “but i like doing it for you.. now close your eyes before soap gets in them.” you gently warned him, making him sigh softly, and close his eyes as he enjoys the head massage you threw in while giving his hair a good wash.

chan lives for the feeling of your fingers running along his back and neck as well as the feeling of you playing with his hair - he just loves it.

this little act of yours always relaxes him after a long day at the studio or at dance practice. it’s a hypnotic to treat his insomnia. it’s a big turn on, even.

“that feels nice; like my own personal asmr,” his soft, almost slurred, voice breaks you from your reminiscence, making you stop your movements and pull away, “don't stop.” he grabs your wrists and leads your hands back to his hair.

you’re sitting on the couch with chan’s head on your lap and your fingers - of course- tangled in his hair. your nails scrape across his scalp, making him purr almost at the the sensation.

you grin, knowing how much he enjoys this and increase the pressure slightly. “you know, i could do this all day,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing.

chan’s breath evens out, his eyes fluttering closed as he sinks deeper into your touch. “you always know how to take care of me,” he says, his voice drowsy. “i love you for that.”

you lean down and kiss the top of his head, your heart swelling with affection. “seeing you like this makes me happy. i love you, chan.”

“i’d play with your hair too, but you never let me.” a pout appears on his lips, as well as a frown-y expression making his eyebrows pinch together.

it’s not that you never let him. and you wouldn’t mind if he did. he’s always the one taking care of you, plus looking out for everyone else. but who’s taking care of him?

“i guess i’m a little selfish when it comes to this,” you explain, your fingers still working through the soft strands of his hair.

chan chuckles, a warm, rich sound that resonates through your chest. “selfish, hm? i think i can handle that. but you know, you could let me indulge a little too.”

you can’t help but laugh softly, imagining him trying to manage your hair. you can also picture him weaving through it and the gentle tug of his hands.

“some other time. maybe.” you concede, smiling. “but for now, you’re mine to spoil.”

“i’ll accept that,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes his eyes once more, surrendering to your fingers dancing through the waves.

the room is quiet, except for the the soft sounds of chan’s contented sighs and the occasional hum of pleasure.

chan would do anything if it meant you could play with his hair forever.

[frequentlykit]

Skzoo Bias

summary: when dad finds out he’s not the skzoo bias in his own home

pairing: dad!skz x mom!reader

genre: fluff, humor

a/n: three dad!skz fics in a row? guilty 🫣 but this request is too cute to resist so had to write it asap

Dad!SKZ Masterlist

~°~

bang chan

lee know

seo changbin

hwang hyunjin

han jisung

lee felix

kim seungmin

yang jeongin

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

Permanent Taglist:

@lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250 @notmedina127 @thecutiepieme @stay-tiny-things @inlovewithstraykids @skz-ot8-stay @emilyywhyy @havenwithleeknow @hungryhobbit815 @seungminnieinthebuilding @beabidoobee @geni-627 @ye0lkkot @yaorzu-blog @butterflybananabread @nightshadeblooming @rockstarkkami @finannn @poody1608 @scarlet789 @mbioooo0000 @icannotbelieveit @casperlynn23 @rtyuy1346 @maddy24207 @ari-hwanggg @jisuperboard @nougatjade @skzlover24

Dad!SKZ Taglist:

@butterflydemons @hhjlvr @smiileflower @imbaebi

[frequentlykit]

[frequentlykit]

𝔊𝔢𝔱 𝔗𝔬 𝔎𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔐𝔢

ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖: 𝕂𝕚𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕖: '𝟘𝟝 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕟: ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕄𝔹𝕋𝕀: 𝕀𝕊𝔽𝕁-𝕋

Fandoms - STAY [Bias: Bang Chan | Bias Wreckers: Hyunjin, Seungmin, Changbin] ENGENE [Bias: Ni-Ki | Bias Wreckers: Sunghoon, Heeseung] ATINY [Bias: Mingi | Bias Wrecker: San]

[frequentlykit]

ᯓ★ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲

͙͘͡★ Genre: Idol!au, fluff

͙͘͡★ Warnings: None

͙͘͡★ Characters: Chris, Y/N

͙͘͡★ Word Count: 1.7k

Y/N: Coast is clear 🫡

Chrispy: No one guarding?

Y/N: Nooope

Chrispy: RUN RUN RUN

Chrispy: Carefully. Hehe

Y/N did just that; silent laughter rose up inside her as she shot down the hotel corridor, and it spilled out of her as soon as she pushed open the door of Chris's room.

He was already waiting on the other side, and hearing her giggles, Chris burst into chaotic laughter. With one arm, he pulled Y/N into the curve of his body as he clicked the door shut with his other hand, deftly locking it, and a split second later he practically smothered the woman in a large embrace.

“I felt like a ninja,” Y/N said through her laughter in way of greeting. Her voice was muffled against Chris's shoulder, and it only made him pull her closer, his fingers curling into the oversized jacket draped over her body.

“You look like one,” Chris grinned, looking down at her. “What are you wearing?”

“Protective gear,” Y/N said proudly, slipping her sunglasses off of her nose before stepping out of the rest of her attire - long jacket, hood over her head, hat beneath, long scarf wrapped over the lower portion of her face. She exhaled once it was all off. “Ah … I was sweltering under there.”

Chris chuckled and reached for her again, smushing his face into the crook of her neck. He whined then, his breath hot at her skin. “I missed you … so fucking much.”

“Already? ‘S only been one night,” Y/N smiled, curling her arms around his broad shoulders and relishing in the familiarity of the way his muscles gave way from her caressing touch. She exhaled in relief; she had missed him just as much, regardless of how she teased him.

“Too long,” Chris mumbled slowly. “Way too long.”

At that, Y/N's eyes softened. “And to think you didn't wanna risk it, huh?”

“Stupid Channie,” Chris slurred, tightening his arms around her waist some more. She was practically glued to the entire front of his body now, and he didn't seem to want to let go any time soon - it made Y/N smile as she squeezed him back, her heart lurching at the way his tone was gradually slipping into something fuzzier, something melty and warm. “Don’ know what he was thinking … “

Y/N's laughter was a sweet buzz against his shoulder. “Thinking about the rules, baby.”

“Fuck the fucking rules,” Chris huffed. “Don’ like ‘em. They're stupid. Just wanna sleep with you … “

Heart already a pile of mush on the floor of her ribcage, Y/N pulled away slightly and cupped her soft hands around Chris's warm face. He hummed softly, his plump lips brushing against the side of her palm in a butterfly kiss.

“Was last night really that bad that you decided to break all the rules just so I could be with you?” Y/N laughed under her breath, Chris's lips curving up into a lazy smile. “What if they find out?”

“‘Mm … they won't,” he seemed to be already falling asleep even though he was standing, and it made Y/N giggle again. She brushed her fingers through his hair, the straightened locks curling ever so slightly at the tips and regaining their natural texture.

“Look at you … “ Y/N whispered, scratching her fingers against his scalp. “My little baby.”

Chris's nose flushed. He nodded against her hands, his head falling forward and dropping against Y/N's shoulder. “Mhm. Yours.”

“Mine, right?” Y/N breathed, and he nodded again, making an approving noise. “Gonna listen to me then?”

Chris hummed.

“Go shower and take your makeup off,” Y/N said, and Chris groaned loudly, making her snort with laughter. “C'mon … wanna see my baby's pretty face and his pretty curls.”

Chris shook his head wildly against her neck. “Not pretty.”

“Mm you're right,” Y/N said with a cheeky smile. “They're beautiful.”

“Nuh uh … “ Chris mumbled.

“Yuh uh,” Y/N smiled, copying the man's playful tone as she slipped her fingers through his shaggy hair again. She twirled it around her fingers, the fine strands almost like chocolatey gossamer against her skin. “Look at this hair … it's gonna reach your butt soon.”

Cracking up with hushed laughter, Chris pulled back slightly and gazed at the woman with a cheeky expression. “Do you want it to reach my butt?”

Y/N's lips twitched. “Well … no, but I mean … you'd probably pull it off.”

Her lips twitched again. “Then again, perhaps not. A certain SKZ Code episode is coming to mind … “

Cracking up with taken aback laughter as a distant memory of buttery yellow fabric and a long wig tickled his brain Chris rubbed his eyes. “How long should I keep it?”

Y/N shrugged. She stepped towards him and tugged at his hair, caressing the nape of his neck with a finger. She stopped just above the collar of his shirt, her touch making the man shiver. “Here? But wear it curly.”

Chris grumbled again. “You always want the damn curls.”

“Because I love them,” Y/N smiled, kissing his nose. “My favourite curls in the whole world. The longer your hair gets the curlier it looks and it makes me … violent.”

“Violent?” Chris spluttered.

“Mhm.”

The tips of Chris's ears flushed scarlet. He cleared his throat and tugged her towards him by her hand before landing a tender kiss to her mouth. “Gonna go shower.”

“Good boy,” Y/N whispered.

Another sudden bark of laughter escaped the man before he turned around and grabbed the fluffy towel hanging neatly on a nearby hook. He stopped at the doorframe of the bathroom and turned to look at her over his shoulder; Y/N tipped her head to the side in question, and Chris smiled softly, his eyes bursting with little love hearts before he suddenly stuck his tongue out towards her. He started to giggle at his own antics as he disappeared into the bathroom, his laughter light as it bounced off the tiled walls, and Y/N smiled to herself as she turned away and moved towards the large bed at the other side of the room.

He was still damp when he emerged from the bathroom. Water ran in tiny rivulets down the sculpted pathways of his freckled torso, and it trickling through the planes of his muscular back, giving his fair skin an ambery sheen under the hotel room's dim lighting. Y/N was already curled up in the bed, almost drowning under the sheets; she watched with amusement as the man suddenly whipped the towel away from his hips and rubbed it against his head instead, the uncovering revealing the sharp grooves cut just above his thighs, dipping inwards. The shadows warped as he padded towards her, and they hugged his body in such a way that he looked as though he had been carved from a marble so hard that it would surely hurt to touch him. But his body melted into Y/Ns a second later as he sank into the bed and reached for her, and Y/N marvelled not for the first time at the raw silkiness of his skin against her fingertips, at the sturdiness of his build as he moved to hold her closer.

“Happy now … ?” Chris asked her under his breath once he had stopped wriggling around under the covers. He was radiating so much heat that Y/N had to kick her side of the duvet down; but she pulled him closer anyway, tucking the reassuring of his head against the curve of her neck as she turned onto the back, his legs hooked over her hip.

She smiled, looking down at him. Her fingers traced the features of his face that she so loved; the makeup he had been wearing earlier had completely melted away, and his moles almost winkled at her in greeting as she smoothed her fingertips over them, one by one, as she did almost every time she was with him. It was almost like a ritual for her, one that brought her immense comfort, and one that made Chris's heart flip so hard that he wondered if it was perhaps turned inside out.

“Very happy,” Y/N whispered, thumbing the marks beneath his eyes, before sweeping over the mole nestled in his eyebrow. Her hand then travelled to his already drying hair, and she smiled widely, looping his messy curls around her hand. “Are you happy?”

“Mhm,” Chris nodded, resting his head against her chest again. His arms were secure around her waist under the covers, almost like a seatbelt, and he tightened them now as if he couldn't bear to let go of her again. “Stay with me.”

Y/N smiled and kissed his temple. “Well, I am, aren't I?”

“No, I mean … through the whole tour,” Chris whispered. “I'll sort everything out, make sure no one sees you or knows you're with me … just come with me. Wanna be with you everywhere I go. I … always sleep better when you're with me.”

At that, Y/N grinned. “You only want me so you can sleep?”

“Mm … yeah,” Chris joked. It made Y/N shake with mirth beneath him, and she tugged him closer to her, tangling her legs with his like they were little jigsaw pieces locking together.

“I was gonna stay anyway,” Y/N hummed, her hand slowly brushing his hair away from his forehead in soothing, receptive motions. “Because … well, I sleep better with you too.”

it was Chris's turn to chuckle. He nuzzled his face against her chest, snuggling into her further as if he could fuse their bodies into one, so they could stay together forever. it made Y/N hug him tighter, and she rolled to her side a little, cocooning his body as best as she could with her own.

“Promise … ?“ Chris's voice was so quiet it barely felt like a puff of warmth against Y/N's skin.

Y/N hummed. “Of course I promise. Can't leave my little baby all alone, can I?”

Laughing softly, Chris shook his head. “‘S a scary world out there.”

They both burst into hushed laughter at that; they were but a mass of giggles and rustled sheets and heated, fragrant skin, and neither of them had any idea of what happened next. One moment they were breathless with their delirious laughter, and the next their brains were fuzzy, their bodies curled into each other like tangled sunflowers as they promptly fell fast asleep.

Tag list ~ @dalamjisung @ateez-babygirl @waverzzzzzzzz @smutdumpskz @hotmesshapa @chanssmiles @leand125 @foivetimesacharm @dprkbyn @super-btstrash-posts @sleepyleeji @ka-ni-ma @straystaychan @mylifesupsidedowm @armystay89 @shut-up256 @hanstan34 @blackfangedreaper @suhomylife @kannaexe @kookie9704 @notastraykid @strayfoxxchan @elizalabs3 @jdopes-recorder @forever-in-the-sky2 @peachygiku @chansducky10 @shakalakaboomboo @jisuperboard @zandra-42 @whyyougottadothatbro @skzcoffeemachine @where-is-innie @miin17 @nappynapnaps @prettymiye0n @lost-leopard-beanie @chnbngs @hann1bee @stayceebs97 @solandiszale @cosmicalily @chanlixart (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

[frequentlykit]

Helping Hand Bonus Part - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: Kissing, SO FLUFFY

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

WC: 600+

Summary: Four months later...

A/N: wink wink

- kit <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Four Months Later

You and Chris had been cuddled on your couch most of the day. It was grey and miserable outside, so you’d spent one of his rare days off watching movies and talking. As you watched, cuddled against Chris’ arm and under the blanket the two of you were sharing, you saw that it had begun to rain outside.

You didn’t think much of it until a conversation you’d had with Chris from when you’d first met popped into your head.

“That’s your dream? To make out in the rain?” “Don’t judge me, I can be romantic when I want to.”

You spring up off the couch, making Chris jump, and pause the movie.

“Uh, babe? You okay?” He asks, sitting up.

“Come on.” You hold out your hand.

He looks at you questioningly before taking it. You pull him off the couch and over to your front door.

“Put on your shoes.” You order, slipping yours on.

“What? Why? Baby-”

“Do you trust me?” You interrupt.

He pauses, “More than anything.”

“So…”

He sighs, shrugging before slipping on his own shoes. You take his hand again and pull him out the door. Once you make it outside, the sound of the rain had gotten louder. If there was ever a time to use the phrase ‘it’s raining cats and dogs’ it was now. You took him out from under the overhang, walking a few steps so the pair of you were standing directly in the downpour.

“What are we doing?” He asks, blinking as rain drips down his face.

“Fulfilling your fantasy!” You call over the pounding rain.

He gives you that cute confused expression he makes before it suddenly hits him. What he’d said in the hotel that night. And before he could think too much you’d pulled him into a passionate kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as he instinctively wrapped his own around your waist. His lips were warm against yours, despite the frigid rain pouring down around you. You could taste the salt on his lips from the popcorn you’d been eating which made you grin against his lips.

You couldn’t believe this was real. Four months ago you were dreaming of going to a Stray Kids concert. Now you were standing in the rain with the love of your life who also happened to be the leader of that very group. After a few more moments you pull back, rain soaking the pair of you to the bone.

“I love you.” He says, looking down at you with admiration in his eyes.

You were stunned. It was the first time he’d said it, the first time either of you had said it. The words seemed to sink in and his smile faltered, replaced by slight panic.

“I, uh, you don’t have to say it back. I just… you remembered this and I-”

You interrupt, pecking his lips to ease the outburst of words escaping.

“I love you, too.” You cup his cheek, now cold from the rain.

“That’s a relief… now can we go inside before we freeze to death?”

You laugh, nodding before you let him drag you back to your apartment where the two of you enjoyed a hot shower before settling back into the couch.

“Thanks for that.” He says, pulling your back against his chest and kissing your temple, “I’m really flattered you remembered.”

“Of course I remembered, it was such an innocent sweet thing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighs.

“I mean it!” You exclaim.

“I know you do… I meant it too.”

“Meant what?”

He tilts your head by the chin, forcing you to look behind at him, “I love you.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss him again.

“And I love you… more than you know.”

A/N: HOPE THIS WASN'T TOO CHEESY! Thank you for reading <3

TAGLIST: @akindaflora @lezleeferguson-120 @chasinghxran @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @idiotmaterial @beppybeesnuggets @queenofdumbfuckery @143straykidsot8 @breakmeoff

[frequentlykit]

This is too cute omg 🥹

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 (s.jy)

PAIRING: boxer-dad!jake x mom!reader (f)

SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.

WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 12th May 2025

WC: 9.2k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14

NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside

a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!

©️don’t copy or steal this fic & please REBLOG to share.

You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.

The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.

Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.

And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.

Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.

You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.

He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.

“Toast?” you asked.

He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”

You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”

“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.

Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.

“Morning, champ.”

“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”

Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”

James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.

Jake noticed. Of course he did.

After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.

“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”

Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”

James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”

Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”

“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”

You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.

At the innocence behind them.

And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.

You sighed. “We’ll see.”

Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.

That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.

He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.

Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”

“He’s five.”

“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”

James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.

Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”

“Daaaaaaad!”

“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”

“Yeah! One punch!”

You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”

“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”

James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”

Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”

Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.

You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.

The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.

Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.

He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.

Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”

“I see him, baby.”

The bell rang.

The fight started.

And something was wrong.

You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.

Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.

Your stomach twisted.

“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”

“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”

But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.

His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.

And your son started to panic.

“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”

“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”

But your words weren’t fast enough.

James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.

Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.

“Jihoon!”

He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.

Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.

“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”

The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.

Jake blinked down— and froze.

“Champ?”

James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”

Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.

Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.

Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”

“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”

“You were bleeding.”

Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”

You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”

The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.

Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.

Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.

You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”

Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Jake.”

He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”

And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.

☆.

It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.

The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.

It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.

This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.

You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.

But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.

You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.

The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.

Violent, sudden.

Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.

“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.

You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.

There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”

Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.

“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.

You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”

Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.

But it was James who surprised you.

He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.

“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”

You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”

Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”

You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.

You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”

That madew him pause.

He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.

“Late?” he asked.

You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”

Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.

His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.

He held it up. “This?”

You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.

Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”

“But—Mommy—”

“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”

James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.

You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.

“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.

“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”

He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”

The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.

You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.

You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.

Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.

You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”

Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”

“That was different,” you said.

He met your eyes. “Was it?”

You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.

His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”

“I threw up everywhere.”

“Still not alone.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.

Just a little.

Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.

When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.

Jake turned it over.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.

His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.

You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.

You saw the two lines.

Pregnant.

Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.

“Oh my god.”

Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.

“That’s real,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.

Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”

You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”

“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”

You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”

Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”

“He’ll boss them around.”

“He’ll protect them.”

You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”

Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”

You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”

He nodded. “Just ours.”

There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.

But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.

Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.

☆.

You never liked hospitals.

They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.

But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.

She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.

“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”

True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.

She didn’t let go of your hand once.

AAnd there it was.

That flickering heartbeat.

Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.

You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.

You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.

Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”

You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”

“You’re stronger than me.”

“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”

She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”

When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.

James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.

Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.

“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”

James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”

Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

James blinked again. “What?”

You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.

You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”

His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”

“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”

James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”

“We don’t know yet,” you said.

He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”

“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.

James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”

You smiled. “Only if you want to.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”

“Deal,” Jake said.

And just like that, James accepted it.

Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?

But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.

☆.

The first trimester was cruel.

The toilet became your closest companion.

Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.

Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.

Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.

But what surprised you most was James.

He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.

And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.

He never complained.

He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”

Jake started calling him your bodyguard.

James puffed his chest with pride every time.

Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”

It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.

.

☆.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.

You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.

Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.

But this year felt different.

You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.

Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.

And you were tired. So tired.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.

James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”

You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.

Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”

“Mommy should have both,” James declared.

“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.

His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”

James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”

“After lunch,” you said, laughing. “But yes. Later, we’ll eat cake.”

Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.

James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.

The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.

You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.

You didn’t even make it to the drawer.

Pop.

The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.

Warmth gushed down your legs.

You froze.

Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”

You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.

“Oh my god.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”

“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”

James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”

“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”

James blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.

He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.

Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.

“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”

“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”

He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”

“You’re not calm!”

James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”

“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”

“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.

“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”

“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.

Yunjin picked up after two rings.

“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”

You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”

“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”

“I’ll tell him if I survive.”

You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”

“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”

“Jake—”

“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.

James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”

You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”

He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”

Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m

The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.

Not yet. Not until it got worse.

And god, it got worse.

Nine hours of it.

Jake never left your side, not for a second.

You yelled at him at least three times.

“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.

He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.

Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Got it.”

“Wait, no— touch me again.”

He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”

You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.

And when it finally happened,.

the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.

Then—

A cry.

High and raw and brand new.

They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.

She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.

You sobbed.

Jake sobbed more.

Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”

Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”

“She’s so small,” you whispered.

“She’s perfect.”

You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.

You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.

Your daughter.

And she was worth it all.

☆.

The world came back slowly.

Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.

Familiar.

Jake’s cologne.

Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.

Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.

Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.

But now—now it was night.

The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.

You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.

He was there.

Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.

His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.

He was crying. Quietly.

Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.

“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.

“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”

You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.

He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.

Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.

Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.

This was a father. Again.

You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”

Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.

He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”

You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”

That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”

You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.

But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”

“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”

Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.

“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”

“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”

You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”

He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”

“Which part? I said a lot of things.”

“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”

Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”

You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.

After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”

You snorted. “Poor girl.”

He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”

“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”

Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”

You were quiet for a while.

Just breathing. Just holding her.

And him holding you.

Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Jake blinked. “For what?”

“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”

His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”

☆.

Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.

Jane was still asleep.

That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.

Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.

Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.

His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”

“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. I want this moment to be good.”

You looked over at him. “It will be.”

James had been waiting by the window.

The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.

Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”

James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.

He blinked.

Then frowned.

“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.

Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”

“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”

“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”

“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”

James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”

You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.

Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”

James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”

James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”

“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”

He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”

☆.

The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.

Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.

Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.

Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.

You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.

But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.

James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.

“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.

“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.

Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.

Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.

Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.

“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.

You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”

He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”

And Jake— Jake was different, this time.

The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.

But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.

But not now.

Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.

He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.

He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.

He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.

He wasn’t perfect.

He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.

But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.

What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.

And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.

You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.

You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.

Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.

Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.

James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.

Your heart cracked open.

Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”

“I did,” you whispered.

“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”

You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”

“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”

You did cry then.

And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.

You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.

And that was everything.

☆.

Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.

It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.

The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.

Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.

His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.

Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.

You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.

James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.

“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.

Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”

James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”

You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.

Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”

James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”

But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.

The way he pressed his lips together.

You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.

“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”

James groaned. “Noooo.”

Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”

James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”

“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”

James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”

Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”

Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.

Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.

“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”

“What?” James blinked. “Why?”

You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”

“I wasn’t that late.”

“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”

“Okay, one time—”

“Every time.”

Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”

“I was tired.”

“Exactly. So mysterious.”

James giggled.

“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”

You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”

Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”

James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”

“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”

“Darn right I did.”

“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”

“I didn’t like you.”

Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”

You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”

“You brought me soup.”

“Because I’m not a monster.”

James cut in. “Did you kiss?”

Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.

You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”

James made a face. “Ew.”

“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”

Your chest squeezed a little.

“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”

“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”

James giggled again.

“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”

“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.

Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.

“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”

James squinted. “Why?”

“Because it’s for grown-ups.”

“But—”

“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”

James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”

“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.

“Jaeyun.”

Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”

Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.

“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.

Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”

Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”

You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”

“Even then.”

James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

☆.

It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.

The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.

You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.

Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.

He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.

He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.

He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.

His eyes didn’t close.

It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.

But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.

It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.

It had sounded like comfort. Like home.

And that’s what triggered it.

That memory.

The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.

The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.

The night he almost lost you.

It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.

You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.

You had just stormed off, away from him.

Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”

“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”

“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”

Jake’s jaw tightened.

Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.

His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.

“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”

Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.

And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”

The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.

Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered.

You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”

“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”

Jake’s hand finally reached you.

His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.

“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”

“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”

“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”

The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.

You were shivering. He was freezing.

The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.

It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.

Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.

Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.

“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”

And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.

Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.

Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.

Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.

Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.

He breathed you in.

You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.

And so was he.

☆.

The light was soft when you stirred awake.

You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.

Jake.

Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.

His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.

Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.

You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.

His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.

His eyes met yours right away.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.

You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.

You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.

“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.

He hesitated.

Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”

Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”

But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.

The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.

Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing

You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.

He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.

Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.

“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”

Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.

“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”

You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”

His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”

You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”

His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

Even after all those years.

Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.

“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.

And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.

Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.

The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.

Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.

His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.

You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.

He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.

“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”

You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.

His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.

You tugged his mouth back to yours.

When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.

You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.

He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.

“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.

The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.

You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.

“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”

You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.

After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.

You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.

And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.

You both froze.

Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”

You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”

Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”

“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.

[frequentlykit]

Helping Hand Pt4 - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: Kissing, I think that's it lol

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

WC: 3k

Summary:

A/N: i’m so sorry this took so long to come out, i’ve been having the worst time with this chapter (the others came so easily lol) but i hope you enjoy it [also, I know the last ss looks off, i downloaded it wrong and i don't feel like trying to fix it so apologies in advance]

- kit <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

What do you wear? This isn’t just dinner with friends, and the guy you like, this is dinner with a group of people you admire immensely. Do you go casual? Semi-casual? Dressy? You couldn’t decide whether overdressing or underdressing was worse.

When you got home you showered quickly, wanting to have enough time to pick an outfit. Your room was a messy of clothes as you tried on dresses and different pairs of jeans, dressy tops and baggy tops. Nothing fit. Just as you were about to tell Chris you got sick and couldn’t go, he texted.

You sigh with relief, tossing your phone on your bed and pulling out an outfit that you felt confident in but was also comfortable. Once you finished getting ready you threw your wallet and phone in your purse and headed out. You were thankful you didn’t have to deal with the bus since the address Chris had given you was only about ten minutes away from your apartment. You put in your headphones and jumped a little at the volume of the music that automatically started playing. Turning it down you realized it was a Stray Kids song, Venom to be specific. Was it weird to listen to Stray Kids on the way to meet… Stray Kids?

You shrugged, keeping the music playing as you walked to the restaurant. The streets weren’t crowded, which was a shock for this time in the evening, and as you got close you pulled out the headphones and put them in your purse. The last thing you wanted was for them to hear what you were listening to. You found the building Chris had described and made your way inside.

CHRIS POV

We had all decided to meet at my and Jeongin’s dorm before going to the restaurant, planning to only take two cars because parking often sucked. This turned out to be a mistake. I had been ready 20 minutes ago but everyone else seemed to be taking their sweet time. I groan, sitting up on the couch.

“Will you guys hurry up!?” I call into the apartment.

“God, you are an old man. Sitting up makes you groan?” Seungmin says, deadpan as he walks into the living room.

 I squint at the dark haired boy, “I was groaning at all of you, thank you.”

“Mhm, sure.” Seungmin nods.

“Cool your jets, Hyung. We’re coming.” Felix says, jumping on one foot as he tries to simultaneously put on his shoes and move towards the front door.

“Has anyone seen my green jacket?” Jeongin yells from down the hallway.

“It’s out here, Innie!” I call back, seeing it hanging on a hook by the front door.

Minho walks out into the living room, typing on his phone as he sits down next to Seungmin.

“Why are you all freaking out?” He says, looking up from his phone. “It’s just dinner.”

“We want to make a good impression!” Hyunjin chimes in from the kitchen.

Changbin walks out of the hallway, “Especially for a girl who has Channie-Hyung all smitten.”

“I am not-”

“Don’t even try, Hyung.” Jisung says, suddenly appearing next to me. “You were smiling the whole time you were texting her.”

“How do you know I was texting her?” I rolled my eyes, though I knew he was right.

“Cause you were smiling.” Seaming joins in.

“Is everyone ready?” I ask, standing up from the couch.

“Don’t change the subject!” Jisung stands up with me, “I know we all agreed to this but you’ve hardly told us anything about her.”

“You can find out whatever you want when you meet her.” I argue.

“Hyung!” Jisung whines.

“Jisung!” I whine back.

He rolls his eyes, walking over and flopping onto Minho’s lap. Minho doesn’t even flinch, having gone back to typing on his phone.

“You’re just worried about being late because Y/N is meeting us.” Felix grins.

“I’ll ask again, is everyone ready!?” I call, ignoring Felix.

“Coming, coming!” Hyunjin says, walking out of the kitchen.

Thankfully Jeongin wasn’t far behind and we finally made it into the cars.

YOUR POV

Once you step inside, you’re about to ask the hostess if a large group of boys had arrived yet but a loud call comes from the back left of the restaurant.

“Y/N!”

It’s multiple voices, and looking over you can see Felix, Jisung and Hyunjin waving you over. You take a breath, trying to calm your nerves before walking over to the booth they had all crammed into.

“Come sit!” Felix smiles, moving over and patting the end seat next to him.

You slide into the booth, setting your purse on the floor.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You say, smiling somewhat awkwardly at the group.

Chris was sitting across from you, Changbin next to him, then Seungmin, Jeongin, Hyunjin, Minho, Jisung and then Felix on your right.

“So this is the girl Channie-Hyung won’t-” Changbin is cut off as Chris nonchalantly coughs.

“I take it I don’t need to introduce you?” Chris smiles.

You smile, “I’m pretty familiar with all of you.”

“So how long have you been a fan?” Jisung asks, getting straight into it.

Seungmin punches his arm, “Don’t ask that!”

“What? I’m just curious! I’m not going to judge her based on the answer!”

You laugh, shaking your head, “I don’t mind answering.”

“Fine.” Seungmin huffs, though he seemed to be trying to hide his own curiosity.

“I became a fan around August 2023, I think. It was a little bit after Five-Star was released.”

“What caught your eye?” Felix asked, then seemed to regret it.

“Do you need to ask that question, Felix?”

He blushed hard, putting his head in his hands, “Fuck-”

You giggle, “I saw a few clips of you online and I was like ‘who is this’ and I got sucked in pretty quick after that?”

“Who’s your bias?” Changbin asks.

You shake your head, “No comment.”

“Aw, come on!” Jisung whines.

“No, I’m not going to start a war in this restaurant.”

“That’s fair.” Jeongin grins.

The night flew by with good food and great company, you were surprised by how casual you felt around all of them. Jisung was just as funny as you would’ve expected, Seungmin too, regularly roasting his members and even you when the moment called for it. You felt like you were catching up with old friends.

Once everyone had finished eating, the boys refused to let you contribute to the bill, though you tried to insist. You even debated going to find the waitress to give her your card but it was like they could read your mind because Felix held you back when Chris went to pay. Once Chris came back, Jeongin suggested walking to an ice cream spot he knew nearby to which everyone enthusiastically agreed to.

“So, how was tonight? Are we what you expected?” Chris grins as the two of you walk a few steps behind the others.

“Yes and no.” You shrug.

“Oh?”

“I mean, you’re about as chaotic and loud as you are on camera, probably more so. But your personalities are just a little different, which I wasn’t surprised by.”

“Different in a good way I hope.”

You nod, “Of course, it’s fun to see you guys being yourselves.”

“Does that mean you’d want to hang out again?”

“Would you want me to?”

Jisung suddenly spun around to face the two of you, walking backwards as Minho watched him concerned, “Are you kidding!? You are required to hang out with us again.”

“Oh am I?” You laugh.

“For sure!” Felix and Hyunjin chime in sync.

“Well then how could I refuse.”

The boys in front cheer, running off ahead and beating you and Chris to the ice cream shop. You shake your head, chuckling quietly.

“They adore you already, ya know?”

You look up at Chris.

“The kids.” He finishes.

“I don’t know about that, I just met them.”

“Doesn't take long, they’re a good judge of character.”

“Well I’m flattered, then.” You smile.

“Look,” Chris stops in front of the shop window, “I’m sure this is a lot, for so many reasons. And I don’t want to rush you but… I really like you, Y/N.”

“I like you too.” You smile.

He glances inside where the boys were distracted with trying ice cream flavors and picking toppings.

“I… I would kiss you right now but I don’t think I’d hear the end of it.” He says, looking sheepish.

“Raincheck?” You take his hand and squeeze it.

He smiles down at you, a look of admiration in his eyes, “Deal. And I promise it won’t take so long this time.”

“I’ll wait as long as you need.” You say before you start pulling him to the door, “Now come on, I want ice cream.”

He chuckles letting you pull him inside. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Minho had already gotten their ice cream while the other boys were still deciding. You walk over to Felix and follow his eye to the two flavors he was choosing between.

“Strawberry or chocolate.” You comment.

He looks over at you, “I can’t pick.”

“I mean, I like both. How about you get one and I get the other and then if you like one better you can have it.”

His face lights up, “You’d do that?”

“Of course! I’m not picky and I’m happy to help you out.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiles, before ordering one scoop of each.

While they scoop the cups you wander over to the three already eating.

“What’d you get?” You ask, leaning over to peek at Hyunjin’s.

He swallows the bite in his mouth, “Lemon. Wanna try?”

You nod and he offers his spoon. Taking the spoon into your mouth you hum, it was the perfect mix of sweet and tart on your tongue.

“Mmm, that’s good.”

“Right!” Hyunjin exclaims.

You look over at the other two, Seungmin had gotten chocolate with marshmallows on top and Minho had picked pistachio with some kind of syrup. Before you could ask, Felix came up next to you, handing you the cup with strawberry ice cream, you took it and smiled.

“Chocolate?”

He nods, taking a bite of the bitter sweet ice cream. Once everyone had gotten their cup, you all found a table to sit at together, though two out of nine had already finished their ice cream.

You took an empty seat next to Hyujin and Chris took the one next to you, having just beat Jisung to it who gave him a slightly dirty look before moving over to sit by Minho. Conversations they’d been having in pairs quickly combined into one loud debate which you enjoyed just observing. You were jerked slightly and looking to your side you realized Chris had grabbed onto the leg of your chair and was pulling you closer to him until your thighs touched. No one had noticed despite the sound of the chair against the floor, or at least it wasn’t obvious.

“Can I help you?” You grin.

“I mean you can,” He smirks back, “Just not here.”

“Oh yeah? Where did you have in mind?”

“Can I take you out… later?” He asks suddenly.

“Does it have to be later?”

“I mean it’s…” He glances at his phone, “Ten so…”

“And? The night is young, baby.”

He seemed to sit up straighter at the pet name, blushing furiously.

“I… uh,” He was panicking a little.

You giggle, “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

“Y-yeah, I mean-”

“I’m not expecting anything,” You say quickly, “Think of it like a… pre-date.”

“Is that not what this was?”

You shrug, “It’s not the same with everyone here.”

He glances towards the group, still engrossed in their debate, “True.”

“So?”

“Yeah, I’ll come back with you.”

“Come back where?” Jisung interjects.

You look over and their attention is suddenly on the pair of you.

“Uh-” Chris starts.

“He wanted to walk me back to my apartment.” You explain with an innocent smile.

“Oh did he now?” Felix grins, looking over at Chris.

“Nothing planned after that, just dropping you off?” Jisung adds.

The two of you were the picture of innocence as the group scanned you over.

“Alright… but you’d better treat her right, mister.” Jisung says, pointing a finger at Chris.

He smiled, humoring him, “Of course.”

“I mean it, you hurt her and we’ll kill you.” Hyunjin adds.

“Shouldn’t they be giving me this talk?” You mutter towards Chris.

“They’re attached now, get used to it.” He grins at you.

• • •

You unlocked your door and stepped aside, letting Chris walk in first.

“Cute.” He says, looking around.

You scanned the room, thankful it was cleaner than usual. Then your eyes landed on our bookshelf, more specifically the shelf where you displayed your K-pop albums. Your eyes widened in horror and you tried to think of a way to cover them or keep him out of the living room. I mean, he knew you were a fan but the idea of having an idol see your collection felt humiliating.

“Uh, do you want something to drink?” You ask, attempting to subtly lead him into the kitchen.

“Sure.” He smiles, oblivious.

“Water or…”

“Water is fine.”

You pour each of you a cup and take a seat next to him at the bar.

“You said you moved to Seoul… a year ago, right?” He asks, taking a sip.

You nod, “Yeah, this is the apartment my company provided me.”

“It’s nice.”

“I’ve been pretty happy with it, though I do have a few… odd neighbors.”

“Really? Like who?”

You went on to explain the odd interaction you’d had with an upstairs neighbor who tore you a new one for being too loud when it was the person next to you who had been blasting music and your neighbor from down the street who seemed to take out large trash bags at weird times in the day and night.

As you finish, you set both of your glasses to the side as Chris gets up and before you can think to say anything he starts looking around and walking towards the living room. His eyes fall on your bookshelf.

“What do we have here?” He grins, teasingly.

You groan, reluctantly following him into the living room. He crouches in front of the bookshelf, carefully admiring the collection of albums and merch displayed there.

As you sit on the couch, trying to pretend you don't exist you hear Chris gasp. You can’t help but look up as he turns back to you, hand clutches over his heart dramatically.

“You have ATEEZ and ENHYPEN albums here!”

“...yes?” You say, unsure of where this was going.

“And here I thought you were loyal to Stray Kids.” He huffs, turning back to the shelf.

You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to process what he was saying before you burst out laughing. He picks up a mini Bbokari plush, ignoring your outburst as he inspect the rest of the shelf.

“Chris-” You giggle, trying to calm down.

“What!?” He says, standing up and walking over towards the couch. “I am offended!”

“Feeling jealous?” You say, still laughing.

“Don’t mock me! This is a serious offence!” He sits down next to you, his expression admittedly very serious.

“I’m terribly sorry, Bang Chan. How ever will I make up for this egregious crime?” You look over at him, still giggling a little.

“I don’t know if you can.”

“There must be something I can do.” You give him a cheeky smile.

“Tell me I’m the only idol you would go out with like this.” He says, completely stoic.

“I swear on my life, Bang Chan. You are the only idol I have any interest in going out with.”

“Even Seonghwa or Heeseung?”

“Even them.”

“Even San?”

“Yes, him too.”

“Even Hyunjin?”

“Chris!”

“What? You’ve seen him!”

“I have, not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Hmm,” you think for a second, “Kind, funny, intelligent, strong,” you move a little closer, turning to face him, “loves music, dark hair, brown eyes,” closer, “selfless, compassionate…” you glance down at his lips, your faces inches apart, “a good kisser…”

“Sounds familiar-” He murmurs before closing the gap between you.

It was like falling back into a familiar routine, despite only sharing one kiss previously, and this one was far more intense and meaningful. It was as though he was trying to apologize, for making you wait, for being unsure, for whatever else he had been overthinking before now. And you were able to put his uncertainties to rest, returning his passion as you slide your leg over his lap and tangle your hands in his hair.

He groans into the kiss, one hand resting on your hip, the other cupping your jaw. His tongue tentatively ran along her lower lip, slow, testing. You responded by parting your lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside. You could feel the combined thud of your hearts as your bodies pressed against each other, as though you were magnetic.

When you both finally pulled apart, more for breath than an actual desire to stop. You panted quietly, feeling his breath mixing with yours.

“I’m sorry for taking so long…” he muttered, eyes looking down at his lap.

You cup his cheeks, tilting his head up so his eyes are forced to meet yours, “That… was more than worth the wait.”

He smiles, huffing a laugh, “Good.”

“You know what you said, before, about the kids not letting you live it down if you kissed me earlier?”

He nods.

“I hope you realize that they will never let you live down the fact that you are going out with a fan.”

“Oh, are we going out now?”

“You asked me out earlier, you ass!” You smack his arm playfully, then are suddenly reminded that you are still sitting in his lap.

You start to move but he grips your hips, “Don’t… please.”

You stop, looking up at him.

Though his ears were flush red, he spoke firmly, “If you think that’s all you’re getting tonight, you are sorely mistaken.”

And so you were.

BONUS

A/N: hope this was worth the wait, I don't think I'll add anymore full parts to this series (maybe a bonus one wink wink) so I hope you enjoyed! please like and reblog and feel free to write me a suggestion or send me something from my prompt list <3

TAGLIST: @akindaflora @lezleeferguson-120 @chasinghxran @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @idiotmaterial @beppybeesnuggets @queenofdumbfuckery @143straykidsot8 @breakmeoff

[frequentlykit]

Personally I think Felix. Hyunjin might have the personality for it but he’s so socially anxious a lot of the time I feel like he would do something to public(maybe he’d push through it for his love), Minho gives me jealous vibes but again I don’t know if he would do something to intense, and Seungmin is a wild card so who knows lol

[frequentlykit]

Becoming a writer is great because now you have a hobby that haunts you whenever you don’t have time to do it

[frequentlykit]

I LOVE IT

can i get a name for your drink? yeah, peter parker

genre: delinquent!ateez x bubble tea worker!reader, meet-cute, high school au, fluff, crack

length: 6.6k

c/w: cliche depictions of high school delinquents, mentions of smoking, drugs and clubs, boys trying to act tough, everybody has bad humour, swearing is their mother tongue

synopsis: a bubble tea shop is one of the last places you would expect for a high school delinquent to walk into during the dead of night. yet here you are, forming an unlikely friendship with not one but eight of them. they may be kind of stupid, but they also kind of grow on you.

a/n: a fic with no angst? a fic without a 40k wc?? new writer who dis. just a short and sweet fic @sorryimananti-romantic helped prod me to write

you know that you are probably shaving a couple months off your lifespan each time you work a night shift at the bubble tea shop and subsequently fuck up your entire sleep routine for the next couple of days, but it gives you a bit of extra money, there are hardly any customers, and it is quiet enough that you can squeeze in some studying at the same time.

the shop probably averages about two couples and a few odd individuals here and there per night. why a small business would even decide to stay open during ghost hours in the first place, likely making negative profit, you have no idea. but you digress–you are just here to bum around for money.

so when your average customer number suddenly spikes not just by one, two or three people, but by an entire group of eight, it is safe to say you are more than confused. they are obviously your age because you can recognise the school crest embroidered onto the front pocket of their uniform shirts; it is one of the nearby high schools in the area. except, that is where the similarity ends.

only half of them are wearing their uniform, and even then they layer it unbuttoned over bold statement t-shirts like it is a mere accessory. the others wear black tracksuits and there is not a single pair of proper school shoes to be seen. your eyes cannot help but scan their pierced ears and obviously-styled hairstyles–you are pretty sure the shortest boy has dyed his hair a lighter shade of brown too.

it is hard to take your attention off of him as he takes one last drag of the cigarette in his hand, lazily blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before he flicks the butt onto the floor outside and steps in through the door along with the others. you idly wonder how he got his hands on a fake id to purchase cigarettes in the first place, but at least he is polite about not smoking inside your store.

the group saunters up and you startle slightly as the boy at the front slaps his hand against the counter with the matching confidence to his glorified 6 foot height to demand, “give me a double shot of espresso.” he pulls away his hand to reveal a mismatched assortment of sad coins and crumpled notes.

“we, uh–” you glance not so subtly at the wall-sized menu behind you and the LED lighting decor sprawled across the other three walls with the phrases, ‘you’re a cu-tea’, ‘you’re pearl-fect’, and ‘you’re my bo-bae’, and wonder what gave these boys the impression they could order coffee. “we don’t sell coffee,” you state.

he does not seem fazed by your words at all. “can’t you just, like, charge me for your most expensive drink and make me a coffee?” he asks his absurd question with practiced ease, which makes you think that this is not his first rodeo.

unfortunately for him though, you deadpan, “i physically can’t. we don’t have a coffee machine.”

the boy’s expression finally cracks a little and you can literally see the cogs slowing down to a stop inside his brain. “aw, fuck,” he swears, “this worked last time.”

one his friends shrugs callously and snickers, “what did i say, mingi. told you they wouldn’t have one.”

“shut up, jongho,” he gripes in response.

you gesture vaguely at the laminated menu on the counter beside the cash register. “would you like something else to drink?” you offer.

the tall boy–mingi–takes all but one look at the barrage of words before his eyes flicker back up towards you. “recommend something.”

“depends on what you’re feeling,” you hum your scripted question, pointing to the different sections of the menu. “do you want something fruity or milky?”

he looks constipated as he weighs the two options. “fruity?” he eventually settles, still sounding unsure. “what’s good?”

at the question, all of their eyes turn to look at you intently and you feel yourself wilting internally at the thought of explaining the drinks to a group of boys that look like outright delinquents, because if there is one downside to working here apart from the crippling health impacts, it is the loss of your dignity each time you have to say the stupid names of the drinks.

“well,” you clear your throat and steel yourself, “we’ve got the bubbly butterfly blues, a purple grape and blueberry fruit ade, or the mysterious mermaid magic, a mango and passionfruit green tea with rainbow pearls.” you forge on with your explanations despite the furrowed brows and open mouths of judgement on their faces, deciding to give them a recommendation for a milky drink too just in case. “the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles is also pretty popular. it’s a strawberry milk tea with whipped cream, sprinkles and marshm–”

“i’ll take that one,” mingi interrupts, unable to stand the onslaught of words that make the world around him explode into pink glitter. he drops an additional crinkled note onto the counter for good measure and then strides away to take a seat at the table in the furthest corner of the store to wait for his cutesy drink.

half a snort escapes the back of your throat at the sight. mingi may as well hold a megaphone to his mouth and shout “i am a manly man!” to make himself feel better. what an idiot.

you shift your attention to the rest of the group. “anything i can get for you guys?” you ask.

“fuck it, why not,” the one who had been smoking shrugs immediately. “get me the same thing he’s getting.”

most of the others pass and step away to join mingi at the table as you sort out the payment for delinquent number two’s cutesy drink. when you close the cash register–you are tempted to ask them why they have so many loose coins–the last two of the boys sidle up to the other side of the counter, peering down carefully at the menu.

you frown.

these two are actually wearing their uniform properly, only the first buttons of their shirt undone, no brightly-coloured tee peeking out from underneath, ties still around their neck and shirts tucked into their pants. they are even wearing their name tags; kang yeosang and park seonghwa. also, apart from the fact that the two appear prim and proper enough to be part of the student council, they are also very pretty.

said two look up at you, catch the frown across your face, fumble a little, then give you a small smile as a peace offering. “hi,” seonghwa greets softly, “can we get two regular pearl milk teas, please? thank you.”

you physically recoil.

“blink twice if you’re being threatened,” you blurt out, the words tumbling unwisely out of your mouth before you can stop them and definitely loud enough that all eight of the boys can hear you.

blink twice seonghwa and yeosang do, but not as a confirmation that the stark difference in their appearance and demeanour to the others is a sign they are being bullied into hanging out. they blink to ask–very respectfully–what the fuck you are on about.

they blink at you. you blink at them. the other boys blink at the three of you.

“sure thing!” you vocally sweep your own words under the rug. “two regular pearl milk teas coming right up!”

you swipe yeosang’s payment out of his hands–notes and coins carefully counted out to the exact amount–and punch the number into the cashier before swiftly turning your back to them to make their drinks. if you ignore something hard enough then it never happened. and it works, because they retreat to join the rest of their friends at the furthest table without further comment.

it does not take long to make all four of their drinks, but you do take a few extra minutes to carefully swirl the whipped cream on top of the strawberry milk tea orders and artistically shower them with sprinkles and marshmallows. you want to make them as cute as you fucking possibly can just for mingi.

“two rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles and two regular pearl milk teas,” you call out.

they all stand up, likely ready to leave once they grab their drinks. mingi leads the group with his long strides and he picks up his drink with one hand. he holds it up to eye level to study it like an unknown specimen and the moment he picks it up, one of his friends–you think you overheard the others call him wooyoung–cannot help but blurt out with distaste, “that shit looks sweet as fuck.”

mingi holds his drink closer to his body with a light glare because hey, it does look sweet as fuck but it also actually looks really good. and kind of cute, he will admit. he takes a tentative sip through the straw then a small lick of the whipped cream on top, the scattered toppings simultaneously crunching and melting in his mouth to spread sweet diabetes across his tongue.

it tastes like drugs in sugar form.

and it must show on his face because the tallest of his friends leans over to do the same, taking a sip from the same straw and a lick of the whipped cream from the other side, only far more generous and daring than the drink’s owner.

“bro,” comes the tall boy’s immediate reaction, “i’d get one of these every day.”

wooyoung suddenly looks less dubious and asks, curiosity now piqued, “give me a sip of that rainbow shit.”

“no,” mingi instantly responds, still keeping his drink close to his body and literally turning away to keep it protected and out of wooyoung’s reach. “you insulted my drink. get your own.”

the latter whines and you physically jerk backwards for the second time that night at their complete disregard for following stereotypical delinquent traits. you are starting to think that they are not delinquents so much as delinquent-wannabes and they seem increasingly harmless the more they simply exist.

“hongjoong,” wooyoung suddenly sings out, appearing to change targets to his other friend who had ordered the same drink. he is determined to try a sip tonight without having to spend his own money, but alas–

hongjoong flips him off and cradles his drink out of sight too. “you insulted my drink by extension.”

–determination can only get him so far.

this time, you cannot help the proper snort of amusement that leaves your mouth. you dare to hold your gaze with a lightly teasing lilt of your lips when wooyoung whips his head around with narrowed eyes. the boy cogs turn in his head as he deduces how far he can push the boundaries with you and he must come to some sort of conclusion that you are a newfound stranger-friend because he jokes with a straight face, “i’ll rob you.”

“sure,” you answer easily, tapping in a fake order onto the register’s screen to eject the cash drawer with a comedic ding! emphasising your words.

a few of them guffaw and wooyoung’s expression lights up to actually reach over the counter to help himself to a ten dollar bill. that is, until his hand is slapped away by somebody else with quite possibly the most perfect eyebrows you have ever seen. and no. you are most definitely not jealous.

“i’ll pay for your drink,” the friend chides, digging into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.

seonghwa shakes his head and advises, “don’t enable him, san,” at the same time that wooyoung brattily decides, “nah, don’t want one.”

“god, that’s it,” jongho mutters, starting to usher the group away from the counter towards the direction of the doors. “we’re leaving. mingi’s waiting outside already.”

they let themselves be herded and a few of them even turn to wave goodbye to you at the doors, cheerfully leaving behind the words ‘we’ll be back!’ in their wake as they exit the shop. your hand remains suspended in the air mid-wave even after they have disappeared and you blink blankly at the bizarreness of your entire encounter with the group of boys.

you do not know if they truly mean it when they say they will be back, but you do know one thing; you kind of hope that they do.

“can i get that thing i got last week.”

the tone of mingi’s voice ends his sentence more like it is a demand than it is a question, but the nuance of his words is still a request and already an improvement in comparison to your first encounter with him. if you are completely honest, you are also somewhat happy to see him and the others come back, so you will take the wins where you can. baby steps.

“which one?” you clarify. “i don’t remember.”

you do remember because their group of eight is pretty hard to forget, and they are some of the only customers you ever get. plus, you have made it somewhat of a personal challenge to hear mingi say something as stupid as ‘rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles’, which means that you are going to pretend for as long as you need to.

he scratches the side of his neck. “y’know, that drink you said is good.”

“we have a couple of those. was it the, uh, mysterious mermaid magic?” your head tilts with exaggerated thoughtfulness and from behind mingi, hongjoong and wooyoung cackle while the others look on with smirks, having caught on to exactly what you are doing.

“no, the rainbow unic…” he mumbles, voice growing increasingly softer with each syllable until his mouth is simply opening and closing.

you look at him with faux apologeticness and furrow your brows, “sorry? i didn’t quite catch that.”

“say it louder, dude,” his tall friend nudges him playfully. you are going to need to find out his name somehow because his is the only one you have yet to figure out, and you have a feeling you and him would get along real good.

“the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles,” mingi finally gets out. if he were a cartoon character, you would see the rising colour of bright red creep up from under his uniform to the tip of his ears and then to the very roots of his hair.

god forbid a manly man purchase a cutesy pick-me-up drink on a friday night.

you smile brightly and use your cheeriest customer service voice to announce, “one rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles for princess mingi coming right up.”

the boy in front of you is flattered to learn that you know and remember his name but is also twice as horrified by the nickname you have crowned him with. his brain short circuits and his eyes widen at you in panicked masculinity and he shoves his payment across the counter before retreating to the same table in the corner of the store where seonghwa is already seated. if you look closely enough, there is a little wisp of smoke coming out from the top of mingi’s head too as he malfunctions. heh.

the boy whose name you still do not know comes up to the counter next. he jerks his head backwards in the direction of mingi and orders, “could i get the same? that rainbow fairy sparkling unicorn or whatever.” the name is wrong but he gets an a+ for trying so you do not correct him, simply nodding and putting his order into the cash register instead.

then you ask for your own personal gain, “can i get a name for your drink?”

he does not appear to question your intentions nor realise he is the only one you have asked because he is too occupied grinning widely at you, unable to curb his cheeky excitement at the thought of what he is about to say. “yeah, peter parker,” comes his proud answer, quite literally naming his drink.

and that is how you find out that he has the best (read: worst) humour out of all of the boys.

it is frankly right up your alley but you refuse to let him one-up you. instead, you use it to your advantage. you nod, “p.p. for short,” dragging the abbreviated initials out for longer so that it sounds intentionally crude.

“peepee,” wooyoung repeats with unrestrained laughter, high-pitched shrieking that sets off the others as well.

and that is also how you find out that wooyoung has the easiest funny bone to tickle out of all the boys.

p.p.’s eyes glint with delight at the fact that you can both take and dish out your own freak. he leans against the countertop on his elbow, which is a sight to behold with how far he has to stoop down because of his height, and exposes you with no qualms, “it’s yunho, by the way, since you wanted to know my name so badly.” he adds a flirty wink for good measure as his friends ooh like the true teenage boys that they are.

you mirror his mannerisms and bat your eyelashes at him to say, “okay, whatever you say, peepee.”

hongjoong intervenes and shoves yunho aside before the latter can fall in love with you and your wack-ass humour or something. he shoos him away, “go sit at the table,” as if he is sending the taller into the naughty corner.

yunho concedes with his hands raised in mock surrender, walking backwards as he reassures his friend, “don’t worry. you won’t hear a peep-ee out of me.”

your facade cracks and you let out a laugh, which only grows louder when jongho takes the liberty to grab a wrapped straw from the container on your countertop to peg it at yunho’s face. it bounces perfectly off the middle of his forehead and lands on the floor, where seonghwa–bless him–bends down to pick it up. you think he might just be your favourite.

“didn’t know you were into that kind of humour,” hongjoong notes with a tone of amusement.

“oh, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” you respond, a hint of flirtatiousness in your words.

fuck being professional. these boys would probably be the last people on earth to ever report you for something like a coquettish comment, and god forbid you want to flirt with a couple of really hot guys. the image of hongjoong taking a lazy drag from his cigarette burns at the forefront of your mind as he stares intently into your eyes, and his seeming nonchalance to his own charm only makes him that much more attractive.

he raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”

“only if you’re up for it,” you respond coyly.

san coughs and interrupts, “not to be a cockblock, but can you flirt after we order our drinks.”

the boy in front of you rolls his eyes, pairing it with a loving middle finger at his friend. however, he moves over anyway, half mumbling that he is not going to get a drink. his spot at the counter is immediately snagged by san who mimics yunho’s earlier pose leaning against the surface. “so,” he gives you an overly-smouldering gaze, “tell me something about yourself that i don’t know.”

a bubble of mirth rises from out of your chest and san drops the act utterly pleased with himself. you humour him, though only partially, by revealing, “the desserts here are actually really good. i love the cookies.”

“which one’s your favourite?”

you point to one of the cookies in the second row of the display counter. “the biscoff and peanut butter fudge.”

one of his beautiful brows raises upwards as if to ask why the cookie name is so normal. you give him a miniscule shrug. beats me. he shakes his head with a slight chuckle then requests, “i’ll have one of each cookie and one of each donut that you’ve got.” your eyes bug out of your head because that is a fuckton of cookies and donuts, but san reassures you they all have caves for stomachs.

you get started on their drinks then slide the glass doors open to pull their desserts out, only to realise that yeosang has lingered close by to watch you. he is not wearing his uniform today, instead in a tracksuit like the others but in white. he looks good in that colour and you tell him such, “your tracksuit looks good.”

“thanks,” he replies easily, “wooyoung shoplifted it for me.”

your jaw drops at his sudden confession, too taken aback to appropriately school your expression in time even if you should not really be too surprised by their shenanigans. at your obvious stupor, yeosang’s stoic face breaks immediately and he reveals, “just kidding, hehe.” despite his joke, he blushes to the very tip of his ears like rudolph but elf style and rushes away.

you are left dumbfounded in a good way. one day, you are going to teach yeosang a thing or two about confidence because his uncanny ability to keep a straight face whilst saying the most out-of-left-field thing when it is least expected then leaving the other person wondering whether he is being genuine or only joking is top-tier humour–he just needs to learn how to own it.

you are also left wondering whether there is a single sane soul in this friendship group. you still hold some hope for seonghwa and maybe san, but who knows.

when their drinks and spread of desserts are ready, you expect them all to leave like they did last week. except this time they drag two circular tables closer together in the far corner of the store that they seem hellbent on claiming as their spot, where they then lay out all of the desserts across the joint surface. you watch from behind the counter. there is both a sense of systematic order and chaotic mess to the way they take a bite out of a cookie or donut, nod enthusiastically at how good it tastes whilst shoving it into the face of somebody else, who will in turn take a bite and join in on the enthusiastic nodding and moan an affirmative that it is good.

“wait, this donut is fucking fire,” you hear, and, “this cookie is The Shit, bro.”

they are sort of really fucking cute; boys you would expect to see loitering in alleyways with cigs in their mouths and sneaking into clubs with fakes to pop pills, instead sitting hunched over on cute plastic stools around rickety circular tables sharing sweet desserts like they are at a tea party.

wooyoung catches your gaze over the top of jongho’s head and he gets up instantly to drag you out from behind your counter. all of your warbled protests go unheard as he pulls you by one of your loose apron ties–his strangely endearing way of being respectful not to actually touch you–towards their tables whilst refuting, “there’s nobody else in here but us.”

that is how you find yourself squashed between seonghwa and jongho, your shoulders and thighs touching from close proximity.

“try this blueberry lemon cookie,” seonghwa offers from beside you the moment you sit down, extending the treat for you to take a bite from.

mingi so helpfully reminds, “she literally works here.”

seonghwa shushes him, “yeah, but she probably hasn’t tried everything on the menu.”

he is not wrong. you may have the appetite, but you do not have the physical stomach to try an entire serving of each dessert available in the shop, even if you were to try one per shift. now that the opportunity has handed itself to you on a silver platter, you are not going to refuse. plus, you do not think that you could ever bring yourself to say no when seonghwa is holding the cookie out with both hands so eagerly.

he is definitely your favourite.

you take a tentative bite out of the cookie and eight pairs of shiny eyes do not leave yours until you give them an affirmative and enthusiastic nod at its taste. all flurry of activity starts up again as they continue to trade desserts with those sitting beside them and across the circle. it feels like you are suddenly back in primary school, sharing your snacks out of your lunch box and trading sandwiches with your friends. they include you easily in both taste-testing and conversation, filling your usually quiet shift with antics and laughter.

it has always been a perk that you do not get many customers, but now more so than ever, you hope that nobody comes in for the remainder of your shift–or at the very least, not until the boys leave. in just two meetings, they have all grown on you in their own ways and you kind of want this to become a regular thing. you could definitely get used to this.

despite their appearances and rough-around-the-edges personalities, they are really just a bunch of boys living their life to the fullest in the diabetic form of bubble tea, loaded cookies and glazed donut runs in the middle of a random night.

and honestly? if you had a group of friends like them, you would too.

yunho’s eyes narrow fiercely at the couple who are walking along the footpath outside the perimeter of your shop, daring them to step in through the doors. his glare is not needed though–the very sight of what is going down inside is more than enough for their eyes to widen and for the man to hastily pull his girlfriend away.

“oh look, there goes another two potential customers,” hongjoong notes with sarcastic dismay. “i wonder why people are always in such a hurry to leave.”

yunho blinks his murderous intent away and faces you with round, innocent eyes as you roll your own and cross your arms. your insides wilt at the loss of potential revenue but only by a tad, because whatever business they boys scare off, they make up for several times over. you state as a matter-of-factly, “maybe it has something to do with jongho.”

said boy currently stands about three feet away from you, his arms raised and fists clenched threateningly as the rest of the boys surround the both of you in a circle of sorts as if they are about to witness a bloody fistfight. you suppose it does not look too far from the truth–you are about to get punched in the face.

jongho shrugs dismissively, “it’s not my fault other people aren’t interested in learning how to get knocked out by a sucker punch safely.”

“i don’t think any of those words should go together in a single sentence,” you tell him honestly, unimpressed.

“they normally don’t,” jongho’s mouth ticks up, “which is exactly why you’re learning.”

you cannot win against him or any of them. last week it had been learning how to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place, the week before it had been how to dislocate a shoulder, and then the week before that it had been how to reverse-jump a person if they were chasing you into an alleyway.

it has become an ingrained part of your weekly routine for the boys to rock up during your friday night shift, order half the menu, hang around for hours where you usually join them, then leave until the next week rolls around again. but these random tutorials have only just recently become a new routine within your pre-existing routine.

it all started when wooyoung snuck behind your counter one night while your back was turned to make their drinks and decided it would be hilarious to scream in your face as you turned around. you had jerked backwards so hard that you knocked over the entire stack of blender jars, which toppled over into the dirty sink one after the other like noisy dominoes. seonghwa had made wooyoung personally clean and stack them all again as punishment, but the damage had been done and hongjoong had declared that you would not survive in the real world if a little fright like that could make your butthole pucker right back up into your own intestinal system.

and so had begun your weekly crash courses on survival instincts because according to them, you had none. you had refused to submit to their antics at first, but then yeosang had pointed out, “it’s true. wooyoung was standing behind you like a creep for a full five minutes and you didn’t even notice.” san had also threatened that they would not order anything until you complied each week.

“that’s not fair,” you had complained petulantly. “i just won’t serve you guys at all then.”

san had given you a cheshire grin. “you wouldn’t. we’re like, eighty percent of the total revenue you make during your shift.”

that shuts you up real quick and san knows, so you have no choice but to give in to whatever tomfoolery they choose to teach you for that week. if it is learning to ‘get knocked out by a sucker punch safely’, then so be it.

“okay, i’m all set to be punched in the future,” you declare dryly as jongho reigns in his fist after a pretend swing at your temple, “are you guys going to order now?”

hongjoong nods like he is the little leader of this delinquent gang, but jokes on him because they follow behind you to gather in front of the counter in a single file of sorts with practiced ease, an endearingly crooked line of ducklings. you know right off the bat that it means they already know what they want to order because other times they will come together as pairs or even triplets so that they can umm and ahh over the menu together.

you do not think you can ever take them seriously as proper delinquents–if they even count as such.

as if to prove your point even further, mingi throws up double gang signs and makes a poor attempt to rap, “i want an emineminem,” and when seonghwa not-so-subtly pinches his elbow, he adds on, “please.”

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as your hands automatically move to input his order into the register, long past familiar with what his order truly means; mysterious mermaid magic, because the alliteration of the name ‘m and m and m’ sounds the same as the rapper’s name twice. go figure. you do not know if ‘emineminem’ is worse, or, as san calls it whilst flexing his biceps, ‘the merman’.

the boys have a shockingly terrible incapacity to remember the names on the menu correctly, but it is also partially due to the fact that they could give less than zero fucks about them. they will either say what they think the name is, or what they think the name should be.

they make the rules. you simply follow.

the first time it happened was during their third time at the store. “yo, give me a triple b,” jongho had confidently ordered.

“a fuckin’ what?” you were positive you were having a stroke.

“a triple b,” he had tried again, frowning at how you did not automatically understand him. “the big butterfly bus or somethin’.”

you could not take him seriously. “big butterfly bus? what are they gonna do after hopping on? go to fucking school?” you had jested. “also, you can’t just make up your own name and expect me to–you know what, sure.”

it sort of becomes a game. you will roll over in your grave before admitting it, but it is sort of fun to hear an absolutely rubbish string of words–or letters–come out of their mouths for you to then follow their ridiculous train of thought backwards to work out what the actual drink is. the silly boys with their silly names kind of grow on you.

and you may or may not indulge them a little too much. they are the first to try any new items on the menu, even when they are still technically not meant to be available to the general public. but when they pounce on whatever you present to them on the table like puppies and fresh kibble, it is very hard not to keep doing so. which is exactly why you bring out the batch of cupcakes you had made earlier specifically for them to taste.

they look like normal vanilla-frosted cupcakes, except when you bite into them, there is a dark chocolate cookie inside the base. it is the perfect mix of soft and chewy, and when the gooeyness is maximised by slightly warming the dessert up, it is–

“fucking fire, bro,” yunho says around a mouthful, blatantly ignoring the dirty look that seonghwa shoots him for talking with food in his mouth.

yeosang inspects the cookie at the core. “have you named it yet?”

you do not get a say in what the menu items are named and they always do in fact already have a name by the time the boys get to try them. regardless, you answer, “not yet,” because they love the power trip they get when they have creative liberty over your store’s products.

“i have an idea,” wooyoung pipes up immediately. “the frosted ultimate cookie cupcake.” then in a falsetto voice, he role-plays by himself, “hi, could i get a fucc please?”

mingi snorts himself silly and continues, “actually, could you give me two fucks?”

you oblige, “fuck you, and double fuck you,” flashing your middle finger at wooyoung first then mingi second to punctuate the fucks you are gifting them.

the boys snicker at your crudeness, absolutely delighted. not the type to let any opportunity to swear go by, the rest of them join in as san yanks you down to sit at the table with them before you can roll your eyes and walk away.

and out of all moments, it is this exact moment, when you are surrounded by the eight of them throwing out colourful words left and right with the giddy enthusiasm of toddlers, each holding a half-eaten vanilla-frosted cookie cupcake in their hands, that you realise you may actually give a few too many fucks about them…and not just in a friendly way.

well. fuck.

when you get a call on friday morning from your branch manager the following week, your immediate thought is that somebody finally chanced upon watching the store’s security footage and you have been caught making friends with delinquent customers and literally feeding them with business secrets. except when you pick up and tentatively greet him, he starts to say something that is arguably just as bad.

“i need you to swap shifts with gayoung. she can’t work this tuesday night so i need you to cover that day ‘cause there’s nobody else available,” he informs. “gayoung will cover your shift tonight instead.”

you are still trying to process his words as you repeat, “tonight?”

“yes, so you won’t need to go into work tonight.”

your heart skips a beat. for the first time in your life, you find yourself asking, “can’t i take both shifts?”

“no, you can’t. sorry,” your manager apologises but he does not sound sorry at all.

you have never voluntarily taken up extra night shifts, much less asked to take up additional shifts. yet, there is a heavy sense of disappointment that simultaneously settles itself deep inside your stomach and lodges itself in your throat, because it is friday today and friday night is for your boys. you do not even have a way of letting them know that you will not be in tonight.

you wonder if they will notice your absence and whether they will care. after all, you may just be somebody who happens to work at the bubble tea shop they frequent. but it turns out that they do and turns out you are not.

“where were you?”

those are the first words that are thrown at you the moment the boys walk through the door during your friday shift the week after you swapped nights with gayoung. they stomp up to your counter sporting furrowed brows and pressed lips, and if it were not for seonghwa’s soft smile and warm, “we missed seeing you,” you would have thought that they were angry at you.

you can only imagine how terrifying their demeanours would be if they were actually to be angry.

“my manager made me swap shifts with another coworker,” you explain and their expressions soften immediately.

jongho breaks out into a triumphant smirk as he turns to hongjoong with an upturned palm. “i told you. pay up.”

the latter sheepishly pulls out some crumpled notes as you gawk, “you bet on why i wasn’t at work?”

“don’t mind them,” wooyoung waves his hand dismissively. “hongjoong has trust issues–said that you were avoiding us.”

“i would never!” you refute at the same time that hongjoong exclaims, “i did not!”

“either way, fuck your manager. the fucking audacity to take you off our shift?” wooyoung complains.

you try to keep a straight face at the fact that wooyoung has just very casually claimed your shift–and by extension, you–as theirs. you babble the first thing that comes to mind, “the drinks are all made using the same recipe. it doesn’t matter who makes them.”

yunho’s eyes narrow with offense that you would even suggest a thing. “it’s nowhere near the same.” he is not the only one who wants to tell you that as long as it is not you it will never be the same.

their collective thoughts come out instead through mingi, “nobody understands when we order a triple b or an emineminem or a ‘horse drink’.”

“yeah, no shit sherlock,” you fire back, because apparently sarcasm is your automatic defense mechanism when you are flustered, “might help if you call them by their proper names.”

“or maybe the problem is that nobody knows us well enough like you do,” san insists with a wink and in response, yeosang reveals, “we don’t let just anybody get close to us.”

you joke before you can truly think your words through, “sounds like a you problem then.”

“you’re right,” hongjoong banters easily with smugness.

your nervous fidgeting as you tap useless buttons on the screen of your register gives you away despite your attempts to stay collected. they chuckle and it is difficult not to crumble under their unwavering gazes because it is obvious they can see right through your facade. but can anybody really blame you when you had not been expecting them to reciprocate your feelings of interest, much less admit to it so easily and straightforwardly?

in a last ditch attempt to regain some control over the conversation, you ask, “so, what do you guys want to order?”

from day one, the boys have surprised you in the most unpredictable ways–eight not-quite-delinquent delinquents with simultaneously calloused fists, pottied mouths and insatiable sweet tooth. today is no exception, and you have a feeling that you should start becoming accustomed to their antics because they are here to stay, especially after today.

“what we want to order?” they look at you with confident flirtatiousness. “your phone number and a date.”

taglist pt. one | apply for taglist

@thecarnivaloflies @ilovekimhongjoong @yuranimous @ppprimary @hwas-housewife 

@itza-meee @lavishloving @okshu @mizumigi @everythingboutkpop

@ayytease @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hongjoongsprincess @booyoungie @green-agent

@darkmentalitystarfish-blog @taytayy178 @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @sourkimchi

@mimilia1801 @kibs-and-bits @mlysalt @jjoongstar @aaa-sia

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Title: Delete My Life (But Not the Playlist)

“I accidentally sent you a playlist of love songs”

Paring ⤑ ( Jisung x Reader)

Word Count: 660

It all started with a Spotify notification.

Y/N blinked at her phone as the banner popped up at the top of her screen.

“Jisung shared a playlist with you: ‘Y/N’”

She tapped it out of curiosity. The cover image was soft pink with a blurry candid of her—one he’d taken a few weeks ago when she wasn’t paying attention, laughing at something dumb he’d said.

Heart fluttering, she opened the playlist.

And froze.

Track 1: Crush

Track 2: Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

Track 3: Talk You Down

Track 4: I Like Me Better

Track 5: Falling for You

There were twenty-eight songs total. Every single one was about falling, longing, confessing. Some were soft and slow, others upbeat and giddy. But every lyric—every single lyric—read like a love letter.

To her.

She stared at the screen, heat rising to her cheeks. Was this a joke?

But before she could even begin to make sense of it, her phone buzzed again.

[Jisung: 7:06PM]

DO NOT OPEN THAT PLAYLIST I SENT YOU BY ACCIDENT I BEG U

[Jisung: 7:06PM]

I MEANT TO SEND THAT TO A FRIEND FOR ADVICE NOT YOU I’M PANICKING

[Jisung: 7:07PM]

I MEAN NOT LIKE THAT I MEAN YES LIKE THAT BUT NOT ON PURPOSE I’M GOING TO DELETE MY LIFE

She tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped. She bit her lip and messaged back.

[You: 7:08PM]

So… you have a playlist about me?

[Jisung: 7:08PM]

It’s not ABOUT you I mean yes it IS about you but I didn’t mean for you to see it

[Jisung: 7:08PM]

Can I offer you a song in this trying time???

[ You: 7:09PM]

You already did. 28 of them, actually.

There was a pause. A long one. And then—

[Jisung: 7:11PM]

…Did you like it?

[Jisung: 7:11PM]

I mean if we’re past the point of me pretending it’s not a big deal. Which clearly we are.

Y/N bit her lip, then slowly typed.

[You: 7:13PM]

I’ve already played it twice. Favorite one is #12. I didn’t know you liked that kind of soft stuff.

[Jisung: 7:13PM]

I only do when I think about you.

That one hit her in the chest.

Another ping.

[Jisung: 7:14PM]

If I officially asked you out, would you say yes? Or would I need to make a sad playlist next?

[You: 7:15PM]

You’d better make a happy one. You’re taking me out.

Three dots blinked.

[Jisung: 7:16PM]

Okay but now I have to make ANOTHER playlist titled “My Girlfriend Y/N” and it’s going to be 100 songs minimum. You brought this upon yourself.

[You: 7:16PM]

I expect nothing less. You dramatic little sap.

That night, Jisung sent her a new playlist.

Title: “My Girlfriend Y/N ”

Cover: A selfie of the two of them from earlier that day, her head resting on his shoulder.

Track 1

“She Said Yes.”