littlejoyss

[littlejoyss]

hi!! I want to say that you are truly one of my favorite writers, i have read more than half of your stories, i really liked it !!

I want to ask you to write a mini story about both Hyunjin and y/n, the events of which will take place in the camp. Would it be cool to do from hate to love? Anyway, thanks in advance! >3 (sorry if there are mistakes, english is not my native language) 💘

Aw, thank you so much for all the love! ❤️

Yes, ofc I'll write this! I wanted to take a very mini break from writing my Soulmate Series after I finish editing Chance, and this is a great way for me to do that! So, this request may take me a week or two, but just know it's on my radar! 🫶

[littlejoyss]

chance part 2

“A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms."

Stray Kids - Hyunjin x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 4k

previous part <- current part -> next part(coming soon) | masterlist

The stadium loomed in the distance like a steel giant, its curved architecture glinting under the pale afternoon sun. Even from the parking lot, you could feel the weight of the coming chaos, sixty thousand fans screaming, crying, shoving just for a glimpse of the eight idols inside. It wasn’t your first arena. But it was the first where your pinky burned like someone had set a lump of live coal beneath your skin.

“Jesus,” Marcus muttered from the passenger seat as Lara steered the company’s black SUV into a secured side entrance. “They weren’t kidding about the setup.”

The line of waiting trucks, vans, and staff vehicles was enough to make your head spin. Crew members zipped past with crates of lighting rigs and speaker equipment. Security teams were stationed every fifty feet, earpieces in and eyes sharp.

“I’ve seen presidential motorcades with less manpower,” Lara said dryly, though her fingers flew over her tablet, updating logistics as she spoke.

You stayed silent, staring through the tinted glass. The ache in your finger was sharper now. But as you scanned the area, you didn’t see anyone who looked like they should be connected to you. No figure at the end of a golden thread. No blurry outline reaching back. You flexed your hand in your lap, trying to shake the feeling off.

“(Y/N), you’re up,” Lara said, pulling the SUV to a stop near the venue’s private access doors. “Minjae’s team is already inside, sweeping the interior. You’ll coordinate with them and walk through backstage first.”

“Copy,” you said, sliding out and adjusting your earpiece.

The air was thick with the scent of asphalt and exhaust. Somewhere in the distance, a faint roar of voices carried, fans already gathering beyond the barricades even though showtime was still hours away. You moved quickly through the side entrance, flashing your credentials to a pair of security guards stationed there.

Inside, the air shifted. The interior of the stadium stretched out before you. There were rows of empty seats, massive screens flickering to life in test mode, and a stage that resembled some futuristic cityscape rising from the floor.

Your pinky flared hot. You froze, breath catching. The thread pulled. Not a gentle tug this time. Not the soft ache you’d grown used to ignoring over the years. This was sharp. Forceful. Like an invisible hand had taken hold and demanded you move. You spun on instinct, scanning the catwalks above, the shadows beneath the stage, the clusters of staff setting up instruments. Nothing. No one. Of course. Your soulmate was going to be a fangirl or fanboy, huh?

“(Y/N)?” The voice crackled in your earpiece. Minjae. “We’re near the south dressing rooms. Can you meet us there?”

You swallowed hard, forcing your fingers to unclench. “On my way.”

As you walked, the burn didn’t ease. It seemed to vibrate with each step, a phantom heartbeat drumming through your hand. You told yourself it was nothing. You had to tell yourself it was nothing. You had a job to do.

Minjae’s team was waiting near a row of private dressing rooms, their black suits impressive even after hours of work. One of the doors stood slightly ajar, faint laughter and muffled voices spilling out.

“They’re settling in,” Minjae said in a low voice as you approached. “We’ve secured all access points for this wing. Only cleared staff and our teams from now on.”

“Understood.”

But even as you spoke, your pinky throbbed. Harder now. When faint footsteps echoed in the hall behind you, you turned sharply, only to see a pair of stagehands wheeling a cart of water bottles and towels. No golden thread. No soulmate.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The stadium was no longer empty. The low bass from the opening song rattled your ribcage as the lights dimmed and tens of thousands of voices roared as one. The ocean of lightsticks waved in sync like a living, breathing organism.

You were stationed near the side stage entrance, one hand on your comm device, eyes sweeping every shadowed corner. The burn in your pinky had reached an almost unbearable heat the moment the boys stepped onstage.

But you ignored it. You’d gotten good at ignoring it.

“Main perimeter clear,” Marcus’s voice crackled through your earpiece. “No movement on Level Two. Crowd holding steady.”

“Copy that,” Lara replied from the command hub in the basement. “Eyes up, both of you. There’s still chatter about drone activity outside the barricades.”

You kept scanning. The stage crew was moving like clockwork in the wings, headsets on, eyes glued to monitors. Currently, Bang Chan and his soulmate are performing a song they made together. The sound of their laughter filtered faintly through the speakers as they spoke between lines. You forced yourself not to look. Not to get jealous that your soulmate was in the crowd and you couldn’t go look for them.

And then, “Possible breach. Service corridor, east wing,” Minjae’s voice cut in sharply. “Stagehand reported seeing unauthorized movement. (Y/N). The nearest access point is ten meters from your position.”

“On it.” You didn’t hesitate, slipping past a stack of instrument cases and through a narrow utility door. The corridor smelled faintly of sweat and metal. The burn in your pinky flared violently now, enough to make your hand tremble as you drew your compact taser, and kept it low at your side.

There. A figure moving fast down the hall, dressed in black like the stage crew but with no visible credentials.

“Stop,” you called, your voice sharp, professional.

The figure froze. Then bolted. You sprinted after them. The chase was brief. They made the mistake of looking back, just long enough for you to close the gap and slam them into the wall. Your forearm braced against their chest, your taser pressed to their ribs.

“Credentials. Now,” you snapped.

They stammered, hands raised. Young. Maybe early twenties. A laminated pass dangled from their neck, but one glance told you it was a fake.

“I…I just wanted to see them up close,” the intruder babbled. “I’m harmless! I swear!”

“Minjae, confirm. Service corridor intruder detained. Sending ID for cross-checking.” You pressed your comm button and scanned the badge with your tablet.

“Stand by,” Minjae said tensely.

“Fake badge confirmed,” Minjae reported back. “Escort them to holding. Local police are en route.”

“Copy.”

You forced your focus back to the trembling intruder and pulled them off the wall. Their wide eyes darted toward the sound of the concert.

You sighed, “Move with me, don’t have me drag you.”

It took ten minutes to hand them off to Marcus, who arrived with two venue guards in tow. By the time you made it back to your post, sweat clung to the back of your neck despite the chill of the air-conditioned halls. You adjusted your earpiece, your heart still pounding. But as you turned the corner into the backstage area, you nearly collided with someone. You stopped short. So did he.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Close enough now that you could see the fine sheen of sweat on his temple, the strands of hair sticking up, the rise and fall of his chest from dancing. He wore a loose silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to expose a delicate chain glinting at his collarbone. And his eyes… His eyes went wide as they dropped to your pinky. To the golden thread burning bright in the dim light.

For the first time in years, you couldn’t ignore the pull. It wasn’t gentle anymore. It was a tidal wave. And from the way Hyunjin’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for the string but didn’t dare, you knew he felt it too. But then someone called his name from the stage, who you assumed was Bang Chan. He flinched slightly, his gaze snapping away. His expression shuttered into something unreadable.

He stepped back. “Sorry,” he murmured in accented English, voice low. And then he was gone, slipping past you like a ghost.

You spoke to yourself in shock, “Not a fangirl…huh.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, loud enough that it drowned out even the thunder of the crowd beyond the stage. You stood frozen, staring at the spot where Hyunjin had been just seconds ago, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the air, a mix of something clean, sharp, and impossibly soft.

The golden thread between your pinkies pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own. You flexed your hand instinctively, trying to force the pull back down into the quiet ache you’d grown used to over the years. But it refused. It was alive now, vibrant and demanding, tethering you to the man who had just looked at you like he’d seen a ghost.

Your comm crackled in your ear. “(Y/N), status?” Minjae’s voice, clipped and urgent.

You took a steadying breath, forcing your professional mask back into place. “Intruder detained and handed off. Returning to position.”

There was a beat of silence. “Copy. Keep alert. Stage perimeter clear for now.”

You exhaled slowly and turned, falling back into the practiced movements of a bodyguard, shoulders squared, gaze sweeping every corner, ears tuned to every shift in sound. 

The rest of the show passed in a blur. You were hyper-aware of every glimpse you caught of Hyunjin on stage, every time his fluid movements carried him too close to the edge where eager fans screamed and surged forward. 

After the final encore, the chaos backstage was like a hive set on fire. Staff scrambled to break down equipment, the members were herded toward their private dressing rooms, and fans still screamed from the exits.

You stayed stationed by the dressing room hallway, posture rigid. Marcus passed by, clapping you on the shoulder. “Nice work tonight, rookie. No breaches except your little hallway sprinter.”

“Not a rookie,” you said automatically. He chuckled and kept walking.

You didn’t see Hyunjin again until much later, after most of the crowd had dispersed and the group was preparing to leave for their hotel. He came out last, wearing a hoodie pulled low and a mask covering the lower half of his face. Even with half his features hidden, his eyes caught on you immediately.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then he shifted his weight and spoke softly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Um…I’m Hyunjin.”

Your breath caught. “...I’m (Y/N).”

Before you could reply, Minjae’s voice barked from ahead. “Hyunjin, let’s go. Jeez. I see why you’re always getting in dangerous trouble now.”

Hyunjin hesitated, then nodded once to you. But as he passed, his fingers brushed yours for the briefest second. It was like being struck by lightning. The thread pulsed violently, the heat searing through your skin. You felt your knees almost buckle. You looked back to watch him walk away, but he was already doing the same.

[A/N: This story will take a little longer for me to upload than Destiny (my 2nd Soulmate Series story). While I was uploading Destiny I had already finished the final touches and edited, but I haven't fully edited and put final touches on this story yet. So, FYI this will take a little longer than my previous stories! I just thought I'd give you guys this little bit. I hope you all understand :) ]

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1 @i-am-fork @btch8008s @offl-ine 

[littlejoyss]

chance part 1

“A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms."

Stray Kids - Hyunjin x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 4k

current part -> next part | masterlist

Summary: As one of the youngest recruits at a prestigious private security firm, (Y/N) never expected her first high-profile assignment to involve guarding the globally adored K-Pop group Stray Kids.  She’s determined to keep her distance until a faint golden string appears, tethering her to one of the members. Hwang Hyunjin. The string tightens when he’s in danger, making her role as his protector more complicated and more dangerous than she ever imagined. (TRIGGER WARNINGS: stalking, stabbing, attempted murder, PTSD) (There will be specific tw per chapter if needed)

[NOTE: This is the third installment in my Soulmates Series. HOWEVER, this story can be completely read as a stand-alone (and is written to be). Don't worry, if this is your first time here, you won't miss any important lore :) ]

Once everyone turned eighteen, a golden thread appeared tied around their pinky. Most people discovered it at dawn, just as the first light spilled over the horizon, when the string is most visible to the owner.

The string shimmered like a captured sunrise. It never tangled and it never dulled. Where the old tales spoke of a red cord, rough and knotted with destiny, this was liquid gold. From the moment it appeared, society revolved around it.

Golden‑mornings. Families gathered for a ceremonial breakfast, slicing warm honey‑cake to celebrate the new thread‑bearer. There was always an extra place set at the table for the unseen soulmate at the string’s far end.

Length‑measuring. Thrumming with nerves, the newly bound stretched their hands skyward, guiding the filament between thumb and forefinger to gauge its reach. Long meant distant, sometimes oceans away, and short could indicate a lover already in the same room.

The First Pull. Sometime within that first year, the thread would tighten and tug. Legends claimed that if you followed the pull immediately, no power on earth could keep you from meeting your counterpart before nightfall. Most people waited for many reasons, but the bold few who obeyed the first pull were said to find love. 

You hadn’t obeyed. The first time the thread yanked sharply at your pinky, you were standing in line at a private security firm’s recruitment office, sweaty-palmed and wide-eyed. At nineteen, you were the youngest applicant in a crowd of seasoned ex-military, police academy graduates, and hardened freelancers. You couldn’t afford to lose focus, not when this interview might be your one shot out of the small life you’d grown up in. Still, the tug had been so sudden it made you flinch.

The recruiter had raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, though your pinky ached. The golden thread shimmered faintly in the sterile overhead light, vibrating like a plucked violin string.

There was no time for soulmates. Not then. Not when you were fighting for a place in the elite. So you ignored the pull, forced your hand to stay loose at your side, and focused on reciting your qualifications in your head.

The recruiter’s eyes lingered a second too long on your clenched jaw, but he let it go with a grunt, scribbling something on the clipboard. “Next.”

You stepped forward, willing your body to steady, but your pinky throbbed with each heartbeat. The thread shimmered again, brighter this time, as if furious at being ignored. For a split second, you saw it. There was a faint outline of a figure at the far end of the string. Blurred, like sunlight through water. You couldn’t make out their face, only the shape of a hand reaching-

No.

You squeezed your eyes shut and forced the image away.

This wasn’t the time. Not when the recruiter was already barking questions. “Name?” You answered.  “Why private security?” You answered again, louder this time, gripping the strap of your duffel bag so hard your knuckles went white.

But all the while, the pull didn’t stop. It throbbed like a low drumbeat in your chest, urging you forward, out the door, out into the world. Go. Find them. Now.

You swallowed hard. “I’m disciplined. Focused. Good under pressure.”

The golden thread yanked hard enough to make your whole hand twitch. You bit down on a hiss, curling your fingers into a fist. You couldn’t afford a distraction. You couldn’t afford to seem flighty or lovesick or like one of those kids who bolted after the First Pull and didn’t come back for months, only to beg for a second chance later…like your brother.

No. You weren’t going to be like him. Take off in the night and come back months later with your soulmate, begging forgiveness from your family for leaving.

So you did the only thing you could. You shoved your hand into your jacket pocket, hiding the trembling. You dug your nails into your palm until the sharp sting drowned out the tugging ache. And you stayed.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After years of working at ShieldPoint Security, you had plenty of cases to prove yourself. At first, no one believed in you. You were nineteen with no combat medals, no badge, no legacy to stand on. They called you kid or rookie, tossed you desk duty while the older agents handled high-profile cases. But you didn’t complain. You observed. Learned. Listened. And every time someone underestimated you, you filed it away like ammo.

Your first break came during an assignment where you were supposed to assist a senior agent guarding the daughter of a foreign diplomat. When her convoy was ambushed, your partner froze. You didn’t. You remembered the layout. Knew the alleyways. Used a side route to lead her out under fire. By the time backup arrived, you’d secured her in a safe house and set a perimeter.

“Luck,” one of your colleagues had muttered afterward.

But luck didn’t explain your second big case. There, you spotted a stalker blending in with catering staff at a gala. You’d noticed his shoes, steel-toe boots, too heavy for banquet servers. A hunch. A tiny detail. But it led to the uncovering of a planned kidnapping. Your quick call saved your client’s life.

You were still the youngest in the room, but after that, people stopped sneering when you spoke. You became known for your instincts. For the way you read a room in seconds, for noticing the camera in the flower arrangement, or the hidden earpiece on the valet. It was almost like you were doing the police’s job at this point.

ShieldPoint started assigning you to higher-risk clients. Politicians, CEOs, and the occasional celebrity. You were efficient. Detached. Professional to a fault.

Today, the conference room smelled faintly of coffee and paper, ShieldPoint’s unofficial perfume. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you sat at the long table with two other agents, a steaming mug cradled in your hands. The folder in front of you bore the ShieldPoint logo embossed in gold. Your name was written neatly in the top corner. You’d skimmed the file already. Twice. The assignment felt…different.

Across from you, Marcus leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his broad chest. He was an ex-military type, grizzled, sharp-eyed, and built like a tank. He noticed your gaze and smirked. “Babysitting idols now? Thought you were aiming for prime ministers and magnates, rookie.”

You didn’t bother responding. You weren’t a rookie anymore, no matter how much Marcus liked to pick on you.

Beside you, Lara, slender, precise, with an ever-present hint of peppermint gum, flipped through her copy of the assignment brief with practiced calm. She didn’t look up when she spoke. “Eight members. Global reach. Over 60,000 attendees per show. Logistics alone are going to be a nightmare.”

“Not to mention the fans,” Marcus grunted. “I saw a video last year, thousands of kids screaming so loud it shattered a window. Like something out of a zombie flick.”

“STAYs,” Lara corrected.

“Whatever they call themselves, they’re intense.”

At the head of the table, your manager cleared his throat, cutting off Marcus’s commentary. He was tall and wiry, a man who rarely smiled unless someone had royally screwed up. Today, though, his face was neutral as he set his tablet down and scanned the room. “You’ve all been assigned to Stray Kids’ protection detail for the duration of their world tour stop in this country.”

“They’re one of the biggest acts in the world right now, which requires a lot of security. Their own hired security will be working with us. They hired us since you are all from this country, and could offer support to their team. Your primary goal,” your manager continued, “is to ensure zero breaches. Zero close calls. Sure, be coordinating with local law enforcement and the group’s Korean security team, but make no mistake, ShieldPoint is still a part of this operation.”

He gestured to Marcus. “You’re point on crowd control and perimeter sweeps.”

“Copy.”

“Lara, you’ll handle logistics. Entry, exit, and transport schedules. I expect a contingency plan for every contingency plan.”

“Already drafting them.”

His eyes landed on you last. “You’re shadow detail. Assigned directly to all of the members. You’ll monitor their movements backstage, at hotels, and during transit.”

Marcus barked a laugh. “Of course, they stuck the youngest with the pretty boys. Try not to faint when they smile, kid.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. Years ago, maybe you would’ve flushed, stammered out a retort. Not now. Not after you’d spent three years proving to men like Marcus that you didn’t need to puff your chest out to earn respect.

Instead, you sipped your coffee and leveled him with the same cool look you gave a client’s stalker once, right before you disarmed him with a knee to the chest. “Try not to faint when one of them calls you ahjussi,” you murmured, deadpan.

Lara snorted softly into her folder. Marcus opened his mouth, but the manager’s curt voice cut him off.

“Enough.” His tone brooked no argument. “This isn’t your typical assignment. These aren’t high-ranking officials used to moving with a full protection unit. They’re young, famous, and have thousands of fans willing to do anything for a glimpse of them. That means we don’t just protect them from threats, we protect them from chaos. Car accidents are caused by tailing fans. Drone breaches. Stalker infiltration. Everything.”

He swiped across the tablet, and eight photos appeared on the display, one for each Stray Kids member.

“Get familiar. Faces, habits, schedules. You’ll be briefed by their Korean team on specific incidents in other countries, but for now, know this: three of them have had credible threats made recently, with Hwang Hyunjin being the most serious.”

Your chest went tight, not from surprise. There was a hum at your pinky finger. The golden thread. You flexed your hand in your lap, curling your fingers until the sensation dulled. Not here. Not now.

Marcus let out a low whistle. “Hyunjin, he’s the pretty one, right? The one that paints and dances like a fairy?”

“Careful,” Lara said lightly, though her eyes didn’t leave the file. “STAYs will eat you alive for calling him that.”

Your manager ignored them. “You’ll all get time to coordinate with their team once they arrive. For now, I want full readiness. They land tomorrow morning. Be at the airport by 0500.”

He snapped the tablet shut. “Dismissed.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The next morning smelled like jet fuel and rain. The private terminal was already humming with activity when you arrived at 0430. You sighed and leaned back against the wall. Soon, your two coworkers for this assignment showed up. They held coffees from the same local store. You raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

You stood slightly apart, a tactical earpiece tucked in place, scanning the perimeter with the practiced calm of someone who had done this a hundred times before. But beneath the surface, your pinky finger itched faintly.

“ShieldPoint?” The voice was smooth, accented, Korean. You turned to see three men approaching in sleek black suits. Their posture screamed military, their sharp eyes cataloged the entire terminal as they walked.

“Yes,” Marcus answered first, stepping forward and extending a hand. “Marcus Kent. This is Lara Weston, and-” his smirk cut sideways to you, “our rookie with a deceptively impressive resume.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you offered your hand with a polite nod. “(Y/N).”

“Seo Minjae,” the tallest of the Korean team said, shaking firmly. “I’m heading the protection detail for Stray Kids. These are my lieutenants, Park Jihoon and Lee Daeun.”

Lara glanced at her tablet. “We’ve reviewed the profiles and the general tour schedule. I understand there have been recent incidents?”

“Yes,” Minjae confirmed, his expression hardening. “Three threats in as many months. Two against the group as a whole, one specifically targeting a certain member.”

Daeun handed over a slim black folder, marked confidential. “The first was in Japan, an attempted stage breach during their Osaka show. A fan managed to get on stage with a concealed knife before being restrained. No injuries, but it revealed gaps in our stage security.”

“Jesus,” Marcus muttered.

Jihoon spoke next. “The second was an incident in Paris. Someone sent packages to their hotel containing… disturbing items. Notes, photographs, even strands of hair. Hotel security failed to intercept the deliveries.”

Lara’s jaw tightened. “Stalker behavior escalating.”

Minjae nodded grimly. “The third, most serious, occurred in Seoul during the opening show. A credible death threat against the member Hyunjin surfaced online. The user had personal details, schedule times, flight numbers, suggesting an insider leak.”

“What’s being done about the leak?” you asked, keeping your tone level.

“We’re running internal investigations,” Minjae said. “But until then, we assume worst case, no one outside this core team is entirely trustworthy.”

You nodded, your mind already sketching out contingencies.

Minjae’s sharp eyes flicked to you. “As shadow detail, you’ll stay closest to the members. In any movement, bathroom, dressing room, or hotel gym, you’ll have a line of sight. You’re from here, so I assume you have a good understanding of the layout of the main city.”

“Indeed,” you replied evenly, though the hum at your pinky burned hotter now, like a live wire under your skin.

Minjae didn’t notice. “For the next twenty-four hours, we’re in full lockdown until we assess all locations. No unscheduled interactions. No fan service. ShieldPoint will provide additional coverage during public appearances.”

“Copy,” Marcus said.

Lara was already typing up revised routes on her tablet. “I’ll coordinate alternate transport options.”

Minjae continued, “They should be landing within the next few hours. We’ll handle their travel from the airport to their hotel. You three will meet us at the venue on the day of the show. They plan on staying here for a week to film content and other idol business before going to their next show. We’ll work together to watch them for the week.”

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1 @i-am-fork @btch8008s @offl-ine 

[littlejoyss]

Heyy sorry would you mind making a series masterlist for the chan series destiny? Cus Tumblr is being ever so kind and I keep losing the parts when I want to stick them together😭 sorry if this is a bother and I know you've got the pervious and next chapter button but if it's not too much of a hassle would u mind making a series masterlist, thank you😭🫶🏻

It's not a hassle, don't worry! I'm a-okay getting asked this stuff since I'm still relatively new to posting on Tumblr (I'm used to the Ao3 format). I updated the Soulmate Series Masterlist so that it has each part of each story on there, including Destiny! Thank you for the suggestion! ❤️

[littlejoyss]

epilogue

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count : 21k

previous part <- current part

(A year later)

Chan came home late that night, shoulders slack with exhaustion, hair still damp from a rushed shower at the studio. His hoodie smelled faintly of detergent and the lingering scent of rehearsal spaces.

You were already curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under you, a manuscript open in your lap but long forgotten. The faint glow of your phone illuminated the coffee table, where the notifications hadn’t stopped since the tour teaser had dropped: Stray Kids World Tour.

He paused in the doorway, quiet for a moment as he watched you fight sleep. You were wearing his old concert tee, the one he thought he’d lost until you stole it for yourself. The golden thread shimmered faintly between you, as strong as ever. Stronger, maybe.

“Long night?” you asked softly, setting the manuscript aside.

He gave a tired smile, his voice hoarse but warm. “Long year.”

You reached out a hand. “Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate. His bag thumped gently to the floor, and in two steps, he was kneeling in front of you. You brushed your fingers through his damp hair, thumbs smoothing over the tension in his brows.

“They’re saying this might be your biggest tour yet,” you murmured.

He smiled faintly, eyelids growing heavy. “I’ll take you with me this time.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.” He leaned into your touch, his eyelids fluttering shut as though the simple weight of your hand in his hair could ground him after the chaos of the past year. 

You smiled faintly, brushing a damp strand of hair off his forehead. “What if I distract you?”

“You already do.” His lips quirked tiredly, and then his voice dropped. “But in the best way.” He winked.

For a moment, you let the quiet hold you both. His knees pressed into the rug, your fingers still tangled in his hair, the soft glow of the city lights slipping past your curtains. The golden thread pulsed faintly between you like it had its own heartbeat.

You tugged gently at his hoodie sleeve. “Sit up here. You’re going to fall asleep on the floor.”

He obeyed without protest, curling up beside you on the couch. The cushions sank under his weight as he leaned his head on your shoulder. You shifted slightly to make room for him, tugging the blanket over both of you as he let out a low sigh, the kind that seemed to carry months of exhaustion. His arm slid around your waist almost automatically, fingers resting lightly against your side like he needed the reassurance you were still there.

He muttered into your shoulder. “You should perform with us on tour.” 

You froze, the words catching you so off guard you almost thought you’d imagined them. But Chan was still there, heavy against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, his arm anchoring you to him like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

He hummed, so tired it was hard to tell if he was teasing. But then he shifted slightly, chin tilting just enough for his eyes to meet yours. “Not like… a full set or anything. One song. The one we wrote.”

You felt the golden thread pulse between you, impossibly warm, as if responding to his words. “Chan…” you whispered.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he murmured, already sounding like sleep was pulling at him again. “Just… think about it. I want them to see you. The world. The way I do.”

You let the quiet settle again, the weight of him pressed against you, grounding you as your mind spun with the image of standing on a stage. You’ve done it many times before, but never in front of STAYs. 

“You’re impossible,” you whispered, smiling despite yourself.

He let out a soft, amused sound, his arm tightening slightly around you. “That’s what you signed up for.”

The golden thread pulsed again, stronger this time, almost glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. You brushed your thumb over his knuckles, already imagining what it would feel like to stand beside him under a stage’s blinding lights.

But for now, you let him rest. You let yourself rest too.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The sound of thousands of voices chanting still echoed faintly in your ears as you stumbled off stage behind Chan, adrenaline burning hot in your veins. The roar of STAYs hadn’t dulled, not even after the lights dimmed, signaling the end of your shared song.

You’d stood under the blinding lights, sang your song together. And when Chan took your hand for the final note, the arena erupted like the stars themselves had dropped into their palms.

Now, backstage, your breath came shallow and quick. Chan’s hand hadn’t left yours.

The rest of the members flooded past you toward the quick-change area, stylists already tugging them into fresh jackets and accessories for the next set. Laughter and instructions mixed in the air like static. Felix flashed you both a grin as he jogged past, sweat streaking his temples.

“You killed it,” he said with a wink before disappearing behind a curtain.

It barely registered.

Chan turned to you, chest rising and falling rapidly, his hair damp with sweat and sticking adorably to his forehead. He looked at you like he wasn’t sure you were real.

“You did it,” he said, voice rough from singing but filled with something soft. “You, God, you were perfect.”

You shook your head with a disbelieving laugh. “I almost forgot the lyrics.”

He squeezed your hand tighter. “But you didn’t. You didn’t. And did you hear them out there?”

“Kind of hard to miss.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you blinked fast to chase down the emotions threatening to well up.

Chan noticed, of course. He always did. He reached up and cupped your face gently, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye. “They love you.”

“They love you,” you corrected, barely above a whisper.

Then, ruining the moment, Hyunjin burst out of the changing room, eyes wide. He came skidding to a stop just a few feet from you and Chan, his skin still damp from sweat. His jacket was only halfway on, one sleeve dangling as a stylist shouted after him from the quick-change area.

“Hyunjin…” Chan started, brows knitting in concern. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, Hyunjin just stood there, chest heaving, his expression unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised his pinkie finger.

Chan blinked. “What… what does that mean?”

But Hyunjin didn’t answer. His eyes just widened more and his lip wobbled. He wiggled the pinkie slightly, as if that was explanation enough, before turning and disappearing back behind the curtain in a blur of black stagewear.

“Hyunjin… wait!” Chan called after him, his hand still gripping yours tightly.

But the only response was the sound of the stylist scolding in rapid-fire Korean as Hyunjin vanished.

Felix popped his head out from the quick-change area, his brows furrowed. “Did Hyunjin just leave?”

You turned to him. “Yeah. What’s up with him?”

“...his string is pulling.”

(A/N: Dun dun...dunnnnnnn! Woo! That's a wrap on Chan's soulmate story. I love this series because I get to write so many different tropes in the same universe and it's like a field day for my creative brain! Now, it's time for Hyunjin to find his soulmate! Here's a preview:

"Chance”  As one of the youngest recruits at a prestigious private security firm, (Y/N) never expected her first high-profile assignment to involve guarding the globally adored K-Pop group Stray Kids.  She’s determined to keep her distance and maintain professionalism until a faint golden string appears, tethering her to one of the members. Hwang Hyunjin. The string tightens when he’s in danger, making her role as his protector more complicated and more dangerous than she ever imagined. (HEAVY TRIGGER WARNINGS: stalking, attempted murder, PTSD)

If you want to be added to my general taglist, a taglist for a certain member, or the Soulmates Series taglist, comment below! If you're already on the Soulmates Series taglist, you'll transfer to the next story :). Thank you guys so much for all the support!)

(SOULMATES SERIES MASTERLIST)

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

destiny part10

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

The lights came on softly. There was no dramatic entrance, no overly-produced countdown. Just the rustle of camera crew adjusting lenses and a production assistant offering you water. Iseul stood in the shadows, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Hyun-seok leaned against the back wall with a clipboard and that same deep crease between his brows.

The interviewer smiled as she sat across from you and Chan. She was calm, like she knew the weight of this moment but wasn’t there to provoke it.

The camera rolled.

“Thank you both for being here,” the interviewer began, voice steady but curious. “I know there’s been a lot of speculation these past twenty-four hours, but let’s start with something simple. Congratulations on the new release. ‘Destiny’ dropped yesterday and it's already trending in twelve countries. How are you feeling?”

Chan glanced at you, lips twitching just slightly. “Tired. Relieved. Grateful.”

You smiled. “And a little terrified.”

The interviewer chuckled. “Fair enough. Let’s talk about the song. Destiny is lyrically very raw. It opens with the line ‘In quiet rooms, you look my way, but then you turn and walk away.’ That’s not subtle. Was that intentional?”

Chan nodded. “Very. That song was us pulling the curtain of idol life back a little.”

“A lot,” you corrected softly. “We weren’t ready to say everything. But we needed to say something.”

“And who wrote that line specifically?” the interviewer asked.

“I did,” Chan answered. “But she gave it meaning.”

You swallowed. The golden thread pulsed faintly between you, invisible to everyone else but practically vibrating now.

“That first verse feels like a private moment,” the interviewer added. “There’s restraint in it. It’s quiet but emotionally loaded.What were thinking while writing it?”

You nodded. “Every word was weighed. We didn’t want it to be too obvious what it was about, but we didn’t want to lie either. So we wrote what felt honest.”

Chan added, “We wrote the song for ourselves first. Not the fans. Just... us. We needed a place to put everything we couldn’t say out loud.”

The interviewer flipped a notecard. “It’s being described as a love song. Some fans say it sounds like a confession. Was it?”

You let the quiet stretch for just a moment before saying, “Yes.”

Chan didn’t look away. “Absolutely.”

There was a quiet rustle from the crew. Even they hadn’t expected you to answer so plainly. The interviewer blinked once, then pressed gently, “And the person you were confessing to…?”

You looked straight at the camera. “Each other.”

“We’re soulmates,” Chan said calmly. No trembling, no hesitation. “We found out almost a month ago.”

The interviewer’s eyes widened slightly, but she recovered fast. “You’re saying the golden thread…?”

“Appeared in the studio,” you confirmed. “No warning. No build-up. It just… happened. We didn’t know what to do with it.”

“So… you kept working?”

Chan gave a soft laugh. “Yeah. We kept writing songs about each other like cowards.”

You added, “And kept pretending it was nothing.”

The interviewer leaned forward slightly, curiosity sharpened. “How many songs would you say you’ve written during that period of pretending?”

You glanced at Chan, eyebrows raised.

“Four?” he guessed.

You smiled. “Destiny, of course, another song that might come in the future, and two that no one will ever hear.”

The interviewer nodded slowly, her gaze shifting between you. “Do you think that tension, of hiding something so huge, made the songwriting better? Or harder?”

“Both,” you said. “It gave everything a sharpness. We were constantly editing ourselves. The lyrics had to walk a very fine line.”

Chan agreed. “We had to say what we meant without saying what we meant. It was exhausting. But also… kind of magical.”

The interviewer turned to another card. “There’s a line in the chorus that fans are quoting a lot, ‘It’s not just chance, it’s something real, a kind of love you always feel.’ Can you talk more about that lyric?”

You inhaled slowly. “That was one of the first lines we wrote together after the thread appeared. We were trying to define what it felt like. Like… the kind of connection that’s always there, even before you admit it.”

“It’s about being certain,” Chan said. “Some people hear that line and think it’s romantic. Some think it’s spiritual. For us, it was literal. The thread showed up, and there was no going back.”

The interviewer tilted her head. “Was there ever a version of Destiny that had a different ending? Something bigger, more dramatic, a confession in the bridge?”

You laughed softly. “We actually cut a whole verse that felt too much like a goodbye. Then we tried a version that sounded too much like a wedding. It didn’t feel right.”

Chan nodded. “We didn’t want it to be a fairytale. We wanted it to be true. That meant ending the song where we were, unsure, honest, and still standing next to each other.”

The interviewer glanced at the crew again, clearly weighing how much further to press. But she leaned forward, voice lowering just enough to feel intimate. “Why not tell anyone sooner?”

You hesitated, “Because the truth felt dangerous. This industry is stringent. We weren’t just risking bad press, we were risking everything. Our work. Our teams. Each other.”

“And now?”

Chan looked directly at the camera. “Now we’re choosing the truth.”

The interviewer sat back slowly, absorbing that. “There’s a lyric in the second verse,‘The world can spin, but we won’t break, we’ve got a light that time can’t shake.’ That line hit hard. Especially paired with last night’s rooftop performance.”

You nodded, heart thudding. “That was the first time we stopped pretending it was nothing.”

“And walking off hand-in-hand,” the interviewer said, raising an eyebrow. “Was that planned?”

You and Chan shared a look. “No,” you said. “It was instinct.”

“Impulse,” Chan added. “We knew we’d pay for it. But we also knew… it was time.”

The interviewer smiled gently. “Chan, this makes you the second in your group to find your soulmate, after Felix and his fiancée. How do you feel about that?”

Chan exhaled a soft laugh, caught off guard by the shift in question, but he smiled. “Honestly? I used to think I’d be the last. I was so focused on making sure everyone else was okay that I didn’t think I’d ever get my own story. Watching Felix find his person… it made me believe it could happen. Just not to me. Not like this.”

“I remember when he told us,” Chan added, his voice softer now. “Felix. He just said it like it was the most normal thing. ‘She’s it. She’s the one.’ And we all believed him. It didn’t feel dramatic. It just felt right. That’s how I felt when I saw the thread with her.”

The interviewer’s expression softened, clearly moved. “And now… two soulmates in Stray Kids. That has to change the dynamic.”

Chan chuckled. “Yeah, it’s surreal. But honestly? It just makes everything more grounded. More real. Felix and I… we’ve been talking a lot lately. And he said something that stuck with me. He said, ‘It’s not about being perfect together. It’s about being true.’”

You smiled faintly at that. “He’s wise for someone who still cries over puppies.”

The interviewer laughed, easing the tension in the room. “So, let me ask the question on everyone’s minds… are you two… together? Like, together-together?”

You exchanged a glance with Chan, and for the first time, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t know the answer. But because the answer was fragile.

Finally, you spoke. “We’re… figuring it out. The thread doesn’t come with instructions. There’s a lot we’re still learning about each other. About ourselves. But what we do know is that this-” you gestured to the space between you, “-isn’t a phase. It’s not for show. It’s real.”

Chan nodded, slow and certain. “And whatever it becomes, we’re walking it together.”

The interviewer paused. “If the thread had never appeared… do you think you would’ve fallen for each other anyway?”

Another pause.

“Yeah,” you said.

Chan glanced at you, silent, but it said everything that was needed to be said.

The interviewer cleared her throat gently. “Thank you… both. For being honest. For being brave. I think a lot of people will see themselves in this.”

Chan glanced at you again, eyes softer than they’d been all morning. “That’s the point. Right?”

You nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

The interviewer smiled as she gathered her notecards. “I have to say… this might be the most human interview I’ve ever done.”

“Good,” Chan said with a quiet laugh. 

A voice crackled through the intercom. “That’s a wrap.”

Lights dimmed. The camera light clicked off. A long exhale swept across the room like a tide receding.

You sat in the quiet for a moment longer, heart pounding, thread pulsing like a second heartbeat. Chan then whispered to you, “Did you really mean that?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smiled. “We can talk, in private, later.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

@k-entupdates:  🎥 BREAKING: The post-release sit-down interview with (Y/N) and Bang Chan just aired, and yes, they confirmed it. They’re soulmates.

💬@minsungsoulmatesplz: I’m sobbing. No makeup, no mics. Just the thread and the truth. This is historic.

💬@leeknowshairclip: Felix’s soulmate era walked so Chan’s could fly. I LOVE THIS TIMELINE.

💬@soontobemrsbang: They said “it’s not for show. it’s real.” And that healed something in me. 😭

💬@dispatchbutemotional: Can someone check on the Dispatch interns? They were probably halfway through a “secret love affair” headline when this dropped.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The city buzzed faintly beneath your window, but the apartment was quiet, like it was holding its breath for you. You kicked off your shoes by the door. You were still floating in the adrenaline from the interview.

Chan followed a few steps behind, shutting the door gently before turning the lock. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there in the dim lamplight like he was trying to memorize the way you looked in this moment.

You padded into the kitchen, filling two glasses of water, but your hands trembled slightly when you handed his over.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, taking it. But he didn’t drink.

You leaned against the counter, the edge pressing into your lower back. “I meant it.”

He looked up from the glass, gaze locking with yours. “Which part?”

You didn’t blink. “All of it. Every word I said.”

The golden thread shimmered faintly between you, brighter here than it had been on camera, as though even it understood that this was just for him. Just you.

“You asked earlier,” you said softly, “if I really meant it. So let me say it again, here. Alone. Yes. I meant it.”

Chan took a slow step closer. “Even the part that you said you would still have fallen for me, even if we weren’t soulmates?”

You gave a quiet laugh. “Especially that part.”

Another step. He set his glass on the counter beside yours. “You were brave today.”

“I was honest,” you corrected. “And very nearly sick on the ride home.”

His mouth quirked. “I know the feeling.” Chan reached up to rub the back of his neck, nervous. You could always tell. “I keep replaying what you said. That this isn’t a phase. That it’s not for show.”

Your voice dropped. “It’s not.”

He was in front of you now. Closer than he’d dared be all day. His expression was open, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw from him, even when it was just the two of you. “So what is it, then?”

Your throat tightened. “It’s everything.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you, really looked at you, like maybe he was scared he’d never get another chance. 

“You know,” he murmured, “when the thread appeared in the studio, I thought… I thought maybe the universe made a mistake.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’ve wanted you longer than I ever admitted. Before the thread. Before Destiny. And I thought…” He exhaled shakily. “I thought I was too late. We already signed the contract.”

Your heart flipped, achingly soft. “You weren’t,” you whispered.

He raised a hand then, tentative, and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “So if I kissed you right now…”

You leaned in, barely an inch between you. “It would be about time.”

And just like that, he kissed you. It wasn’t dramatic or choreographed or perfect. It was careful. Like you were both learning how to breathe in a world that finally allowed it. His hand found the curve of your jaw while your fingers curled around the edge of his hoodie, grounding yourself. The thread between you pulsed brighter than it ever had before.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you not quite ready to pull away.

“Well,” he whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke, “guess we can add that to the list of things we’re not pretending about anymore.”

You smiled. “Not even a little.”

He chuckled softly, nose nudging yours. “I really, really like the universe now.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Me too.”

“When the contract ends tomorrow, I’m taking you on so many dates.”

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

destiny part9

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

(A/N: So I like you guys and I was feeling nice so I decided to upload the final chapters the next day LOL)

@k-entupdates: 🎤 ‘Destiny’, the long-awaited song performed by (Y/N) and Bang Chan of Stray Kids, dropped last night, and it came with a breathtaking rooftop performance video 🌃🔥

💬@staygold_97: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I KNEW THEY WERE DATING. I KNEW IT. THE LOOKS. THE LYRICS. THIS HAS TO BE A LOVE SONG.

💬@limelightforchan: Did you guys see the photo of them walking off the rooftop hand in hand?!

💬@threadedbyfate: They didn’t drop a song, they dropped a universe. #DestinyChanYN

💬@multistanintears: This is like if Shakespeare was born in K-pop and decided to emotionally ruin me at 2AM.

💬@jypwhereyouat: Bestie I just woke up and Bang Chan and (Y/N) just dropped soty

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

By 8:00 AM, there were three missed calls from Iseul, one from your personal manager, and a calendar invite ominously titled: URGENT. 10AM. Conference Room C. 

Chan texted you only once:

Channie ❤️: They know. I’ll be there by 9:50. Don’t go in alone.

By 9:52, you were seated beside him in the same conference room that just a few day ago you were asked to kiss in.

Hyun-seok arrived first. He looked unusually tired, a deep crease between his brows. No performative smiles today. Just a nod. Then Iseul entered, tablet in hand, expression unreadable but her pace sharp.

She sat. Didn’t greet you. Didn’t waste time. Just flipped her tablet toward you both and tapped the screen.

Photos. Dozens. From the rooftop performance and from the walk afterward.

Your fingers intertwined, leaving through the private door. Caught from a long lens across the street. Blurry, but unmistakable.

Hyun-seok spoke first. “So it wasn’t just dumplings.”

Chan didn’t even blink. “No. It wasn’t.”

Iseul finally looked up. “You broke the contract. You breached terms regarding unsanctioned physical contact and unapproved post-performance behavior. You knew cameras would be watching.”

You held Chan’s hand tighter beneath the table. “I know,” you said softly. “We knew. And we did it anyway.”

Hyun-seok sighed and leaned back in his chair like the weight of the entire label was pressing into his spine. “This is unprecedented. We gave you a very clear route, controlled intimacy, curated mystery, and a timed climax. You took a sledgehammer to all of it. Did you even read section four on the contract? You’ll pay fines for this.”

Chan’s voice rang through the room. “We’re soulmates.”

Damn. He ripped the band-aid there, didn’t he?

Hyun-seok blinked. “Come again?”

Iseul’s head snapped up so fast it was a wonder her tablet didn’t fly from her hands. “I’m sorry…what did you just say?”

Chan didn’t waver. He lifted his hand, palm up on the table. The golden thread shimmered faintly across his wrist. They couldn’t see it of course. But it was for you.

“We’re soulmates,” he repeated, steady this time. “The thread showed up when we first met in the studio.”

Silence. Not stunned silence. Furious silence.

And then, “Are you out of your goddamn minds?” That was your personal manager, who had clearly arrived late, just in time to lose his mind. He slammed his folder on the table with a slap that made you flinch. “You’ve known for almost a month? And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I told her,” Chan said coolly, gesturing toward you. “She told me. That was enough.”

“Enough for you, maybe,” Iseul snapped. “But not for the team who’s been crafting your entire careers around a lie of compatibility! This fact could’ve had us gaining worldwide attention!”

You leaned forward, voice low but firm. “We didn’t lie. We just followed the contract. ‘The undersigned parties agree not to engage in a personal or romantic relationship beyond the scope of public performance.’ Therefore, we didn’t tell you that we found out we were soulmates so we wouldn’t have a romantic relationship in your eyes.”

Chan glanced your way at the word ‘romantic’. 

Hyun-seok pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling like he was trying not to explode. “This isn’t a loophole you can lawyer your way through. You’re soulmates. That is a romantic relationship. You withheld a critical fact that would’ve changed everything about this rollout. In a good way.”

“Exactly,” your manager snapped. “You think that thread is just an accessory? It changes the entire narrative. We would’ve sold it as fate. As legacy. A once-in-a-generation love story. Do you understand what we could’ve done with that?”

Iseul leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, calculating. “Instead, you gave us crumbs. Stolen glances, late-night recordings, and a thread you’ve been hiding for weeks. And now we’ve lost control of the story.”

Chan looked up slowly, meeting her gaze with terrifying calm. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Good?” your manager choked. “Good? Do you know how fragile this launch is? One wrong move and your entire career could get swallowed by the headline.”

You shook your head. “Then let us write the headline.”

“No,” Iseul said flatly. “You don’t get to walk into a conference room and rewrite the terms because you got sentimental.”

Chan sat forward, his fingers still tangled with yours. “It’s not sentiment. It’s truth. We didn’t ask for the thread. We didn’t manipulate it. We tried to ignore it. You asked us to create tension, and we did. You asked us to pretend, and we did. You asked us to perform like it meant something, and it did. That’s not on us. That’s on the universe.”

“Don’t bring the universe into a formal conversation,” Hyun-seok snapped.

You leaned in. “Then let’s talk formal. You gave us a contract that defined our relationship only within the scope of our public image. Outside of work, we weren’t required to disclose anything directly to you, romantic or otherwise. That’s section four, line six.”

Chan spoke softly. “You wanted the world to believe in something. Now they will. This is exactly what a PR team should want.”

Then, unexpectedly, Hyun-seok laughed. Once. Short. Like it had been punched out of him. He stood, walked to the far side of the room, and stared out the conference room window. “You two are either the most reckless pair I’ve ever managed,” he muttered, “or the smartest.”

“We’re not trying to be either,” you said quietly. “We’re just trying to stop lying.”

Iseul stood slowly, her heels clicking against the tile. “We’ll arrange a sit-down. No fanfare. Just one camera. You two. No script. Just your words.”

Chan frowned. “No handlers?”

She met his gaze. “No scripts doesn’t mean no strategy. We’ll have veto rights on the edit. You’ll speak freely, but you won’t say anything that risks the label, the staff, or the campaign. You do that, and we protect the rest. Understood?”

You nodded once. “Understood.”

Iseul sighed, pulled out her phone, and started texting furiously. “We’ll book the studio.”

“Are you going to let go of the fines we have to pay since we broke contract?” Chan asked the group.

Iseul didn’t look up from her phone. “No.”

Chan’s jaw clenched. “Seriously?”

“You broke the contract,” she said coolly, still typing. “You knew the risks, and you took them anyway. Just because we’re choosing to tell the public doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for the breach.”

Chan muttered, “This is exactly why we didn’t tell you.”

Hyun-seok finally turned away from the window, his eyes sharp now. “If we let you get away with it, what precedent does that set for everyone else under this label? Everyone’s watching. If we don’t issue some kind of consequence, we lose control of more than just your image, we lose authority. You’ll split it fifty-fifty.”

“How much?” you asked, already bracing.

“Five hundred thousand won total,” Iseul answered without flinching. “Each.”

Chan exhaled slowly, gaze dark but even. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you echoed. It stung. But it was worth it.

“No.” Chan looked at you. “I’ll pay for us both.”

Your head turned so fast it startled even your manager. “Chan…no.”

But he was already facing Iseul and Hyun-seok again, jaw tight. “I’ll take responsibility. I was the one who walked us out together. I knew what it would cost.”

“That’s not how this works,” you said, voice shaking. “We made the decision together. We burn together.”

Chan looked back at you, eyes soft but unwavering. “But you shouldn’t have to carry the financial part of this too. You’ve already risked everything.”

“So have you,” you shot back. “You think I didn’t know what I was doing when I didn’t let go of your hand?”

Iseul sighed, muttering, “Can we not do this here?”

Your manager leaned forward, clearly over it. “I feel like the whole soulmate thing should be a reason to void the contract.” He spoke to Iseul and Hyun-seok directly. 

Hyun-seok sighed. “We’ll deal with as it comes.” 

Iseul tapped her tablet once, locking the screen. “Interview’s scheduled for tomorrow. You’ll be briefed in the morning. One of our top editors will be in the room.” She stood and straightened her blazer. “Don’t be late. And no… hand-holding in the parking lot, please.”

Chan grinned, just faintly. “So we can do it in the elevator?”

Iseul didn’t dignify that with a response.

Your manager sighed like he aged five years in a single meeting, then leaned over and whispered to you two. “I’ll talk to them about dropping the fines.”

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

destiny part8

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

The next few weeks went by in a flash.

Somewhere between late studio nights and quiet mornings with lyric sheets, you and Chan found your rhythm again. Not the one dictated by press releases or performance schedules. But your own rhythm.

The live had been a success. Too much of a success, if you were being honest.

Hashtags trended for days. “ChansGirl” TikToks hit millions of views. Edits of you and Chan flooded your feed, slowed down with romantic music and subtitles like relationships don’t need words, just timing. And your label?

Your label ate it up.

Iseul scheduled more appearances, approved a new shoot for a magazine spread titled “Written in the Stars”, and pushed forward the next teaser drop. Your redemption arc was no longer just working. It was snowballing.

But no one knew what was happening in the quiet hours behind closed doors.

Like the night after the live when Chan had walked you home again and you’d stood in the stairwell for almost an hour talking about everything except music. You found out he hated peanut butter and always forgot to charge his phone. He found out you liked thunderstorms and once auditioned for a kids' toothpaste commercial and cried on set.

Some nights, when the thread pulsed between you softly, you almost forgot why you’d been scared to feel it in the first place. And yet, there were still days you couldn’t hold hands in public. Still contracts to dance around. Still meetings to attend where your smiles had to be perfectly measured, your chemistry no more than a “natural working dynamic.”

But you knew better now. You both did.

You had finished writing the song together. It was titled “Destiny”. Originally, Chan was supposed to only be the producer of the song, but you convinced your labels to let him feature on the track too.

He had tried to say no once. He cited deadlines, the press, and the balance of roles. But when you played the demo with both of your vocals layered at the bridge, something shifted in his expression. 

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly, eyes still fixed on the screen. “But only if we don’t change the second verse.”

“You mean the one I showed you that day in the park?”

Chan’s lips had twitched into a smile. “Exactly that one.”

Recording the final vocals took longer than it should’ve. Not because you weren’t prepared, but because both of you kept getting caught in the silences between takes. The thread was glowing stronger and steadier with every harmony you sang together. 

On your last day in the studio, after the mix was finalized and the file was sent off to mastering, Chan lingered by the door. “We did it,” he said, half in awe, half in disbelief.

You nodded, eyes on him instead of the control panel. “We really did.”

He reached for your hand then, not in secret. Not hidden under the desk. Just your hand in his. 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The label made the announcement a week later.

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: ‘Destiny’ by (Y/N) featuring Bang Chan, out next Friday at midnight.✨

They paired it with a teaser clip, which included a candlelit stage, soft piano, and a glimpse of your eyes meeting his through a curtain of light. 

💬 @kpopcurious:

They’re not even hiding the relationship anymore. It’s canon.

💬 @stargirlbinnie:

“Destiny” is dropping and I’m not emotionally ready. Someone hold me.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Two days before the release, you and Chan were summoned to a closed meeting at JYPE headquarters.

You already had a bad feeling from the moment Iseul texted you: Come dressed clean, no hats. 2PM. Conference Room C. Non-negotiable. Chan will be there too.

It was the “non-negotiable” that really sent the alarm bells ringing.

Chan had walked beside you the whole way there, jaw tight, thumb absently brushing his phone screen but not really reading anything. His thread flickered pale gold between your hands once when your fingers grazed, but neither of you reached out to hold it.

Conference Room C was already half full when you arrived. Iseul stood at the window with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Across the table sat JYPE’s senior PR manager, a man named Hyun-seok who’d once told you not to wear red lipstick because it “distracted from your vulnerability.” Great start.

Chan pulled out a chair for you before taking his seat beside you. His hand brushed your back briefly, but not enough for it to look intentional. You took a breath.

Iseul didn’t waste time. “The response to the teasers has exceeded projections. You’ve both seen the metrics. Highest engagement numbers we’ve had all year.” 

“Which brings us to the next phase,” Hyun-seok said, folding his hands on the table. “We want to lean in. Boldly. No more subtext. No more winks to the camera. We’re thinking-” he paused, smiling like this was a brilliant idea, “-a kiss.”

The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.

You blinked. “I’m sorry…what?!”

Iseul cleared her throat, “We know this is sensitive. But this is your moment. Your redemption arc and his untouchable reputation, meeting in one perfect kiss, would really be the ribbon on top.”

You swallowed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss Chan. God, you wanted to kiss Chan. But not like this. Not for them. Not for a group of paparazzi with executives nodding.

Hyun-seok steepled his fingers. “There’s a rooftop stage. Soft lights. You’ll perform Destiny once. This performance was in your contract anyway, we’ll just make it more personal. Exclusive guest list, industry names, trusted media, no livestream. Just one camera team. It’s clean. It’s elegant. It’s intimate.”

The word made your skin crawl.

Chan leaned forward slowly, his expression unreadable except for the tight clench in his jaw. “Let me get this straight,” he said, voice calm but clipped. “You want us to kiss. In front of the industry. On a rooftop. For a photo op.”

Hyun-seok smiled, like he thought he was offering you a dream. “Think of it as poetic. The song is called Destiny, after all.”

You felt Chan tense beside you, just slightly, and you pressed your knee against his beneath the table. The thread stirred faintly, hidden under your sleeve, curling like smoke around your wrist.

They didn’t know. That was the only thing keeping you from cracking. Hyun-seok and Iseul, for all their strategy and scheduling, had no idea.

You sighed. “This wasn’t in the contract we signed.”

Iseul didn’t flinch. “No, it wasn’t. But the contract gave us creative discretion over image development. And this isn’t an order. It’s a suggestion. A very strategic, very timely suggestion.”

You looked over at Chan. His jaw was clenched, but not in that simmering kind of rage they all assumed meant frustration with business. It was restraint. Restraint, because if he opened his mouth now, he might say too much. Might give too much away.

Iseul jumped in, voice softer now, “Look, we get it. You’re artists. You care about authenticity. But the numbers don’t lie. If you want this release to be more than a single success, if you want a career reset, you have to let people believe in something. And right now? They believe in this.”

This. They had no idea what this actually meant.

They didn’t know about the day your thread first acted up, as you sat across from Chan in the dim studio. They didn’t know it had pulsed bright under your wrist the first time he made you laugh so hard you forgot what you were afraid of. They didn’t know the thread had wrapped around your pinky the night you’d nearly broken down in the stairwell, and that Chan had just held it, until you could breathe again.

Chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, eyes unreadable. “What if we don’t?”

Hyun-seok raised a brow. “Then don’t. But I’d be shocked if you didn’t. This seems like a great strategy.”

Iseul closed her tablet and stood. “We’ll prep the space. Rooftop call time is 5PM. Wardrobe and glam at 3:30. Think about the moment. Do it your way, if that helps. But give the world something they can’t look away from.”

She paused by the door. “One kiss. That’s all it takes.”

When the meeting ended, you and Chan rode the elevator down in silence. He didn’t speak until you hit the lobby, and even then, it was barely a whisper. “They really don’t know.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing the elevator button for the garage. “No. And if we ever tell them… it won’t be in a conference room.”

Chan looked over at you, eyes searching. “Do you want to kiss me tomorrow?”

You were startled at the bluntness. You reached for his hand, finally letting your fingers curl between his. The thread glowed stronger, slipping across your knuckles like gold lace. “I wanted to kiss you three weeks ago,” you murmured. “But I don’t want it to be their idea.”

A pause. His thumb brushed yours gently. “Then we wait.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The next day, you sat beneath the warm lights of the dressing room, soft music playing faintly from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. A stylist tugged a comb gently through your hair, while another added subtle shimmer to your cheekbones. Across the room, Chan was in a chair of his own, laughing lightly at something his makeup artist said, his reflection hazy in the vanity mirror between you.

You should’ve been focused on the rooftop performance. On the song. On the camera cues and the final note you had to hold without your voice cracking. But all you could think about was him. You shifted slightly, smoothing the fabric of your blouse with a restless hand.

“Don’t move,” your stylist warned gently, dabbing more gloss onto your lips. “You’ve got a camera crew waiting on you, don’t ruin the magic now.”

You gave a half-smile. “Sorry.”

At that exact moment, the room’s energy shifted, and one of the junior assistants burst in, clutching a tablet with wide eyes. She whispered something to Iseul, who was seated in the corner typing furiously on her phone.

Iseul froze. Then she stood. And that was never a good sign. “Pause hair and makeup,” she ordered, her voice low and firm.

The stylists exchanged wary glances but obeyed.

Chan turned toward her, too, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Wordlessly, Iseul crossed the room and handed him the tablet. He took it. As he read it, his entire expression changed. “…Shit.”

You stood. “What is it?”

He turned the screen toward you.

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: Dispatch Exclusive: Secret Couple Spotted in Late-Night Park Date?

The headline was bad enough, but the photo made your stomach drop. Grainy, zoomed in, but clearly you and Chan, sitting on the bench, sharing dumplings, your hands linked loosely on the seat between you.

The silence in the dressing room was louder than anything you’d ever heard. Your stylist had taken a careful step back. The assistant who brought the news had practically evaporated. And across the room, Iseul’s expression was morphing from disbelief into something far more dangerous.

She didn’t speak for several seconds. Just stared at the photo like it might change if she glared hard enough. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” she said finally, voice low and sharp enough to draw blood.

Chan didn’t flinch. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

You opened your mouth, trying to form something softer, an explanation, a justification, anything, but your voice caught in your throat. There was no clever spin here. “We went out,” you said, quiet but clear. “No staff. No managers. Just us.”

Iseul’s mouth flattened into a tight, colorless line. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“We went for dumplings, not a war crime,” Chan shot back. His voice was calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“You broke the contract,” she snapped. “There are clauses. Pages of them. You know that. No unchaperoned interactions. No unsanctioned outings. No personal entanglements outside of pre-cleared work sessions.”

Iseul’s voice cracked like a whip in the room. “Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

You met her eyes, your hands clenched at your sides. “Do you?”

Her brow arched, cold and calculating. “Don’t try to turn this on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, we’ve done everything you asked. Every scripted glance. Every Live. Every edited line. We’ve given the public what they want,” you said, voice shaking but steady, “if anything, I feel like this picture added fuel to the fire of what you wanted. Attention.”

“You’re not wrong,” she said finally, tone clipped. “But there’s a difference between calculated chemistry and proof. That photo crossed a line.”

“We’re in the middle of a press cycle titled ‘Written in the Stars,’” Chan said, stepping in now, his voice deceptively calm. “You told us to give them magic. That’s what this is. This sells.”

She scoffed, folding her arms. “Control sells. Image. Narrative. I can shape those. But if you go off-script, if you let them see something I haven’t vetted, it stops being a campaign and starts being a scandal.”

Chan took a slow breath. “So what do you want us to do? Cancel the rooftop performance? Lie in an official statement? Act like none of this matters?”

“No.” Iseul stepped closer, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You’ll go out there and perform like nothing happened. You’ll deliver the song the way we rehearsed. No hands. No lingering looks. You’ll sing, and then you’ll leave. Alone.” Her eyes settled on you. “Can you handle that?”

It wasn’t really a question. You nodded slowly. “I can handle it.”

Iseul held your gaze for a beat longer, then looked down at her phone. “Good. You’re on in twenty minutes. Fix your gloss. Your face is tense.” She turned and left without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, the room exhaled. Stylists resumed their quiet work, the Bluetooth speaker still humming low. But the air was different now.

You met Chan’s eyes across the mirror again. His expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the arm of his chair.

You stood slowly, brushing the shimmer from your collarbone. “Are you okay?”

He let out a breath. “I will be.”

You hesitated, then walked toward him. The mirror caught the way your reflection blurred into his. Two separate outlines. One golden thread.

You leaned in just enough that only he could hear you. “We don’t kiss. We don’t hold hands. We don’t say anything.”

Chan turned his head slightly, so close you could see the faint line of tension in his jaw. “But they’ll feel it.”

You nodded. “They always do.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, the way he always did right before a verse, the way he did when it wasn’t acting.  “I’ll follow your lead,” he said quietly.

Your throat tightened. “Then let’s burn it down.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The rooftop stage was already bathed in golden light when you stepped out.

The sun had just begun to set, casting the city skyline in warm amber. String lights flickered around the edge of the audience. Cameras circled like vultures around the stage. Industry figures filled the small, curated audience, faces you knew, all watching, all waiting.

Chan was already on stage. He looked different out here. Or maybe he just looked real. No shield of rehearsal. No PR grin. Just him, under soft light, waiting for the cue to begin.

Your heels clicked softly as you crossed to your mic stand. He turned to you, and that one look held the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

You didn’t reach for him. But the thread, still invisible to everyone else, glowed gently beneath your skin.

The first chords of the piano echoed across the rooftop. The cameras zoomed in slowly, catching the golden dusk behind you and Chan, standing at opposite ends of the stage.

Then your voice slipped into the space between. “In quiet rooms, you look my way, But then you turn and walk away. There's something real in how it feels, Like something soft we’re scared to seal.”

You didn’t glance at him yet. Didn’t need to. Your voice wavered slightly on soft we’re scared to seal, because you were scared. But not of the feeling. Of losing it.

Chan’s harmony joined you by the end of the verse, gentle, steady. Familiar. “Every heartbeat knows your name, It plays that tune I can't explain.”

Your gaze lifted now, meeting his just as your voices met too, threading together over the quiet chords. “It’s destiny, the way we move, Every road just leads to you. It’s not just chance, it’s something real, A kind of love you always feel.”

There was a hush across the rooftop. The audience was there, press, executives, stylists, fans from behind tinted glass, but the world had shrunk down to the two of you. 

“No need to run, no need to chase, We’re moving slow, but still in place. The world can spin, but we won’t break, We’ve got a light that time can’t shake.”

Chan took the verse, and his voice had something in it you hadn’t heard in rehearsals. A weight. A tenderness that clung to every syllable. He walked toward you, just two steps, but it changed everything. The thread between you pulsed, unseen by the audience, but it lit up beneath your collarbone.

“Every heartbeat knows your name, It hits me new but feels the same.”

By the end of the line, he was beside you. Still no touch. But your shoulders brushed as you sang, and that was enough. Too much, maybe.

“It’s destiny, the way we move, Every road just leads to you. It’s not just chance, it’s something real, A kind of love you always feel.”

A few camera flashes sparked from the back row. You barely noticed. All you could focus on was the way Chan sang every road just leads to you, like he was singing it for the first time. Like he meant it more now than he ever had.

“Maybe we missed our perfect time, Right stars, wrong life, wrong rhythm, right rhyme. Still, you’re the thought I can’t let go, In dreams, you're mine, like no one knows.”

Your voices moved around each other, him taking one line, you the next. During Still, you’re the thought I can’t let go, you both turned slightly inward.

 “It’s destiny, the way we move, Every road just leads to you. It’s not just chance, it’s something real, A kind of love you always feel.”

Your voice cracked, just slightly, on feel. But Chan caught it in the harmony. Covered you, as always. And somehow, that moment was more intimate than any kiss.

“Wherever this road takes me, My heart keeps chasing destiny.”

You held the final note together. He didn’t look away from you once.

The music faded. The rooftop went still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. No kiss. No fireworks. No staged ending. Just the two of you.

The applause came late. Not because the performance lacked power, but because it felt too sacred to break right away, like clapping would shatter something delicate still hanging in the air.

When it finally came, it was hesitant at first, then swelled across the rooftop, layered with murmurs and disbelief, awe, maybe even suspicion. Some people stood. A few exchanged knowing glances. Others blinked like they were trying to process what they’d just witnessed.

But none of it touched you. You didn’t move. Neither did Chan. You stayed where you were, two silhouettes against a dimming sky, feet apart, hearts exposed, still stitched together by something no contract could dictate.

A gentle voice crackled through the stage monitor. “And… cut. We’ve got it.”

The spell broke. Camera lenses lowered. Lights softened. Staff began to stir.

Chan stepped back first. Just enough to sever the closeness. He nodded once, small and careful, like a silent question, You okay?

You nodded back, just as small, Yeah. You?

He didn’t answer. But the thread between you glowed.

Iseul approached from the shadows, flanked by a coordinator and a headset tech. Her expression gave nothing away, neither pride nor rage, just calculation. She looked at Chan, then at you. “That,” she said evenly, “was unforgettable.”

“We’ll be in touch with edits and post-release strategy,” she continued, already turning to walk away. “For now, exit separately. No cameras. No statements. And whatever you do, don’t speak to Dispatch.”

Chan didn’t move until she disappeared behind the heavy rooftop door. Then, finally, he exhaled. “You were perfect,” he murmured.

You turned your head toward him, soft and tired and overwhelmed. “We were.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m walking out that door in five seconds.”

You blinked. “Five seconds?”

He took one step closer, eyes holding yours. “If you want to leave first, now’s your chance.”

You didn’t move. Instead, you whispered, “Three seconds left.”

Chan's expression shifted, something between a smile and a plea. His voice dropped lower. “Two.”

Your hand found his, fingers slotting gently into his palm. 

“One,” he breathed.

But you didn’t let go. Not this time. You two walked off the rooftop together, hand in hand, the thread trailing between your joined fingers.

(A/N: The next drop is the finale of this story 😭😭)

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 7

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

You rifled through your closet, pulling out a long, oversized coat. It was loose enough to hide your frame but stylish enough not to draw attention. A wide-brimmed hat, too, to shadow your face, and a pair of dark sunglasses for when you stepped outside. You layered a soft scarf around your neck, both for warmth and disguise.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the dark glasses hiding your eyes, and the hat pulling your hair into a loose bun. You looked… different, like someone trying not to be recognized at all.

Perfect.

You tugged the coat tighter around you, tucking the ends of the scarf into the collar. The mirror didn’t reflect the same girl who’d stood crying behind that studio door just days ago. This version of you had made a choice. Rebellious. Terrified. Alive.

Your phone buzzed.

Chan: I’m outside. I brought dumplings.

You grinned despite yourself, slipping your phone into your pocket as you grabbed your keys and cracked open the door. The hallway was empty, the soft hum of the building’s heater the only sound. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, less of a chance of running into anyone.

When you reached the side entrance, Chan was waiting by the curb, leaning against a lamppost with his hood up and a white takeout bag in hand. He looked up the moment you stepped outside.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you like he’d been holding his breath since last night and only now let himself exhale. “You look like a spy,” he said softly, amused.

You smirked, walking toward him. “That’s the idea.”

He offered the bag. “Your dumplings, miss.”

You took it, and the warmth from the paper seeped into your fingertips, grounding you. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re breaking the rules.”

“You’re lucky I’m willing to risk our entire contract for your taste in dumplings.”

You both stood there for a moment, quiet laughter shared under the faint glow of the streetlight. The thread glimmered gently beneath your coat sleeve. It was healing.

Chan glanced around, then nodded toward the alley beside the building. “There’s a little park a few blocks away. Hardly anyone goes there at night. You okay walking?”

You nodded. “As long as you walk slow.”

“Deal.” He smiled, falling into step beside you.

You walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Somewhere down the block, a car honked. A dog barked behind a fence. Normal sounds. Uncomplicated ones. You weren’t idols right now. It wasn’t a PR stunt. Just two people testing something out.

When you reached the park, the streetlamps gave way to softer amber lights lining the gravel path. You found a bench tucked under a tree and sat side by side.

Chan opened the bag and handed you a container. “One half-spicy, one soy-garlic. Just like you like.”

“You remembered my order from this morning,” you said, smiling softly.

“I want to remember everything about you,” he replied, quieter this time.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you took a bite of a dumpling instead.

Chan nudged your shoulder gently. “You’re really not scared?”

You chewed slowly. Thought. Swallowed. “I’m terrified.”

He chuckled once, hollow and honest. “Same.”

“But I’d rather be terrified with you than safe without you,” you added. “The thread’s not just some metaphor. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Chan looked over at you then, fully, his gaze so open it ached. He reached out and took your hand, careful at first, like he was still waiting for the world to punish him for this softness. But you didn’t pull away. His pinky brushed yours, and the thread glowed again. 

You laughed. “During our first Zoom call, you said having this contract would make you look more romantic. I don’t think you need extra help in that department.” Chan groaned, tipping his head back against the bench. “Don’t remind me. That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.”

“It kind of was,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours.

You continued to eat before you suddenly remembered something, “Oh! I wrote more lyrics in my notes app for our song.”

Chan perked up instantly, eyes widening with interest. “You did?”

You nodded, pulling your phone from your pocket and unlocking it. “I was going to send them to Iseul for approval, but… I didn’t. Not yet.”

“Because of everything?” he asked gently.

You looked up from your screen, meeting his gaze. “Because they were too honest.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Can I hear them?”

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the app. But then you saw the soft glow of the thread between you, brighter now. So you nodded and opened the note.

You cleared your throat and read:

“No need to run, no need to chase,

 We’re moving slow, but still in place.

 The world can spin, but we won’t break,

 We’ve got a light that time can’t shake.”

By the time you finished, the air had gone still between you. Chan didn’t speak right away, just stared at you like the lyrics had knocked the wind out of him.

You swallowed hard. “I wrote it the night you didn’t come.”

He nodded, gaze falling for a beat. “And I showed up the night after.” Chan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, then turned his head toward you. “Can we put that in the song?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Chan nodded without hesitation. “Dead serious. It’s beautiful.”

“Okay. Let’s put it in.”

Chan smiled, and it did something dangerous to your heart. “You know, I used to think writing with you would be easy because of how good you are.”

“And now?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Now I know it’s not easy at all,” he said, “because everything you write means something. And I’m terrified of ruining it.”

You reached for his hand again, letting your fingers find his. The thread pulsed in quiet agreement. “You’re not ruining anything, Chan. You’re the reason I can even write like this. My soulmate”

For a second, he looked like he might kiss you.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, still holding your hand, and looked up at the stars barely visible through the city haze. “When we perform this live, it’s going to kill me.”

You laughed softly. “You mean emotionally or career-wise?”

“Both,” he muttered, grinning. “Definitely both.”

The two of you sat there under the half-lit sky with dumpling containers empty beside you. You turned toward him, eyes soft. “Tomorrow, we write the rest of the song.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After a long day of writing, producing, and recording in the studio, it was time for your first scheduled Instagram live together.

You hadn’t spoken much since finishing the final verse, both of you emotionally worn out. But now, with the ring light casting a soft glow across the studio couch and Chan adjusting the mic levels like it was any other day, the pressure started to creep back in.

Not the pressure to perform. But to pretend. And you’d promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.

“You ready?” Chan asked, glancing over at you.

You nodded, smoothing your sweatshirt and tucking a few strands of hair under your ear. “As I’ll ever be.”

He gave a small smile, tight, but sincere, and hit the Go Live button. Instantly, hearts and comments poured onto the screen like a digital tide.

💬 OMG THEY'RE TOGETHER I CAN'T BREATHE

💬If they don’t kiss by the end of this live I’m suing

You tried not to look directly at the flood of reactions, instead focusing on the steady rhythm of Chan’s voice as he greeted everyone, his fingers drumming against his knee.

“Hey, everyone,” he said, glancing at you for a moment before continuing. “We just wrapped a long day in the studio, and we wanted to check in with you guys and hang out!”

You smiled, leaning slightly closer to the mic. “First off, thank you. We’ve seen everything. The teaser, the theories, the edits-”

“-the fanfics,” Chan added under his breath, which made you snort.

“And we’re honestly… overwhelmed. In the best way,” you said.

Chan nodded, his grin crooked. “Yeah. You guys made our future song something way bigger than we imagined. And we’re so grateful for that.”

💬 THE FANFICS OMG HE SAW

💬 THEY’RE GIGGLINGGGG

💬 they’re literally glowing like the relationship theory is canon I don’t care

You glanced over at him, the glow of the ring light soft against the edges of his face. It was strange, being this open on camera. But also, it wasn’t. Because you weren’t pretending anymore.

He continued, “So, we thought we should play some rounds of Never Have I Ever on live.” Aka, your PR team thought it would create great ship content.

You smirked, already feeling the familiar nervous flutter in your stomach. “Alright, I’m game. But I’m warning you, I don’t hold back.”

Chan raised his eyebrows playfully. “Neither do I.”

He held up a small stack of index cards that were premade by your team. “Okay, I’ll go first. Never have I ever… faked a sick day to avoid an event.”

You laughed. “Guilty as charged. And you?”

Chan shrugged, grinning. “Can’t say I haven’t.” Chan laughed softly and shuffled the cards. “Alright, let’s keep it light. Never have I ever… stayed up all night binge-watching a show and regretted it the next day.”

You grinned, nodding immediately. “Guilty. That was me last weekend.”

💬 SAME!! What show tho?? 👀

💬 Lol, relatable AF

Chan laughed. “I can’t say no to a good drama marathon either. Okay, your turn.”

You picked a card and read aloud, “Never have I ever… accidentally sent a text to the wrong person.”

Chan snorted. “Oh, big yes.”

You rolled your eyes. “That time I texted my friend complaining about a meeting… and it was to the whole team chat.”

You both laughed.

Chan pointed at you teasingly. “Never have I ever… forgotten someone’s birthday and tried to cover it up.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Way too often. I’m terrible with dates.”

Chan’s smile softened. “Alright, how about a sweet one? Never have I ever… written a love letter or note to someone.”

You glanced at him, the thread pulsing warmly between your hands. “I have.”

Chan nodded, his voice quiet. “Me too. I actually still have the ones I wrote when I was younger.”

💬 Aww, so wholesome!!

💬 They’re officially couple goals 💖

You both laughed softly, the tension easing as the questions continued. There was an intimate space between you on camera, no scripts, no pretending, just two people being themselves.

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

destiny part6

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: (Y/N) x Bang Chan collaboration FIRST TEASER dropped, revealing romantic but moody lyrics! “You’re the thought I can’t let go, In dreams, you're mine, like no one knows.”

💬 @chanxyn4ever: 

if this isn’t real idk what is “You’re the thought I can’t let go”??? THEY’RE KILLING US SLOWLY

💬 @starryyn:

I’m not okay. That relationship theory? That they’re dating? It’s literally right there in the bridge.

💬 @talkingwithtae✔️:

I interview a lot of artists. The kind of tension they had? It’s insane.

You sat on the floor in front of your laptop, fingers hovering over the trackpad as the teaser looped again. The bridge, the one you wrote for him, was trending. #ChanxYN was all over your notifications. People were quoting it, dissecting it, falling in love with the fantasy you and Chan weren’t allowed to live. And wasn’t that the cruelest irony?

Your phone buzzed again.

Iseul: Check the numbers. 2.3M in under 3 hours. Trending #2 worldwide. This is exactly what we wanted. Let’s talk about next steps tomorrow. You’re a star.

That made your stomach twist, because this was what you’d all agreed to. And it was working. You were finally getting the redemption arc they'd promised, the one they’d built this whole campaign around. But at what cost?

The golden thread still shimmered faintly under your sleeve, no longer glowing, but not fully gone either. It pulsed with every beat of your heart like it was trying to remind you it was there.

You swiped up on your screen again, pausing on one fan’s tweet:

💬@fateboundofficial They look like they’re trying not to fall in love on camera. Which means they already have.

You closed the app. You couldn’t breathe through it anymore.

Then, your doorbell rang.

For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it. But then it rang again, twice this time, quick and insistent. You blinked, legs moving before your brain caught up.

You opened the door, and Chan stood there. Hoodie pulled up, mask around his neck, hair slightly damp like he’d just come in from the rain. His eyes met yours, wide and tired and burning all at once.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to be here. Like he didn’t know what he was doing. Or maybe, like he knew exactly what he was doing and just needed you to let him.

“…Hey,” he said finally, voice low.

You didn’t move. “You said you couldn’t come.”

“I know.”

You stared at him. “Then why are you here?”

His gaze dropped to your hand. Your pinky was trembling slightly. Your sleeve slipped enough to show the dying shimmer of the thread.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday.”

“That’s why you’re here?” you said quietly. “To apologize?”

Chan’s jaw tensed. “No. Yes. That’s part of it. But…”

He took a breath like he was about to jump into deep water, then stepped inside without asking. You didn’t stop him. He took off his shoes in silence, then turned to face you in the dim hallway light.

“I came because I couldn’t breathe today,” he said. “Because everywhere I looked, it was you. Your voice. Your name. That lyric. That thread. And all of it felt like it belonged to me, except it doesn’t. I pushed it away.”

Your hand curled against your chest, sleeve hiding the shimmer again. “You didn’t just push it away, you buried it.”

“I know.” He ran both hands through his hair like he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I watched that teaser twenty times and all I kept thinking was, we gave them everything except the truth.”

You exhaled, tired. “And what is the truth?”

“I want to try this. Us. Whatever the universe wants us.”

You stared at him, your throat thick with the weight of everything unsaid. “You can’t just show up, say something like that, and expect it to fix what’s breaking.”

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he said. “I just don’t want to lose it.”

You hesitated, heart stuttering. “You mean me?”

“I mean all of it,” he replied softly. “You. That stupid verse you wrote. The way you look at me when you’re about to say something that’ll wreck me. I mean all of it, and I know I’m late, and I know I messed up, but I’m here now.”

You blinked against the sting in your eyes.

“I’m here,” he repeated, like a promise. “No cameras. No PR. No contracts. Just me.”

He chuckled to himself. “I love my career, but you…” He stopped himself, looking deep into your eyes. “Soulmates have always been a hot topic since we were kids. We were raised to think that when we found our soulmate, we were supposed to give everything up for them…I never thought I’d be the kind of person who couldn’t.”

His voice broke just slightly at the end, like the confession had clawed its way out of him. “I thought I could split myself in half, be the version the industry needed, and still be yours when the cameras stopped rolling. But that thread doesn’t let you split yourself.”

Chan stepped closer, slowly, giving you time to stop him. You didn’t. “When I was younger, I thought soulmates were supposed to make life easier. But now…” He exhaled a small, shaky laugh. “Now I get it. A soulmate doesn’t make life easier. They make it truer. And the truth is messy. It’s terrifying. But it’s also the only thing I want anymore.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear slid down your cheek. You didn’t wipe it away.

“I love my career,” Chan said again, softer this time. “But I’m not going to spend the rest of it pretending I don’t want to try with you.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came. Just breathe. 

“So,” he whispered, “if you tell me it’s too late, I’ll walk. I won’t push. But if even one part of you still believes in that thread, in us…” He reached out, slowly turning your wrist until your pinky was visible again. “Then I’m staying.”

You stared down at his hand, at the way his fingers barely brushed your wrist like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold on. The thread between your pinkies shimmered faintly in the low light. Not glowing, not yet. But steady. Waiting.

You swallowed hard. “It’s not too late.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours.

You inhaled, slow and deep, as if it could settle the shake in your voice. “But if we’re going to stop pretending… if we’re really going to try-”

“I want to,” he said immediately. “I really, really want to.”

You nodded. “Then come with me. On a date.”

Chan blinked. “A… date?”

You could feel your pulse thundering in your throat, but you didn’t look away. “Yeah. Like two people who feel the thread pulling and want to see what happens when they stop running from it. No stage. No script. Just dinner. Or bubble tea. Or even dumplings from the corner cart, I don’t care. Just us. No managers.”

Chan stared at you for a long moment, then let out a breath that sounded half like a laugh, half like relief. “God, this is breaking so many rules in the contract…but you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

“So that’s a yes? We’ll be a little rebellious?” you whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

His hand slid down your wrist, pinky lightly hooking with yours. The thread flared, warming up again. “That’s a yes,” he murmured, his smile matching yours. “But only if it’s dumplings. And you let me walk you home after.”

“Deal.”

“Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow.”

(A/N: Dude...because I have no life and it's summer I've already finished this fic and I'm like 50% done with the next one >:D)

(SOULMATE SERIES MASTERLIST)

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

destiny part5

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

You hadn’t opened your phone all night. Not since that moment in the studio. Not since the thread nearly snapped. Not since Chan’s hand slipped from your wrist like even fate couldn’t keep the two of you stitched together anymore.

The universe, for all its symbolism and wonder, had clearly never signed a contract in the K-pop industry. 

But as you lay curled sideways on your couch, face pressed into the pillow that still faintly smelled like the vanilla candle you’d burned last week, your phone buzzed again.

Not a notification from your manager. Not a PR briefing. Not Chan.

It was a DM on Instagram. From Felix, who was in the same group as Chan.

@yong.lixx: Hey… I know we haven’t talked before. Not directly, anyway. But Chan told me what happened. He told me everything. Literally. No need to fill me in. Can I say something? As the Unofficial Soulmate Expert™? Trust me, I’ll keep your secret safe from the company.

You stared at the message for a second longer than you meant to, heart thudding.

You: I wasn’t aware we had one of those.

@yong.lixx: We do now. I gave myself the title. No one argued. Not even Lee Know. And I’m serious. I know we don’t know each other, but I really, really think we should talk.

Everyone knew about Felix’s soulmate story. It was impossible not to know. They were so perfect. His soulmate was a famous fashion designer, one who has even designed for you. They met when she came to Korea during Seoul Fashion Week two years ago. Apparently, there was some sabotage going on during the show that Felix helped her solve. Real partners in crime. 

You bit your lip, rereading the message. Everyone knew the story. It had become almost folklore in the industry at this point, the designer with stardust on her fingertips and the boy with stars in his eyes. Two souls crossing paths not on purpose, but precisely when the other needed them most.

@yong.lixx: My soulmate was terrified, you know. When we found the thread. She thought she’d have to give everything up to keep it. And you remind me of her, a little. That’s probably why I’m reaching out.

You sat up slightly, brushing hair from your face. The ache in your chest hadn’t left since the studio. It still pulsed there, slow and steady like a bruise. 

You: Are you always this poetic, or is it just a soulmate side effect?

@yong.lixx: 95% soulmate side effect. 5% caffeine and sleep deprivation.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out in the form of a smile. You leaned your head against the back of the couch.

You: I don’t know what to do. Everything I say feels wrong. Everything I don’t say feels worse. And the thread… it hurts now. It snapped. Literally. It’s barely holding on.

@yong.lixx: That means it’s still there, though. Broken threads don’t hurt. They just disappear. You’re still fighting. That’s something.

You closed your eyes, his text words echoing inside your ribs.

@yong.lixx: Want me to tell you the one thing I wish someone told me back then?

You: Please.

@yong.lixx: You don’t have to get it all right to be worthy of it. Of him. Of this. To be fair, I can see that you want to keep trying. Chan’s stressed, and that didn’t help his emotions today. I’m trying to convince him to talk to you directly, trust me. The thread isn’t a reward. It’s a reminder. That even if the world doubts you, the universe never did.

Tears pooled suddenly, too fast for you to stop them. Because how could someone you barely knew see you that clearly?

You: What if we already broke it?

@yong.lixx: You didn’t. Trust me. If you had, Chan wouldn’t have called me earlier, voice shaking like his entire body was made of glass. He’s hurting. But it’s not over. Not unless you want it to be. 

You turned your phone over in your lap, heart aching in that gentle, not-unwelcome way. Then you flipped it back.

You: Thank you.

@yong.lixx: Anytime. Really. Also, she’s dying to meet you in person. My soulmate. She said, “Tell her the dress I designed for her comeback award show still makes me cry.”

You laughed through a wet sniffle. That dress had made headlines. Sequins like constellations. A lining stitched with lyrics you hadn’t even released yet.

You: Tell her I kept it.

@yong.lixx: I will. And hey… I meant what I said earlier. If you ever want to talk, I’m just a message away. No strings. 

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you set the phone down gently beside you and looked out the window. The city lights blinked like shy stars, quiet and far away but still shining. And for the first time in hours, the pain in your pinky lessened. The thread was still weak, but it pulsed.

You: I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Felix. 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“It’s destiny, the way we move,

 Every road just leads to you.”

You groaned and scribbled out the lyrics, dragging the pen angrily across the page until the paper nearly tore. Another failed line. Another failed attempt to write about something that wouldn’t stop pressing against your ribs like it belonged there.

“It’s destiny, the way we move…” You muttered, mocking yourself. “God, what is this, a Hallmark card?”

You tossed the notebook aside and leaned back on your living room floor, arms stretched wide across the rug like you were waiting for the ceiling to crush you. Maybe that would hurt less than this thread. Then this space between you and Chan. Then this silence.

Because he still hadn’t called. Or texted. Nothing.

Not after you left the studio. Not after you stood in front of him, thread unraveling like spun gold in a storm, practically begging him to choose you over fear. Not even after Felix texted to say he’d try and talk some sense into him.

You picked the notebook back up and flipped to a clean page,

“You said the truth was dangerous,

Then handed me the match.

Lit the fuse and turned away,

Like you weren’t built to catch.

And maybe fate was overkill,

A thread too bold to bear,

But you don’t get to call it easy

When I was always there.”

You stared at the page, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. That line hurt. It felt true. Too true.

Because yes, Chan was hurting. Felix had made that clear, but you were furious. Furious that he hadn’t even sent a text. Furious that he got to sit in silence while the world saw you two as a budding new duo. Furious that the thread was still clinging on, fraying but faithful, when he wasn’t.

You dropped the pen, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes like that would stop the sting. “Pull it together,” you whispered to yourself. “You are not falling apart over a boy who talks in riddles and then disappears.”

But even as you said it, your pinky throbbed. A dull, aching pull. The thread wasn’t gone. It wasn’t healthy. But it wasn’t gone.

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[littlejoyss]

i can't believe i made this the other day and didn't share it with stayblr . anyways happy pride

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 4

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

The next morning, your inbox was flooded.

PR messages. Fan edits. TikToks analyzing the way Chan had looked at you. Headlines about “unreal chemistry” and “unscripted tension.” One video had already hit half a million views in six hours with the caption: "You don’t look at someone like that unless you mean it."

This was exactly what you wanted. Good attention, not backlash. People are finally seeing you for your music, not your mistakes. They weren’t dragging your name through the mud anymore, weren’t speculating about that incident a few weeks ago, or the brand deal fallout, or the rumors that nearly ended your career before it had the chance to breathe.

They were shipping you now. Fan accounts were posting slow-motion clips of your smiles syncing, of Chan mouthing the lyric you wrote, of the way his pinky twitched toward yours. It was everything the label had hoped for.

It was everything your contract needed. But underneath the dopamine rush of validation and numbers, something inside you was folding in on itself. Because it wasn’t fake. Because every smile, every glance, every pulse of that thread had meant something. And now the world had seen it, before you and Chan had time to even explore it yourselves. 

As if on cue, you got a text from him:

Bang Chan: There's something real in how it feels, like something soft we’re scared to seal.

He didn’t say anything else. No context. No greeting. Just that line, tucked between hours of silence.

You typed a reply. Erased it. Tried again.

You: Is that from the track?

Bang Chan:  Not yet. Wrote it this morning. 

Bang Chan: After watching that interview clip.

You curled your knees up to your chest, the thread pulsing gently along your pinky like it was listening in. As if it had been waiting for you both to catch up to the truth it had known all along.

But the thread was fraying. Not metaphorically. Tiny golden filaments had started peeling away from the core, first a single strand, then two, then a quiet, shivering unravel that made your entire chest ache. You stared down at your pinky as if you could will it to hold, to stay intact. But even now, it glimmered with a faint flicker of warning.

You pulled your hoodie sleeve down over your hand, like that would stop it from unraveling more. Like cotton could guard against fate, but it wasn’t working. Because you weren’t working. Because something had shifted when he said that word. Easy.

It was the truth, wasn’t it? Everything about being near Chan was easy. Breathing was easier. Creating was easier. Feeling, God, feeling anything with him in the room was like exhaling after holding your breath for years. And yet, what were you doing? Selling connection like it was a marketing strategy. Letting strangers believe in something real because they didn’t know the contract's fine print. 

Your pulse picked up again, that old panic knocking at your ribs. Fix it, your brain hissed. Say something. Pull back. Reinforce the lie. But your heart whispered a different command. Let go. Tell the truth. Or this thread will snap.

You stared at the glow of your phone screen, his name soft at the top of the chat.

You: Come over.

Bang Chan: You know I can’t

You: We’ve broken enough rules already.

You: Do you feel it too? The thread pulling tighter?  It hurts now, Chan. Like it’s tearing itself apart just to keep holding on.

There was a long pause. So long, you thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. Your gaze flicked back to your hand, your pinky still glowing faintly gold under the fabric, despite how badly it trembled. The thread was alive. It was hurting. It was trying. And here you were, pretending like your soul hadn’t already made its decision long before your brain caught up.

But then your phone lit up.

Bang Chan: I can’t see you outside of work. 

You didn’t cry when you read his text. You didn’t scream or throw your phone or storm out into the night like you were in a drama. You just stared at the words.

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even surprising. But it split something inside you anyway. Because he didn’t say I don’t want to. He said I can’t. And somehow, that was worse.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You didn’t talk much during the next recording session. Iseul was there, and Chan didn’t look at you the same way, at least, not where she could see. The thread between your pinkies still hummed under the surface, but it had curled tighter.

You waited until Iseul stepped out to take a call, as she usually did. You glanced over at Chan, who was pretending to be focused on the software on his screen. The studio lights were low, casting long shadows across his features. He didn’t flinch when you stood.

You crossed the room slowly, quietly, and sat beside him in the chair meant for backup vocalists. Not your usual seat. He didn’t speak. Just adjusted a knob on the mixer, unnecessarily.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

He stopped. His hand hovered over the controls like he might still turn a dial just to avoid answering. But he didn’t. “Doing what?” he murmured, eyes still on the board.

You laughed, soft but hollow. “You know what.”

“I’m trying to protect you. Our careers.”

“I don’t need protection,” you said. “I need honesty.”

“I am being honest,” he said. “That’s the problem. The truth is that we can’t do anything.”

You blinked. “So what, you ghost me after telling me I’m fate?”

“I didn’t ghost you.”

“You might as well have.” You lifted your sleeve and held up your pinky, the thread now duller at the edges, like it was dying in slow motion. “Look at it, Chan. It’s fading.”

He closed his eyes for half a second like the sight physically hurt him. “I know.”

“Then why are we still pretending?” Your voice cracked. “We’re already breaking the rules. So tell me the truth, right now. Do you feel it too? Or am I just-"

“I feel it.” He cut you off, sharp and breathless. “Every second I’m near you. Every second I’m not. I can’t not feel it.”

You swallowed. “Then why won’t you let yourself have it?”

“Because we don’t get to have it!” His voice was louder now, trembling just beneath the volume. “Because if we do, they’ll use it. They’ll twist it. They’ll make a story out of it and trap you in it all over again.”

Your throat tightened. “They already are.”

Chan’s chest rose and fell in uneven waves. “I know. And I hate it. But they’ll weaponize it. You’ll never get your own name back.”

“I don’t care about my name.”

“Yes, you do. Otherwise you would’ve never agreed to this fucking contract!”

Snap!

The thread between you frayed almost fully, a thin strip still hanging on. You felt it first as a cold ripple at your pinky, a sudden nothingness where there had always been heat. It was still there, but not as much. Your hand jerked, instinctively, like it could catch something invisible midair. 

Chan froze. His mouth parted. His eyes dropped to your hand.

You didn’t look away from him. Couldn’t. 

“I didn’t mean-” His voice cracked. “That wasn’t-”

“No,” you said quietly. “You did.”

And maybe that was the worst part. The truth behind it. Part of himself that had tried so hard to control what the universe had already decided.

You stood slowly. “We weren’t going to last like this anyway.”

Chan didn’t move. He sat completely still in the chair, except for the slight tremble in his hand as he reached toward yours. He held onto your wrist to stop you from going.

“I was trying to protect us,” he whispered. “I thought, if I could just wait, if I could buy time,”

The door creaked behind you. Iseul’s voice floated in, casual, unaware, “They confirmed the next stage of rollout. We’ll post the teaser with the bridge tomorrow morning-”

She paused, catching sight of the tension in the room. Of his hand on your wrist.

She blinked, lips parting. “Did something happen?”

You turned toward her with a calm you didn’t feel. “We’re just done for the day.”

“But-”

You didn’t wait for her to finish. You pulled your wrist away from Chan’s grasp as you grabbed your coat from the back of the chair and walked out.You didn’t cry in the hallway. Or in the elevator. Or in the back of the car that took you home. You saved it for the second you stepped inside your apartment, closed the door behind you, and collapsed against it.

(SOULMATE SERIES MASTERLIST)

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite 

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 3

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

That night, you sat alone on your apartment floor, the glow of the city bleeding softly through your window. Rain tapped against the glass like a steady metronome, and yet your thoughts were anything but rhythmic. Your hoodie still smelled faintly like studio air, coffee, electronics, warm cables, and the ghost of him.

You hadn't touched your dinner. Your laptop sat closed. Your phone was somewhere beneath a pile of pillows.

You were panicking. Not in a frantic way. This was quiet. A pressure blooming in your chest that you didn’t know how to exhale. You pressed your fingers into your temples, replaying it all. The thread. The heat. The pull. You were connected to Bang Chan. The golden string that had once faded from your life, the one that left you grieving something you didn’t even understand, wasn’t broken after all.

It was him. It had always been him.

You curled tighter into yourself, breathing in shallow pulses as your hand drifted over your pinky again. You could still feel the warmth. The soft ache where the thread had burned brightest.

And just as your chest started to tighten again, just as you thought the weight of it might crush you, your phone buzzed. You dug it out from under a pillow. The screen lit up with a single name:

Bang Chan: We need to talk.

You: Easier said than done.

Bang Chan: I know. But we can’t keep ignoring this.

You: Not here. Not over text. It’s in the contract.

Bang Chan: Then I’ll call you.

The call came immediately. No hesitation. Like he’d been holding his phone, waiting.

You answered with a shaky breath. “Hi.”

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, familiar already, like a song you forgot you used to know by heart.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Outside, the rain softened. Inside, the silence buzzed.

“I didn’t imagine it,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said.

“The string. It’s-” You couldn’t finish. The word real felt too heavy.

“I know,” he repeated, gentler this time. “I felt it too. I haven’t felt anything like that in-”

“Years,” you finished for him. “Me too.”

He let out a breath, like he’d been holding it all day. “I thought it was gone. I thought maybe it was broken, or I just… lost the person on the other end.”

“Me,” you said, voice small.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You.”

You closed your eyes. “What do we do now?”

There was a pause. Then he asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

“I used to.”

“And now?”

“I think fate’s kind of a jerk.” You felt a few tears stream down your cheeks. “I wish we had met in person sooner, we could’ve known sooner, before signing that stupid contract. But of course, we’ve never gone to the same award shows at the same time, same reality shows at the same time, nothing…until now.”

Chan let out a soft, hollow laugh. “Fate really did everything it could to keep us out of sync. Like some cosmic joke.”

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve. “And now the punchline is that we’re finally in the same room, just in time to be forbidden from doing anything about it.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tight. “Signed, sealed, and contractually restricted.”

The silence stretched again, weighted and aching. Your fingers brushed your pinky, as if checking again that the thread hadn’t vanished. It hadn’t. You knew it wouldn’t. Not anymore.

“I keep thinking,” you murmured, “what if I had just… spoken to you back then? Reached out first? What if one tiny moment could’ve changed everything?”

“I thought about that too,” he admitted. “Especially when I saw you today. That second you walked in… I knew. Every version of me that ever wondered who it was, all of them just went quiet.”

You swallowed hard. “That moment at the door felt like my whole chest forgot how to breathe.”

“I saw it in your eyes,” Chan whispered. “And then we had to act like it meant nothing.”

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling tightly around your phone. “I don’t think I can do this, Chan. Pretend. Play along. Smile for the press like I’m not dying every time the thread pulls.”

“I know.” He paused. “But we have to for now. This project, this image, it's not just about us. We burn this down too early, and it takes everything with it.”

You exhaled, and this time it wasn’t quite so sharp. “We’re walking a thread, aren’t we?”

Chan’s voice softened, like a lullaby wrapped in thunder. “Yeah. Literally.”

The line went quiet again, but it wasn’t empty this time. It felt full and dense with everything unspoken.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Chan.”

And as you hung up, your pinky pulsed warm with the echo of him, your match, your golden string.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You sat on the worn leather couch near the back wall of the studio with your lyric sheets balanced on your knee. Iseul stood near the corner, arms crossed, eyes flicking between her phone and the two of you like she was trying to will chemistry into existence with sheer mindpower.

Chan was at the console, headphones looped around his neck, fingers adjusting knobs with the ease of long habit. But every so often, he looked up at you. Just a flicker. Just enough to make the thread tug. It hadn’t stopped since that first meeting. If anything, it hummed louder now. It burned. It was angry.

“You want to try the bridge?” he asked finally, glancing over his shoulder.

You nodded and stood, smoothing your hands down your jeans. “Yeah. Let’s see if it fits the melody.”

Iseul moved to the side to film a few discreet clips for behind-the-scenes reels. You didn’t even flinch this time.

You adjusted your headphones, avoiding Chan’s eyes through the glass. The instrumental began to play. Soft and slow. Just like the contract told you to.

You sang the first lines, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words came from the bridge you’d written the night after your call, an invisible echo of that thread humming at your core.

"You’re the thought I can’t let go,

 In dreams, you're mine, like no one knows."

Chan didn’t stop the track. He let it play through the whole verse and into the chorus, even though you both knew that hadn’t been part of the plan.

When it ended, your voice hung in the air like fog. A second passed. Then two.

“Did you write that?” he asked through the monitor.

You hesitated. “Last night.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. And then finally, “Keep it.”

Iseul, to her credit, didn’t interrupt. She stayed quiet at the back of the room, eyes slightly narrowed, calculating. But she didn’t stop you either. Maybe she’d felt it too, that something was different now. When you stepped out of the booth, Chan was already scribbling something into his notebook. Lyrics, maybe. Or a beat change. Or just something to keep his hands busy.

You sat on the couch again. “Was it too much?”

He looked up. “No. It was honest.”

Iseul walked over with her phone. “That bridge, was that the new direction we’re going in? Because if so, I’m calling Creative now.”

You and Chan exchanged a glance. “It’s the right direction,” he said simply, and you nodded.

Iseul raised a brow but didn’t argue. “Okay. I’ll let them know we’re ahead of schedule.”

As she walked out to make the call, the door clicked shut behind her, leaving you two alone.

Chan rested his elbows on his knees, fingers threading together like he was trying to hold himself still. He didn’t look at you right away. He just breathed in slowly.

You didn’t speak either. Not until your voice softened the quiet. “She’s going to notice.”

Chan glanced up. “Iseul?”

You nodded. “She already is. She's sharp. And if she catches on…”

He ran a hand through his hair, gaze trailing down to the floor. “We’re being careful.”

“You say that, but my heart was in my throat the whole time I was in the booth. That string’s practically burning my skin. You really think she won’t see it soon?”

“I promise she won’t.” Chan’s voice was firm, but quiet. Like he needed you to believe it, not just for the sake of comfort, but because he needed to believe it too.

You blinked, lips parting just slightly. “You can’t promise that.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I’ll try. I’ll do everything I can to keep this safe…for both of us.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You and Chan were guests on the interview show Talking with Tae. A weekly web series known for its casual atmosphere and “just-between-us” tone, it had a reputation for peeling back the shiny, PR-perfect layers of idols and letting something more human slip through. Which made it perfect for your fake-soft-launch rollout, and absolutely terrible for your thread.

The set was simple. It was filled with plush couches, soft lighting, warm-toned wood panels, and a coffee table always cluttered with mugs and bowls of snacks. The audience was virtual, the vibe was cozy, and the cameras were always rolling.

Chan arrived first, nodding to Tae and flashing that easy, practiced grin that made him look like he hadn’t been up all night finishing a demo. You walked in next, just a beat later, and your eyes met his for half a second longer than they should’ve.

“Welcome, welcome!” Tae beamed, clapping once as you both took your seats. “This is a duo I didn’t know I needed, but now that you’re here. Wow. Visuals and talent. I mean, come on.”

Tae leaned in with a playful grin. “Okay, okay. Let’s get into it. First impressions! You two hadn’t really interacted before this project, right? Tell us everything. Was it awkward? Was there an instant connection?”

The thread pulled hard at that word. Connection.

Chan glanced at you like he was giving you the first move. You smiled lightly, carefully. “I think… we both knew of each other, of course. It’s hard not to when you’ve been in the same circles for a while. But yeah, this was our first real project together.”

Tae raised an eyebrow. “And? First meeting? Sparks? Silence?”

Chan laughed. “There was… surprise. I think that’s the word. You plan for everything in this industry, and then some things just hit you anyway.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. It felt familiar. Like we already knew how to fall into rhythm.”

Tae’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, that’s poetic. You already knew how to fall into rhythm. Can I quote that in the teaser caption?”

You managed another laugh, but your stomach was twisting. Chan’s fingers curled slightly on the cushion beside him, and you saw his pinky shift. Your own hand twitched, instinctively.

“Let’s talk music,” Tae continued, mercifully shifting gears. “You teased a project. What can fans expect? Concept, genre, heartbreak levels?”

Chan leaned forward, grateful for the pivot. “We’re playing with contrast. Light and dark, soft and sharp. Her voice has this… ache to it. It’s beautiful. I wanted to build a world around that.”

Tae nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “So… it’s romantic?”

There it was. The baited line. You inhaled carefully. “It’s emotional,” you said. “Honest. Whatever people feel when they listen, that’s what matters most.”

“We’re storytellers,” Chan said, voice steady. “We write what we think.”

Tae cocked his head. “Okay, but do you think about each other when you write those stories?”

Chan glanced at you again, just briefly. “We think about the emotion. The moment. Whatever serves the song.”

Tae smiled, leaning back like he knew he’d pressed too far. “Fair enough. Your fans will be eating this up either way. You know that, right?”

Chan laughed, though his jaw was tense. “We’ll let the audience decide.”

“Alright, let’s move on,” Tae said brightly, shifting to his cue cards. “Lightning round. You ready?”

You both nodded. Chan adjusted in his seat, shoulders back like he was bracing himself.

“First question. Favorite lyric from the project?”

Chan was the first to speak. “In dreams, you're mine, like no one knows.”

You froze. That was your line. You felt your cheeks flush slightly, heart stuttering. Tae didn’t even notice, just scribbled something on his notes.

“Wow, moody king energy,” Tae said. “(Y/N)?”

You wet your lips. “Every heartbeat knows your name, it hits me new but feels the same.”

Chan glanced sideways at you, that unreadable softness returning to his gaze. For a second, you wondered if the cameras caught it. You hoped they didn’t.

“Okay, next. One word to describe working with each other.”

Chan said, “Easy.”

You said, “Dangerous.”

Tae blinked. “Oh?”

You scrambled. “I just meant…creatively. It’s easy to fall into something when it clicks. You lose track of time.”

Tae let out a low whistle. “We are eating well with this duo.”

Chan laughed, a hand running through his hair like he needed a distraction. “I told you, contrast. That’s the theme.”

Tae fired off a few more fluff questions, favorite snack to have together, last song you listened to, coffee order, but your answers came on autopilot. Because your skin still buzzed from the invisible thread. Because the word “easy” hadn’t left your chest since Chan said it. Because his voice had a way of holding more than it should.

When the segment finally wrapped, Tae stood and offered hugs, thanking you both for coming, and already talking about cutting the episode for the “best viral moments.”

You and Chan stood side by side, smiling for a final photo, just close enough to play the part. But beneath the surface, beneath the practiced press smiles, something real was curling tighter. The thread. It was fraying. Literally, it’s breaking at the seams.

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite 

[littlejoyss]

That EXACT moment is what inspired me to write this LOL

Look! A Bug!

Stray Kids - Han Jisung x Reader !College AU Word Count: 3.7k

You and your college friends decide to go on a camping trip. It turns out to be a chaotic mess, but you have some sweet moments with your boyfriend, Jisung.

You and your friends decided to take a break from your studies and go on a camping trip over the weekend. 

It was supposed to be relaxing. Peaceful. A break from the endless cycle of lectures, caffeine, and late-night study sessions. But as you stood there holding half of a collapsed tent, watching Changbin attempt to swat a mosquito with a marshmallow bag, you were starting to doubt your choices.

“I think this side goes… wait, no…does this pole look shorter to you?” Felix muttered, turning the tent instructions sideways like that might make them more legible.

“Why are there so many pieces?” you groaned, clutching a plastic peg in each hand like you were about to duel the earth itself.

“I swear these instructions were written by someone who hates fun,” Felix added, his brow furrowed as he held two identical-looking rods up to the light like they were sacred relics. “Or maybe a raccoon.”

Changbin let out a frustrated huff as the marshmallow bag slapped uselessly against his shoulder. “I’ve already been bitten five times and I haven’t even sat down yet!”

“You’re sweet, Binnie,” you offered with a smirk. “The mosquitoes love a good protein shake.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, still swatting blindly. “I’m filing a formal complaint with nature.”

From behind the trunk of the car, you heard a familiar voice of Hyunjin grumble, “How many coolers did we bring? Are we opening a campsite diner?”

“Ask Jisung,” Chan called, his head popping up from behind a pile of logs. “He packed all the snacks. He said something about needing emergency mood food.”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung chimed as he stumbled toward the fire pit with an armful of skewers and three different types of chips. “Mood food saves lives.”

“It won’t save you if you keep snacking before dinner,” Seungmin muttered, carefully unfolding a portable table with the precision of someone who was clearly raised by organized wilderness experts.

Jisung gasped. “You sound like my mom.”

“That’s because someone has to.”

You couldn't help but laugh as the group continued to spiral. The campsite was still in shambles, half the tents weren’t staked down, the fire pit was just a ring of sad rocks, and no one could remember who packed the matches. But the chaos felt kind of… good.

Jisung plopped down beside you on a faded picnic blanket, dramatically collapsing like he’d been through war. “Camping is so hard. I don’t think I was built for this.”

“You haven’t even set up your tent yet,” you teased.

“I don’t need a tent,” he declared, tossing a cheese puff into his mouth. “I’m gonna sleep under the stars. Let the bugs take me. Let the coyotes raise me. Maybe I’ll join a squirrel gang.”

You giggled, nudging his shoulder with yours. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He turned to you, smile lopsided, eyes sparkling. “Yeah, but you like that about me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

From across the campsite, Felix’s voice rang out, panicked and loud. “GUYS?! The tent just bit me.”

“I’m not helping him,” Seungmin said flatly.

“Too late, I’m already emotionally involved,” Chan sighed, dragging himself up and trudging toward the tent.

Jisung leaned back on his hands, watching the sun dip behind the treetops. “This is gonna be the best weekend ever.”

You shook your head, fighting a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thanks,” he beamed. “Wanna help me not die in the woods later? Maybe share a tent?”

“Only if you share your mood food.”

“Deal.”

Just as the sun dipped low enough to cast golden shadows through the trees, the hum of tires crunching over gravel pulled everyone’s attention toward the road.

The driver’s door swung open first, and out stepped Minho in an oversized hoodie, looking entirely too smug for someone who missed all the heavy lifting. He stretched his arms overhead like he had just woke from a luxurious nap.

“I see the wilderness is thriving,” he said dryly, surveying the half-raised tents, scattered snack bags, and general air of controlled disaster.

“Where have you been?” Chan called out, brushing leaves off his pants as he stood next to a still-crooked fire pit.

“Traffic,” Minho said simply.

“We stopped for smoothies,” Jeongin added as he popped out from the passenger side, sunglasses still on even though the sun was barely peeking over the treetops. He waved a bright pink drink in the air. “You guys want some? It’s mango!”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw this tent pole at you,” Felix muttered, tangled in a mess of canvas and fury.

Minho just raised an eyebrow. “How are you still not done with that?”

“It bit him,” Jisung announced proudly, like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all day.

Jeongin squinted. “The tent bit Felix?”

“It had fangs,” Felix mumbled.

“No, that was a twig,” Seungmin said, unbothered.

“Could’ve been a were-tent,” Jisung whispered, leaning closer to you. “Very rare.”

You tried to hide your snort behind your hand. “Were-tents only come out during full moons.”

Minho opened the trunk and pulled out their perfectly rolled-up tent bag, the stakes clipped together in a neat bundle. He tossed it to Jeongin, who caught it with practiced ease.

“Bet we have ours up in fifteen minutes,” Minho said with a smirk, already unzipping a fold-out chair and settling into it like a camping king.

Felix groaned from inside his fabric nightmare. “I hate you.”

“I love you too, sunshine.”

Jeongin set to work on their setup with mechanical precision, earbuds in, barely blinking as he staked the corners like he was born in the forest. Within minutes, their tent stood proudly, perfectly aligned and smug.

“Okay, what the hell?” Hyunjin said, pointing accusingly. “Did you two practice this?”

Minho just smiled over the rim of his smoothie cup. “No comment.”

Chan looked between their perfect tent and the rest of the mess. “I’m going to start the fire before we all freeze and cry.”

“Too late,” Changbin said from his spot by the cooler, still dramatically holding his fifth bug bite. 

Jisung looked at you with wide, exaggerated eyes. “Should we go help set up the rest? Or stay here and pretend to be useless?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not pretending.”

“Hey! Hurtful. Accurate. But hurtful.”

You stood, brushing off your jeans and offering him a hand. “Come on. Let’s earn our dinner.”

Jisung took it, letting you pull him up with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But if a beetle climbs up my leg, you better defend my honor.”

“I’ll consider it.”

 Seungmin watched the two of you walk away and called after you, “Don’t forget the squirrel gang initiation ceremony later!”

“Already in my calendar!” Jisung shouted back.

Chan crouched near the fire pit, a box of matches finally located under a pile of tangled cords and a suspiciously melted flashlight. With the kind of patience only an older brother and designated group leader could possess, he began stacking the kindling like a seasoned pro.

“Don’t hover,” he warned, not even glancing up as Hyunjin leaned in a little too close.

“I’m not hovering, I’m supervising,” Hyunjin said, arms crossed.

“You’re breathing directly on the firewood.”

“Airflow is essential.”

“Go supervise somewhere else.” He added more sticks to the fire. “Behold,” Chan declared, standing like he’d summoned the sun itself. “Fire.”

“We’re cavemen now,” Felix muttered, dragging himself over with a hot dog skewer in one hand and a blanket around his shoulders like a dramatic cape. “Cold. Bitten. Betrayed by nylon.”

“I told you to read the instructions,” Jeongin said, still smug from his successful tent setup.

Soon, the group gathered around the growing fire, laughter echoing into the trees as night fell in earnest. Hot dogs were passed around, some expertly roasted, others charred to oblivion depending on who you asked.

Jisung held his skewer like a sword. “Look at this masterpiece. Perfectly cooked. A fine delicacy.”

“It’s… still raw in the middle,” Seungmin said, tilting his head.

“That’s flavor!” Jisung argued. “Texture contrast.”

You tried not to laugh as you rotated your own hot dog carefully over the flames, content to soak in the moment. The smell of smoke and scorched bread mixed with the soft hum of bugs and the occasional snap of firewood filled the scene. Everyone looked a little worn out, a little sun-kissed, a little full of love, even if it came in the form of constant roasting (the emotional kind, not just food).

Minho sat with his legs stretched out, one of the only ones who hadn’t messed up his hot dog. “I don’t know how you all survived this long without me.”

“We didn’t,” Chan said flatly, pulling a bun out of a bag with tongs like it was a high-stakes mission. “We emotionally died years ago.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hyunjin said, carefully decorating his hot dog with mustard swirls like it was a runway model.

Jisung nudged your knee with his own. “You good?”

You nodded, your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the flames. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Right?” he said, quieter this time, voice laced with sincerity. “I know we’re kind of a disaster, but like… we’re our disaster.”

You smiled at that. “That sounds like something you’d put on a group t-shirt.”

“I’ve already designed it in my head,” he said proudly, nudging you again. “Next trip.”

Just then, Changbin screamed as he threw his burning hot dog into the air like it was cursed. The hot dog spun in slow motion before landing squarely on Hyunjin’s tent.

“Are you kidding me?!” Hyunjin yelped, leaping to his feet and frantically swatting at the offending sausage.

“It attacked me!” Changbin defended, cradling his hand like a war injury. “It was boiling!” Hyunjin groaned, yanking the rain fly off the tent and examining the mustard smudge. 

Jisung leaned into you, whispering conspiratorially, “Told you the hot dogs were alive. That one had rage.”

Chan, trying to act like a responsible adult, clapped his hands. “Okay, okay! Everyone chill. The next person who launches a flaming sausage is on dish duty tomorrow.”

Minho raised his hand lazily. “That sounds like something you should’ve said before giving Changbin fire privileges.”

“You wound me,” Changbin mumbled, now sulking as he gently blew on his injured palm.

“I’d wound you harder if you tossed another hot dog at my tent,” Hyunjin snapped.

As the arguments melted into laughter and the s'mores circled the fire, the stars finally peeked out from behind the dusk-colored sky. The chatter eventually settled into a cozy silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves. You leaned back against your folded sweatshirt, your stomach full and your heart warm, when Seungmin cleared his throat.

“Alright,” he said, his voice deceptively casual. “I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?” Felix asked around a mouthful of slightly burnt marshmallow.

Seungmin’s gaze narrowed as he leaned forward, firelight flickering across his face in dramatic shadows. “A story.”

Jisung immediately sat up straighter. “Ghost story?”

“Obviously,” Seungmin replied, already lowering his voice. “Now shut up or I’ll summon something.”

Jeongin muttered, “This better not be like last time when you told us the ghost haunted anyone who didn’t do their laundry.”

“That was a cautionary tale,” Seungmin snapped. “This one’s real.”

Everyone instinctively scooted closer to the fire, snacks forgotten, attention fixed on Seungmin like he was a campfire prophet. “So,” he began, tone calm but eerie, “this happened a few years ago. A group of college students, not unlike us, came out to these very woods for a weekend getaway.”

Jisung’s hand slowly crept toward your arm.

“They pitched their tents right near the river bend,” Seungmin continued, eyes glinting. “The first night was perfect. S’mores. Music. Laughter. But on the second night… things changed.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. “Changed how?”

Seungmin tilted his head. “They started hearing scratching outside their tents. Soft at first, like branches in the wind. But it got louder. Closer. One of them looked outside, expecting a raccoon or something. But there was… nothing. Just claw marks in the dirt.”

Felix pulled his blanket tighter.

“Next night, same thing,” Seungmin said. “Only this time, they heard breathing. Heavy. Raspy. And when they opened their tent-”

“DON’T OPEN THE TENT,” Changbin blurted, covering his ears. “You never open the tent!”

“-One of them was gone. Vanished,” Seungmin said softly. “No sign of struggle. Just his shoes, neatly placed at the entrance. The others thought it was a prank. But when they tried to leave the next morning, their car wouldn’t start. Dead battery. Or maybe something else.”

A log popped in the fire, and Jisung flinched so hard he accidentally elbowed you in the ribs. “Ow, Jisung!”

“Sorry, sorry! I thought I heard something!”

“Anyway,” Seungmin went on, “only two of the campers made it back. One won’t talk about it. The other swears they were followed home. Said she still hears scratching on her windows. Even now.”

Silence. Deep, heavy, held-breath silence.

And then…

SCCRRAATTCHH.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Jisung yelled, jumping so high he nearly tackled you in the process.

Everyone turned toward the sound, only to see a very smug Hyunjin dragging a stick through the dirt behind the group.

“You’re the worst,” Jisung groaned, clutching his chest like his soul had left his body.

Hyunjin grinned. “Just adding some realism.”

Seungmin leaned back, satisfied. “And that’s why you don’t sleep near the river.”

Jeongin huffed, brushing fake dirt off his pants. “Someone better tell a dumb story now. I need a palate cleanser.”

Felix raised his hand. “I have one about a haunted vending machine that only gives you off-brand snacks.”

“No,” Seungmin said firmly.

“Yes,” the rest of the group chanted.

As the fire burned lower and the ghost stories turned increasingly absurd, Seungmin booing every plot twist, Felix committing fully to the vending machine saga, and Jisung dramatically gasping like it was Shakespeare, the group eventually unraveled into lazy yawns and reluctant goodnights.

Blankets were rolled out. Tents zipped shut. Someone (probably Chan) made sure the fire was safely extinguished, while Changbin wandered off muttering something about mosquito vengeance.

You were tucked into the sleeping bag you shared with Jisung, well, technically, it was two zipped together, but somehow his knee had still ended up on your side. You could feel his breath even out slowly beside you, his arm curled under his head, warm and close. Crickets chirped rhythmically outside the tent. Everything felt calm.

“Psst.”

You groaned softly, eyes still closed.

“Pssst. (Y/N).”

You cracked one eye open to find Jisung’s face inches from yours, his expression caught somewhere between innocent and desperate. “I have to pee,” he whispered urgently.

You blinked. “Okay…?”

“I don’t wanna go alone.”

You sighed, already reaching for your hoodie. “You’re scared of your own overreaction, aren’t you?”

“I’m scared from Seungmin’s demon camper story,” he muttered. “Please? I’ll owe you a bag of chips and half my soul.”

You chuckled under your breath as you sat up, shivering slightly as the cold air hit your skin. “You already gave me half your soul when you let me eat the last marshmallow.”

“That was survival,” he said solemnly, unzipping the tent as quietly as possible. “This is love.”

The campsite was quiet now, everyone else asleep. You tugged your hood up and followed him with sleepy steps, your flashlight flickering to life in your hand.

“Where is the bathroom?” you asked after a few minutes of navigating gravel and branches.

“There’s a building over that way,” Jisung said, pointing vaguely toward a trail. “Or a haunted outhouse of doom, depending on how long you listened to Seungmin.”

You gave him a look. “If you make another ghost joke, I will leave you in the woods with the were-tent.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. No jokes. Just vibes.”

The trail narrowed slightly as the trees grew thicker. Jisung instinctively moved a little closer, brushing shoulders with you. “Did you hear that?”

You froze. “What?”

He leaned closer, his eyes wide and full of mischief. “Sounded like… breathing.”

You shoved his arm, laughing quietly. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, grinning. “You brought a flashlight for me.”

“I brought it for myself. You just happen to be afraid of the dark.”

“It's called being cautious.” He paused. “...Also, there might be bears.”

“Jisung.”

“What? Bears are real!”

You rolled your eyes and let him keep close anyway. The bathroom finally came into view. It was a small wooden structure with a flickering porch light that looked straight out of a horror movie.

“Do we both go in together?” he asked.

“You’re on your own now,” you said, turning to sit on a nearby bench. “I’ve done my emotional support duty.”

He sighed dramatically. “If I’m not back in three minutes, tell Seungmin he’s a menace and I died listening to his lies.”

“Noted.”

As he disappeared inside, you leaned back and looked up. The sky was impossibly clear, stars glittering like someone had spilled a box of diamonds over velvet. Crickets hummed. The forest whispered softly around you.

Then the door creaked open, and Jisung stepped out, rubbing his hands together. “Still alive,” he declared proudly.

You stood, stretching your arms above your head. “How brave of you.”

You were about to tease him again when he suddenly stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide as he lifted his hand slowly in front of his face. “Wait. WAIT. Hold up. Look. Look!”

“What?” you asked, stepping closer.

He held up his index finger, and resting delicately on the tip was a small, round, green bug. It was absurdly peaceful, just chilling there like it owned him.

“LOOK! A bug!” Jisung whispered like he’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world. “He chose me. We’re bonded now. This is Jeff.”

You blinked. “Jeff?”

“He’s a leaf beetle,” Jisung continued,  “He’s on a journey. I am but a humble vessel in his pilgrimage.”

“You’ve known him for three seconds.”

“That’s longer than most celebrity marriages.”

You laughed so hard your flashlight beam wobbled in your hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“He trusts me. This is my bug era.”

You leaned over slightly, inspecting the tiny creature. “He’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Of course he is. He’s my son now.”

“Does that make me-”

“The mom,” he said immediately. “Who brings snacks and teaches him sarcasm.”

You snorted. “Poor Jeff.”

“Hey!” Jisung turned slightly, careful not to disturb the beetle. “Jeff is gonna be a legend.”

You glanced around the moonlit trail, quiet except for the forest's soft hum. Everything felt still and surreal in the best way, like the kind of moment that shouldn’t exist between reality and dreams.

Jisung turned toward you, still cradling his finger with exaggerated care. “Do you think he likes camping?”

“He’s probably judging our tent setup.”

“Oh, 100%. Jeff has standards.”

You both dissolved into another round of quiet laughter, then continued your walk back, Jisung lifting his finger like he was leading a parade of one. You reached the edge of the clearing, your tents coming back into view.

“Alright, Jeff,” Jisung whispered, crouching near a leaf and carefully guiding the bug off his hand. “Go be great.”

The beetle climbed onto the leaf like it was just another Tuesday.

Jisung stood, brushing his hands on his hoodie. “I’m gonna miss him.”

“You knew him for ten minutes.”

“Powerful ten minutes.”

When you finally reached your tent again, Jisung held the flap open dramatically. “Milady.”

You gave a mock bow. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Takes one to love one.”

You both crawled inside, the fabric rustling softly as you zipped it shut behind you. The sleeping bags were still warm from earlier, and you both collapsed onto them. You rolled onto your side to face him, and Jisung mirrored the motion, propping his head up with one hand, the other lazily resting on the fabric between you.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Just… stared. The dim glow of the flashlight tucked into the corner of the tent painted soft shadows over his face. His eyes were tired, but warm. Playful. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache a little.

He blinked slowly. “Okay, but real talk.”

“Uh-oh.”

He grinned again. “No, I’m serious. Like, completely serious. Maybe even... dramatic.”

“Bold of you to assume that’s new.”

He scooted just a little closer, his knee bumping yours. “Thank you for coming with me. To the bathroom, yeah, but also on this trip. I know it’s been chaos. And I know I’m chaos. But I like… this. Us. Here.”

You felt your heart catch in your throat, warmth blooming through your chest. “Me too,” you said quietly. “It’s been… really good.”

He was silent for a second, then slowly, like he was testing the waters, he lifted his arm and wiggled his fingers. “You know, for optimal warmth and protection against bears, we should probably, like… cuddle.”

“We’ve been dating for two months now. Do you seriously think you have to ask?”

Jisung blinked at you, then grinned so wide it made your stomach flip. “Okay, true, but like… I still like hearing you say yes.”

You rolled your eyes, already shuffling closer. “Yes, Jisung. Let’s cuddle.”

“Excellent decision,” he murmured, looping his arm around your waist and pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. You fit together nicely, shoulder to chest, knees tangled, breath syncing up without trying.

He sighed happily against your hair. “See? Already warmer. Bears could never.”

You didn’t tease him. Instead, you let yourself melt into him. The distant sound of someone snoring drifted from another tent, probably Hyunjin, and somewhere near the fire pit, a marshmallow stick clattered to the ground with a hollow thud. But here, inside your tiny world of nylon walls and tangled sleeping bags, it was peaceful. 

After a moment, Jisung whispered, “You think Jeff’s okay out there?”

You grinned into his chest. “He’s probably running the forest by now. Tiny bug mafia.”

“King Jeff,” he murmured. “Long may he reign.”

You giggled, your body shaking gently against his. He pulled you closer, pressing a small, sleepy kiss to your hair. “Night. Don’t let the were-tents bite.”

You smiled as your eyes fluttered shut, his voice the last thing you heard before drifting off.

“I love you.”

permanent tag list (comment to be added!):@moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght

[littlejoyss]

I LOVE SUMMER BREAK I HAVE SO MUCH TIME TO WRITE!!!!

...i also have no life which helps

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 2

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

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The announcement dropped that Thursday morning. A simple post, just your stage name, his, and the phrase "Coming Soon”. Two company logos, one sleek teaser photo of you and Chan, edited together. No dramatic tagline. No date. No explanation. Just enough to send the internet into a spiral.

Within minutes, your name was trending again, but this time, not with accusations. This time, with excitement.

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: (Y/N) x Bang Chan collaboration CONFIRMED. Joint music project + more behind-the-scenes content coming soon. The first photo was released by both agencies. Fans: ready yourselves. This is not a drill.

💬 @seoulsweetheart: I don’t care what anyone says, she’s still insanely talented and her voice with Chan’s production? We’re winning.

💬 @chanluvbot: Let’s be real, if Chan’s involved, it’s going to be gold. Literally. I’m crying already.

💬 @notyouflinching:

She flinched ONE TIME and y’all forgot she literally wrote the bridge that carried an entire generation of ballads. Sit down.

💬 @softsoulmates: The way their teaser photo looks like a wedding invitation... 👀

You scrolled through the reactions from your desk in your apartment, phone in hand, heart caught somewhere between dread and disbelief. The public hadn’t forgiven you entirely, but the tone had shifted. People wanted to believe in you again. They wanted this to work.

You were halfway through refreshing the trending tag when your laptop screen brightened. You were waiting for a meeting between Chan and you to start. You were supposed to discuss the contract together for the first time.

The Zoom chime rang out softly, followed by the flicker of your own camera tile. And then, Bang Chan logged in.

He was in a studio, of course. Wires, stacked speakers, and a massive mixing desk behind him. He looked like he belonged there. Black hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

You’ve seen Chan before, through a screen in interviews. But you’ve never actually talked to him before. You should’ve said something first. Instead, you just watched him.

Bang Chan didn’t speak immediately either. He gave the screen a single nod, then reached off-camera and came back with a copy of the contract in hand. His fingers tapped against the edge of the folder, controlled, rhythmic. Not anxious, exactly, but focused. Like someone preparing for a test he didn’t study for but expected to pass anyway.

You cleared your throat. “Should we go through the contract together?”

He looked up. “Might as well. Better to get the awkward parts out of the way before the cameras start rolling.”

There was no need for introductions. You two knew who you were well enough. You nodded and flipped open your own copy. A silence stretched between you as paper rustled.

Chan broke it first. “Section Two, Paragraph Three. Public Behavior Guidelines.”

You skimmed quickly, then read aloud: “The parties agree to maintain the appearance of familiarity and developing intimacy in public and online spaces. This includes, but is not limited to, soft eye contact, subtle physical proximity, and verbal cues suggestive of mutual fondness.” You looked up. “Subtle?”

He raised a brow. “Subtle in K-pop media terms or real-life terms? Because those are not the same.”

You tried not to smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He tilted his head toward the screen. “Just… don’t stand behind me in line if we’re at a convenience store or something. Netizens will do a ten-slide PowerPoint about how your elbows are aligned and what it means.”

You laughed. “Noted.”

He grinned, then flipped a page. “Alright. Section Three: Content Production. There’s a line here that says we’re expected to do at least one joint livestream biweekly.”

Your stomach dipped. “Live?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I don’t love it either, but… I guess that’s the point. We’re supposed to look like we’re warming up to each other in real time.”

Your gaze dropped to the sentence underneath it: Mutual participation in social content is required. Hesitation, awkwardness, or refusal to engage will be flagged as non-compliance.

Chan must’ve seen your eyes linger. “No pressure or anything.”

You gave him a look. “We’re literally being paid to flirt in public.”

He shrugged, half amused. “You ever done that before?”

“Flirted or faked it?”

He didn’t answer. 

You turned the page. “Here,” you said. “Section Four.”

“Section 4: Relationship Boundaries,” you read aloud, voice flattening with each word. “The undersigned parties agree not to engage in a personal or romantic relationship beyond the scope of public performance. Any emotional or physical entanglement beyond agreed promotional conduct will be considered a breach of contract and grounds for termination of the contract, financial penalty, and reputational liability.”

Chan looked down at his own and nodded.

You finally looked up at the screen. “I feel like that should be easy. Given we’ve never met before this.”

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low, thoughtful. “Easy.”

You tapped the bottom of the page. “This part here…” You read: All communication outside of scheduled work must remain professional. Casual or personal interactions not approved by management may be considered misconduct under clause 4B.

Chan sighed. “Translation: no texting unless it’s about a tracklist.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “There’s a subsection at the back. Check Appendix C. It has a list of ‘pre-approved messaging topics.’”

You flipped to it. Your jaw dropped slightly. “This is ridiculous.”

“’Please confirm arrival time for photoshoot’... ‘Did you see the updated mix?’... ‘Your hoodie’s inside out, ’ okay, I added that one. But still.” He gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing like telling two adults how to behave like coworkers and strangers at the same time.”

You frowned down at the text. “We’re being micromanaged like toddlers on a playdate.”

Chan’s eyes were on you again. “That’s because the companies know what’s at stake. One of us slips, and the other gets dragged down with them.”

“Right…speaking of that. Section Five: Backstory and Important Stories.”

Chan groaned softly, already flipping ahead in his copy. “The fake history.”

You scanned the section, eyes narrowing at the bullet points. “We’re supposed to memorize how we ‘met,’ what we ‘admire’ about each other, and what song ‘brought us closer.’ This sounds like an idol variety show bingo card.”

He gave a dry laugh. “It gets better. There’s a section about shared memories we’re supposed to reference casually in interviews. Look,” He held his contract up to the camera. “It literally says, ‘preferred shared memory: ordering the same side dish during a late-night recording session and laughing about it for ten minutes.’”

You stared at him. “We’re being paid to pretend we bonded over kimchi fries?”

He smirked. “Iconic origin story.”

You dropped your forehead to your palm. “Okay,” you said, flipping to the final page. “Section Six: Crisis Protocol.”

Chan groaned again. “The part where they tell us what to do if this all explodes.”

You read it aloud. “In the event of scandal, leaked footage, or unforeseen complications, both parties agree to adhere strictly to the provided narrative. Any deviation without approval from company management may result in public correction or contract dissolution.”

“Translation,” he muttered, “lie better.”

Your eyes widened. “This all ends in one month?”

Chan gave a small nod, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the edge of his desk. “That’s what the timeline says. One months of planned content, soft press cycles, and… whatever this is supposed to be.” He gestured vaguely between your two screens.

You exhaled, more from exhaustion than relief. “It feels longer. I mean…we haven’t even started and it already feels like I’ve signed away something.”

Chan didn’t argue. He just tilted his head a little and said, “They’re betting two months is enough time to rehab a reputation.”

“And yours is what they’re using to do it.” Your words came out more blunt than you meant them to.

He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, well. My label probably thinks it’s a good trade. Get my name attached to a high-profile soloist. Increase visibility for the next comeback. Make me look a little more…” He searched for the word. “Romantic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think you already are?”

Chan laughed softly, caught off guard. “Not when I spend more time with compressors than with people.”

You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Let’s be honest. Neither of us would’ve said yes to this if we had a real choice.”

“No,” you admitted. “We’re both here because someone else thought it was good PR.”

He nodded. “Exactly. So maybe it’s better if we don’t fake being close too fast. If it’s supposed to be a slow burn, let’s make it slow. Clean. Predictable.”

“Like a ballad,” you said quietly.

Chan blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “They always build slowly. Verse. Chorus.”

He watched you for a second longer than felt comfortable, something unreadable in his expression. “Okay,” he said finally. “Slow burn it is.”

You nodded and closed your folder. “I guess we’re partners now.”

Chan smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we are.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was raining the morning you arrived at the studio, just enough to blur the windows and give the world that washed-out tint. Iseul sat beside you in the backseat, scrolling through her phone like it owed her money, already wearing the kind of structured blazer and polished expression that meant she was in boss mode.

“Don’t forget to keep it light today,” she reminded, not looking up. “Smile when you walk in. Let the cameras catch the natural chemistry.”

“I’ve met him once,” you said.

She finally glanced at you. “Exactly. First impressions are expensive. Make this one count.”

The car rolled to a slow stop outside the company’s private entrance. You could already hear the faint hum of photographers down the street, like flies outside a sealed window. You pushed your hoodie up, adjusted your cuffs, and followed Iseul out.

The building inside smelled like clean speakers and fresh coffee, studio air. Familiar. Comforting.

A staff member guided you down the hall, Iseul trailing a half-step behind, until they paused outside one of the larger mixing rooms. The door cracked open just as you reached for it.

Chan stood inside, glancing over his shoulder like he’d heard your presence before seeing it. His hoodie was a different one, navy today, slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up the same way they had been on Zoom. He gave you a nod and stepped aside.

The moment your shoes crossed the threshold, it happened.

The thread burned.

A gold spark shimmered into existence on your pinky. You felt it in your pulse before you saw it, like the air had thickened, like something inside you clicked.

Your eyes flicked to Chan instinctively, and his were already locked on you.

His hand twitched slightly, just enough for you to see the same glow threading from his finger, taut and radiant. The same one you'd ignored for years. 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react.

Because beside you, Iseul was smiling with professional pride, and just inside the room stood a man with a clipboard, Chan’s PR manager, probably, ready to coach you both. “Welcome,” he said brightly. “Glad we could finally get you two in the same room.”

You didn’t remove your eyesight from the string, which was revealed to have been connected to Chan this whole time.

“-We’ve got about an hour slotted today,” the manager continued, oblivious. “You can record some verses of your new song, and maybe a short Q&A clip if you’re comfortable. We’ll go over tone and narrative after.”

You barely heard him. Because the thread didn’t just glow, it pulled. A soft but magnetic tug at your pinky, as if your body had already made its decision before your brain caught up. You didn’t need to look at Chan to know he felt it too. The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? It was all the confirmation you needed.

Right there, in a room full of people you weren’t allowed to tell.

Iseul stepped forward first, offering a tight nod to the manager and a polite wave to Chan. “Good to see you again, Chan. (Y/N)’s been looking forward to working together.”

“I have,” you echoed, though your voice was quieter than intended. You finally dropped your gaze, balling your hand into a loose fist until the thread dimmed enough to hide. Your chest still hummed with its echo.

Chan’s PR manager handed you a clipboard with the shoot outline and motioned toward the padded chairs in the corner. “We’ll run the camera for some candid-style B-roll while you go through the melody together. No pressure, just smile, nod, maybe steal a glance or two. You know the drill.”

“Casual chemistry,” Chan said dryly, flipping a switch on the console.

“Exactly,” the manager said without a trace of irony.

Iseul gave your arm a gentle nudge as you moved toward the mic setup. “Just be natural,” she said. “Natural sells.”

Right. Natural. Even though nothing about this was natural anymore.

You passed him on your way to the mic, and for a terrifying second, your arms brushed. A zap of warmth licked up your side. You didn’t flinch, but you felt it. So did he. His jaw flexed, like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

You both took your places, you at the vocal mic, Chan at the desk. The room suddenly felt ten degrees too warm.

“Let’s run the first verse?” he offered, gaze flickering briefly to your hand. “Keep it simple.”

You nodded.

He played the chord progression through the monitors, soft and slow. You closed your eyes, breathing in, letting the track guide you.

But the warmth stayed. And with each note, it pulled tighter.

Behind you, you could hear the soft click of Iseul’s phone, capturing snippets of footage for social media. Carefully curated. Perfectly staged. Not a soul in the room knew the performance wasn’t the only thing being orchestrated.

“Great start!” the PR manager said. “Let’s do a take with a little more eye contact this time, maybe a smile, just toward the end?”

You turned away just in time to catch Iseul giving you a thumbs up. You couldn’t smile back. Not right now.

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