#Book titles and SEO

[rozmorris]

Can SEO writing ruin your prose style? And why Bill Bryson can call a book Wubberhumptimuph and you can’t

I’ve had this question from Mark…. This question has been bouncing in my brain ever since the digital revolution began and especially after working for various publishers that asked me to help them with social media and website text.  Do you think that being forced to focus on SEO when writing articles, promos, headlines etc can negatively impact your non-journalism writing? My sense is that…

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Important Case-files poll time!

So, to my great displeasure, I've realised Silver Glass's title has nothing to do with the plot.

[paneltechno]

Our keyword tool gives you multiple ways to find related, niche relevant keywords in any niche. Just put in a seed keyword and Keysearch will return hundreds of related keywords with search volume, CPC & PPC data. Refine your search with our Related https://bit.ly/3FDxob1

[pterobat]

https://a.co/d/979wnDm

Hey, you want some full dragon POV and weird magic shit? The second part of Graham Edwards' long-out-of- print trilogy is out for Kindle and reprinted in paperback.

Cw: rape, though.

[chantireviews]

On the 8th Day of Christmas, Chanticleer Brings to me… | 12 Days of Christmas 2023

Celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas – One Day at a Time On the 8th Day of Christmas… The Eighth day of Christmas is New Year’s Day as well as the celebration of Mary as the Mother of Jesus, which can be traced back to as early as 431 AD. “But Jiminy Crickets, it is the 2nd of January! Is it not too late for the 12 Days of Christmas?” you say. Not to fear, Chanticleerians! The 12 Days of…

[moonjxsung]

No Guts / No Glory

Copyright Ⓒ 2024 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Read part 1 here.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

W/c: 18.2k

Warnings: nipple/breast play, clitoral stimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, sex in a semi-public establishment (no one is around), creampie, spitting during sex, depictions of bodily harm, descriptions of blood

Synopsis: Bang Chan competes in the biggest title boxing fight of his life, terrified at the prospect of losing two things now- this match, and you.

18+. Mdni!

•

“The whole world’s watching him. I don’t blame him for wanting to walk away from all of this- I would, too.”

•

Contrary to the truths of a boxer, a trainer’s punctuality is typically admirable.

And Mr. Seo is no different, you quickly learn, as he enters the interviewing studio at a whole five minutes prior to his call time.

He’s a bit hesitant to approach you at first, the same way Chan once was, bowing politely as you gesture to the folding director’s chair across from you. And when he finally takes his seat, smoothing down a sleek black blazer he wears paired with a silk blue tie, you take notice of the way his jacket seems to constrict around the broad muscles he flaunts, the buttons of his shirt practically clinging onto the fabric that hugs his chest.

“Thanks for having me,” he says respectfully, giving you a small nod as his lips pull into a closed-mouth smile.

“Thanks for being here,” you say nervously, scanning his gaze in hopes of reading him better.

But he’s entirely unreadable, evident in the way his eyes don’t leave yours, awaiting some form of instruction as you toy with the camera and ensure it’s begun recording.

“Could you state your name, and relationship to the subject for the camera?” You begin, swallowing a lump in your throat as he folds his hands in his lap and shifts his gaze to the lens.

“Mr. Seo,” he begins, clearing his throat before continuing. “Bang Chan’s personal trainer.”

To which you then nod, satisfied with the introduction, as you begin the interview.

“How long have you been training Bang Chan?” You inquire, observing the way he furrows his brows in concentration.

“Gosh,” he begins, exhaling a sharp breath before beginning his response. “Around ten years now. It was just a hobby for him, when we initially began. I don’t think either of us figured he’d be participating in a title fight one day.”

“What’s it been like, watching him grow so quickly?”

“Exhausting,” Mr. Seo admits, slouching back in his seat as he now crosses his arms across his chest. “He loses his winning streak, I lose all my credibility.”

He chuckles as he finishes, shaking his head and gesturing with a wave of his hand. “I’m kidding. Chan’s great. He’s a perfectionist, and he’s as stubborn as they come, but he’s very talented. It’s all him.”

Your gaze remains on his in a passing moment of silence, desperate to ask him all the burning questions heavy on your mind this evening; how Chan had reacted to the agonizingly transparent rendition of his docu-series. What he’d spoken to Mr. Seo about, upon the realization that the private conversations you’d shared with him had now been broadcast to thousands of anticipatory viewers. His most vulnerable emotions on display for the whole world, your betrayal made apparent with the sweeping number of viewers the episode had garnered. And especially how he’s doing now, considering he’s failed to answer any of your calls since the episode’s broadcast.

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest as you think back to the series, and you shake your head as you’re brought back to the present moment once more, Mr. Seo sat across from you as he awaits another question.

“Could you tell us how your relationship to Bang Chan first started?”

Mr. Seo thinks it over briefly, his eyes scanning the ceiling, and then he nods once before beginning.

“He was only fourteen. Walked into our gym like he owned the place. I watched him from outside the ring, and he caught my eye because he seemed so angry, the way he threw uppercuts like a pro. I suggested he softened his hits a little- work on his form, instead of just his strength. He kept coming back, and I took him under my wing.”

Mr. Seo sighs, and then he uncrosses his arms, grasping his knees lightly before continuing.

“Maybe I should’ve seen it back then,” he finishes.

You furrow your brows, cocking your head as you observe his gaze fall to the floor.

“Seen what back then?”

He shrugs lightly, as though he’s unsure of his response, and then he delivers an answer much harsher than you’re anticipating.

“That he doesn’t want to do this.”

There’s a silence in the room as he shuffles around in his seat, and then his eyes flicker over the lens of the camera before you can utter a response.

“You mean… the fame,” you question, your eyebrows knitting together as you ponder his words.

“Boxing,” he clarifies.

The silence grows louder the second time around, and your back rests flat upon the back of the back of the chair as you allow yourself to get a little more situated in your seat.

“He doesn’t want to box anymore,” Mr. Seo repeats, pursing his lips and nodding to affirm his statement. He seems to think for a moment, as though carefully recalling Chan’s words, before elaborating.

“He’s wanted to quit for years now. He gets in these mental slumps, where I can’t get him to do anything. Nobody can. At first, I thought it was just for fear of losing that damn winning streak. I’ve since realized it’s more than that.”

He seems to fix on something in the distance beyond your seated figure, and you shift in your seat nervously, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, you nod meekly in his direction, gesturing for him to continue.

“What is it, then?”

Mr. Seo is quiet again, chewing on the inside of his lip as he deciphers an adequate response.

“Tell me,” he begins. “You ever stood in the middle of that ring?”

You think back to all those times with Chan, staring out at the rows of punching bags that line the walls, the gallery of famous boxers peering down over the vast space and the suffocating confines of the wired rope that lines the four corners.

“Yeah,” you say to him. “Few times.”

“What’d it feel like to you?”

Nerve-wracking. Entirely too large- and yet somehow still claustrophobic, all at once. Intimidating, daunting. Voyeuristic.

“It’s awful,” you voice back, swallowing a knot in your throat. “It’s so… public.”

He nods understandingly.

“Fourteen years,” he echoes back. “He’s been under that pressure. On an unbroken winning streak since he started professionally. He’s been dubbed ‘miracle athlete’, ‘athletic genius’- you name it. I’ve never seen him more miserable.”

You don’t say anything just yet, realizing this is exactly what Mrs. Bang couldn’t seem to coax out of him. The harsh reality that although it’s his passion, his lifelong dream to win this title fight, perhaps boxing just doesn’t serve the same purpose it once did for him. It’s now accompanied by the constant expectation to win, the all-consuming fear of what it means to lose, more eyes on him as his private life is publicized and monetized. And now the crushing reality that his reservations surrounding the sport have been televised, much to his utter dismay.

As you make sense of his words, your gaze snaps to the camera, at the blinking red light that indicates this conversation is being recorded, too. Your hand darts out to the shutter release, in an effort to not repeat the same mistakes, and Mr. Seo chuckles when he takes notice of your urgency.

“It’s fine,” he says simply, eyes fixed on the lens again. “He knows I’m airing it all out. It was his request, actually.”

Your motions come to a halt as he speaks of Chan, and you turn to catch his gaze once more, eyebrows arching in an apologetic expression as you find the words to say.

“How is he?” You ask, completely veering off your list of required questions, as you inquire about Bang Chan’s whereabouts.

“It’s been days,” you continue. “I didn’t know they were going to televise all of it. He trusted me, and I get if he doesn’t want anything to do with all of this-”

“He was a little taken aback,” Mr. Seo interjects. “I haven’t heard too much from him, either.”

“You haven’t?” You echo, feeling a pit form in your stomach at the fact that he’s even chosen to distance himself from his trainer in the aftermath.

“Not aside from his request to be as honest with you as possible,” he affirms. “Relay whatever he’s unable to say.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you gesture to the camera again.

“You mean… he wants this to be broadcasted?”

He nods, pursing his lips.

You can’t fathom why he’d want this conversation part to be televised, knowing very well that even Chan himself has trouble opening up about the subject. And now he’s urged Mr. Seo to relay these truths to the viewers- the truths that boxing has kept him in a mental slump for the better part of his whole career now. That his favorite sport is just another burden he bears, alongside a long list of fancy titles and recognitions. And that he simply doesn’t want to be a boxer anymore. Confessions that could hurt him preceding the title fight- and may only indicate one final outcome.

“He can’t quit,” you voice quietly. “He wouldn’t just leave all of this behind him… right?”

“It’s hard to say,” Mr. Seo responds. “He’s in another one of his slumps. He’s missing schedules, the fight’s just around the corner. Chan’s done this before, but it seems pretty serious this time around. The whole world’s watching him. I don’t blame him for wanting to walk away from all of this- I would, too.”

The pit in your stomach seems to grow tenfold as he speaks, and despite his assurances to record the conversation, your hand darts out to stop the recording anyway.

“He can’t quit,” you say again. “This is his life’s dream. He said it himself- losing scares the shit out of him. Doesn’t forfeiting fulfill the same thing?”

“I’m sure it does,” he counters, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. “I’ve talked him out of it a dozen times before. Unfortunately I can’t get through to him this time around.”

Your eyes dart over the camera, and then back to Mr. Seo, as you ponder Chan’s words tirelessly.

Maybe you should’ve seen this coming long before it got to this point- his desire to walk away from all of this has been evident for as long as you’ve known him. The anger that festers deep down inside of him as he throws uppercuts in the ring, the way he gets so fixated on his sport, he shuts out the rest of the world around him. His fear of losing, but also a hatred for winning so consistently. Putting greater trust and vulnerability in a journalist rather than the people he’s known all his life.

Mr. Seo seems to take notice of your distress, cocking his head to meet your gaze which falls onto the tiled floor beneath his leather shoes.

“Hey,” he voices gently. “None of this is your fault. Somebody who’s that down on himself is bound to come to terms with it eventually. He doesn’t resent you, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

He shuffles in his seat once more, and then he sighs a little before speaking again.

“He has a training session tomorrow, in the evening. If he makes it, you can swing by after and get a word in with him. Just don’t say I sent you.”

You nod at his words, swallowing nervously as you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater in your lap. And then you meet his gaze once more, furrowing your brows before speaking.

“Mr. Seo,” you begin. “Why wouldn’t he resent me? I’m no better than the spectators. If anything, I’m worse. Chan probably wants me dead as we speak.”

He chuckles lightly before shaking his head.

“You’re just doing your job,” he explains. “Everybody is well aware of that.”

He thinks for a moment, before continuing.

“I haven’t seen him come to terms with his own emotions like this before- maybe ever. All he knew was anger for so long- I saw it from the moment I met him at the tender age of fourteen. He’s finally being honest with himself about what’s causing these mental slumps. It’s a level of vulnerability I’ve never witnessed in him before- it’s hardly possible when he’s constantly being told to ‘man up’ by the rest of the world. Did you know he cried in front of me the other day?”

Mr. Seo shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest.

“He did, if you can believe it. He really cried.”

And you say nothing, in response, simply thinking back to the sight of Bang Chan crying in front of you first, back at his apartment. The way tears cascaded over his hurt expression, and the way he had sniffled in between shaky confessions that losing is what scares him. Losing a boxing match, losing his passion, losing sight of his future in the careful process of finding himself. Forfeiting the biggest title fight of his life, and walking away from all of this as nothing more than a loser.

And perhaps losing you, too- the one person he still finds some semblance of sacredness in.

“Thank you,” you voice to Mr. Seo, as you reach out to shake his hand. “I’m going to talk to him. I’m going to make this right.”

*

The following evening lulls by painfully slow, as you wait for word from Mr. Seo. Your work doesn’t see you in for the afternoon, as you dismiss yourself early to prepare for the conversation at hand in the comfort of your apartment.

And realistically, what can you say to Bang Chan, to convince him not to walk away from this title fight?

I’m sorry nothing is sacred to you anymore. I’m sorry you’re held to such unsustainable standards. Your mom is right to be worried about you, as is Mr. Seo. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be frustrated with all of this at the same time. Thank you for letting me bear witness to the real Bang Chan, not just the perfect boxer. You’re far more to me than just a video subject.

It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, or probably assumed already- but perhaps the future of his career depends on this conversation, and it weighs just as heavy on you, too.

As the evening draws to a close, you’re relieved to hear that Mr. Seo confirms Chan has indeed shown up to his scheduled training session like he’d promised.

“He’s a little down tonight,” he details in a short text to you. “But he’ll be here after hours, if you care to swing by.”

And there’s nothing you would miss the opportunity for, you think to yourself, as you shoot him a quick text back and begin toward the training gym.

Your mind runs rampant with endless possibilities of how the conversation might play out. Perhaps he’ll be angry with you, and send you off with a curt wave of his hand. Maybe he’ll be just as emotional as he was with Mr. Seo, assuming the same disposition he did when he first cried to you that night in his apartment. Or maybe he’ll actually listen to what you have to say, the same way you lent a kindly ear to his vulnerable display of emotions.

It’s hard to say- he’s certainly not an easy read, the way you once presumed him to be.

The gym is void of its usual commotion- in fact, if not granted entry by Mr. Seo first, you’re not sure you would've assumed it to be occupied at all. The entrance is dark, as is the hallway, and you can just barely make out his silhouette when he approaches with a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Mr. Seo remarks in a low voice. “He’s in the back.”

He looks exhausted, mentally and physically, and though he flaunts a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead from training, he wears it somberly, as though Chan’s emotions have now extended to him.

“How is he?” You inquire cautiously, and Mr. Seo shrugs in response.

“I couldn’t say. He’s hardly talking.”

Your heartbeat quickens suddenly at his words, at the thought that you’re trying to talk him out of something he’s already practically set on, even to his trainer’s standards. Realistically, there’s nothing you can say to change his mind- so does it even make sense to try? Is there a good reason to make an appearance, if at all?

“Y/n?” Mr. Seo questions, taking note of the way your gaze fixes beyond his standing figure at the darkened hallway, almost tuning out his presence.

“Yeah,” you say simply, giving him a small nod. “Thanks for letting me in. I really appreciate it.”

He just nods in response, standing aside to grant you full access. And then he’s off without another word, the low hum of his engine starting up in the parking lot.

The gym has never felt more uninviting than in the current chilling atmosphere, as you stride down the hallway and glance around nervously. The gallery wall of boxers is almost indistinguishable amidst the darkness, except for the beaming white smiles of their prideful expressions staring you down. You’re quickly overtaken by discomfort, as your eyes scan the dark gray walls, at the neat rows of boxers that mimic each other with their wide grins. The winners are hard to tell from the losers, and the losers might as well resemble just any normal spectator. Even the greats are unrecognizable to you, despite your proximity to their elegant portraits. And as hard as you squint at the array of frames above you, Baik Hyun-Man could be any of the boxers on this dreary wall.

It’s not until a loud thump echoes in the distance, that you’re brought back to reality, snapping your head in the direction of the boxing ring. It’s dark, like the rest of the gym, with the exception of the dimly-lit recess lights over the punching bag.

And stood in front of it, knees bent, fists positioned to deliver an uppercut, his jaw clenched and heavy bags under his eyes, Bang Chan.

He produces another hard punch to the bag as you take a reluctant step toward him, and then he hits two more times, the contact echoing around the room in tandem with your strides.

Thump. Step. Thump. Two more steps.

When you’re finally behind the ring, your knees grazing the raised platform, you hoist yourself over the edge, finding your balance to resume approaching him. And Chan’s punches finally come to a halt, his chin tucking over his shoulder as he attempts to catch a glimpse of you without turning around fully.

“Hi,” you say simply, halting your actions of nearing him.

Chan remains like that for a passing moment, scanning your standing figure out of his peripheral vision, before turning back toward the bag. He doesn’t deliver another punch, nor does he make any efforts to distance himself from you. He simply exhales deeply, before speaking.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have answers for you right now.”

“I’m not interviewing.”

It’s only then that he pivots cautiously on his heels, facing you now, a resigned expression on his face. He’s damp with sweat, glistening under the recess lighting, his thin white tank top practically glued to the convexes of his torso with perspiration.

“Then what do you want?”

“I told you,” you say to him, taking a single step toward him now. “I want to talk.”

His gaze flickers to your hands, which toy nervously with loose threads under the sleeves of your shirt. His lips part to say something, and then he scoffs lightly, before speaking once more.

“What, no camera this time around?”

Your heartbeat quickens at his words, feeling a suffocating sense of guilt as you realize he’s still upset with how the series unfolded in its last broadcast.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say to him, dropping your hands at your sides in defeat. “I understand you’re angry. I would be, too.”

Chan is quiet for a moment, eyes narrowed as though he’s challenging you.

“I promise I asked them to omit the footage,” you assure him nervously. “It got into the wrong hands.”

And then you take a sharp breath, before continuing.

“I became obsessed,” you say to him. “With the film. With you. I just wanted to know you better. And when I found that you weren’t this superficial shell of a person like I assumed you were, I couldn’t stop myself from feeding into their asks for this voyeuristic glance at your life.”

Chan’s expression seems to soften as he registers your apology. A part of him knows you’re right- and just like Mr. Seo had conveyed, he doesn’t resent you. Because a part of him is a little relieved he got it out there, for the whole world to comprehend just how scared he is of losing. And in turn, how to go about coping with it.

“Well it doesn’t matter anymore,” Chan remarks, his head hanging a little as he toys with the bandages around his wrists. “Because I quit.”

You can feel the room spin around you as his words pierce through your chest- you’d assumed that an apology would perhaps change his mind about the brash decision. Maybe Mr. Seo was wrong about him, and he is still keen on carrying through with a lifelong dream. But as he stands here before you, his gaze locked on his wrists and his shoulders sagging with shame, you know Mr. Seo had the correct read on him, after all.

“You can’t quit,” you utter reluctantly. “You can’t give up your life’s work because you’re afraid of losing.”

“And be made to look like a complete idiot? Yeah, great idea. I’ll be the first boxer to lose a winning streak to a title fight in over 20 years. That makes me a loser in every sense of the word.”

“This fight isn’t about winning it,” you counter. “It’s about showing up. You think your role models won anything by forfeiting?”

“You don’t get it,” He retorts, a frustrated scoff leaving his lips. “You never will. You’re just here to write some story for your own benefit.”

He seems to regret the words when they escape his lips, evident by the way he meets your gaze and toys with the hem of his shirt awkwardly. And he begins to apologize, but not before you’re interrupting him again.

“Write a story?” You repeat with a scoff, taking a single step toward him and narrowing your eyes. “You think I’m just here to write a story? Is that what you think this is?”

“I could never even begin to explain it to you,” Chan says finally, lowering his head in defeat. “Just… forget it.”

The words pierce through your miraculously still-beating heart, and you can almost feel your blood boil when you see him pivot away from you to make his departure.

Your eyes force themselves away from him, far too agitated with the sight of him to even warrant a brief glance in his direction. And as you stare past him at the gray gallery wall, your gaze meets the familiar sight of the monochromatic photograph, the subject beaming down at you while you search for a final word.

“You know what?” You voice to him, sounding much calmer now as you find the confidence to speak. “You are a loser.”

“What?” He questions, halting his steps to turn his head in your direction.

“I called you a loser,” you emphasize, observing the way he turns to face you now. “Any respectable boxer would know that I’ve always been here to tell your story, not conjure up some sensationalized version of it. Forgive me for caring so much about all of this. About you.”

Chan remains quiet, interest piqued at the way you manage to reach a stalemate with your carefully chosen words. And then he plants two feet on the floor, toying with the straps of the boxing bandages around his knuckles, as he turns away from you and begins toward the back of the gym.

“I’m talking to you,” you practically shout, following in his footsteps and pulling yourself through the gap off the raised platform. You stumble as your feet plant themselves onto the floor, and then you walk briskly behind him, eyebrows furrowed crossly as frustrated tears brim your eyes.

“Sure, just walk away from all of this,” you shout at him, growing increasingly irate at the way he struts down the hallways in front of you, not even switching on the lights as you trail behind him.

“And you know what? Your mom is right,” you voice at him loudly. “You are so fucking preoccupied at being the best at what you do, and that’s exactly what brings you down. It’s like pulling teeth trying to talk to you. I’ve seen it in all you pretentious athletes before, but you’re by far the worst.”

Chan turns a corner, still silent at your remarks as he makes his way into a narrow tiled hallway and into the gym showers. The thought crosses your mind to leave, knowing that you have no business following your video subject into the men’s showers. And yet you don’t, maintaining your stance confidently as you watch him toy with the faucet handle on the wall.

“You don’t even realize the way being so cold affects the people around you. The way they so clearly worry about you- and all you can do is dismiss them, and lie to their fucking faces. Everybody’s walking on eggshells around you.”

Chan pushes the steel lever to the right, and you take a step back when the shower head begins to run with a steady stream of water, cascading over his lean figure as he remains standing. You stutter to speak as you watch Chan pull the black t-shirt he wears over his head, discarding it onto the now wet tiled floor and running two hands through his dampened hair.

And your eyes make every effort to refrain from staring too hard at the toned body he reveals to you- dripping in beads of sweat and water alike, trickling down the muscular contours of his chiseled abs and finding purchase along the elastic waistband of his shorts.

The etched convexes of his pectorals flex with subtle movements as his head hangs, brows furrowed in deep concentration as he pulls on the tightly-bound bandages around his knuckles- to no avail, the water drenching them as he continues to tug on them frustratedly.

“I hope you know that the silent treatment won’t do anything for you,” you admonish, approaching him with a single step.

You recall his strong aversion to getting his bandages wet, so instinctively your hands find his, pinching the nylon fabric between your fingers and beginning to undo the bandages around his bruised fingers as his gaze fixes onto yours.

He says nothing, the damp ends of his hair dribbling warm droplets of water onto your shirt as he towers over you, the running shower drowning out the sounds of his heavy breathing as he admires you at this proximity to him.

Your ears are flushed a deep shade of red, still riddled with clear frustration as you rant to him about all his shortcomings- and yet he can’t shake the endearing fact that you’re still helping him, despite the callous words you throw at him.

“Asshole,” he hears you utter, amongst his own deafening thoughts of you. “You can go your whole life running away from all of this whenever you feel the slightest bit threatened, and you might be fooling everybody else, but not me. I know boxing hasn’t inhibited you to be this shell of a human. Good luck with everything,” you snap, pulling the last of the bandage off from around his hands.

“But I hope you know that not even a trophy could refute the fact that you’re a fucking loser.”

Chan lets a breathy chuckle escape his lips, eyes flickering over your pursed lips when you finally crane your neck to look up at him. He’s properly drenched now, strands of hair falling into his face as his expression grows serious.

Neither of you say anything, heavy breaths escaping your parted lips and swirling into each other as he waits for you to make your departure. And yet you don’t, your chest rising and falling with labored breaths as you observe the way his eyelashes glisten under the cascading water. You watch the way the water collects along his philtrum, fusing into one reflective sphere along his top lip and dangling as he searches for the words to say- and he can’t find them, simply shutting his eyes as the water streams over his eyelids, practically forcing them shut.

He waits for the sound of your departing footsteps, or maybe for the shower to shut off if you’re even the slightest bit keen on talking things out.

And yet his body relaxes down into yours when he feels you heighten your still-standing figure, shifting your weight onto the tips of your toes so that you can brush strands of wet hair out of his face.

He shivers in your touch, exhaling a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding in this whole time. And then he works against you with ease when you finally press your lips to his, allowing the water to transfer from his open mouth to yours, the salty flavor of his sweat still present on your tongue.

Chan doesn’t say anything when you pull away once more, mentally preparing himself for you to scold him, slap him, something to confirm that you loathe him the way he believes you now do. But it’s the last thing he expects when you cup his face between your hands again, pulling him down toward you and allowing his troubled expression to meet your gaze.

You think to kiss him again, your eyes flickering briefly over his- but you don’t, simply giving him a short nod when you finish speaking.

It’s Chan who opts to kiss you again, with more intensity the second time around, his hands finding the small of your back when he pulls you in against him and allows his lips to work against yours. Your hands press to his toned stomach, grazing fingertips along his flesh as he pulls you a little closer, and you make no effort to push him away or halt your forbidden actions,

Your head is in a daze- somewhere between seething and perhaps also roused as a result of it, knowing very well that this is possibly the worst way you could handle the situation.

He’s stubborn and dejected, and though he knows that being vulnerable is the only way to come to terms with what boxing has become for him, he only seeks resolution by opting to put a lifetime of work behind him. And it’s driving you mad, to practically beg him to let you in like this- yet it feels like the only way to shut yourself up from negotiating with the shell of the man he’s become is to remain exactly like this, your lips on his, hands all over each other, letting gasped breaths escape your lips as he works his kisses along your jawline.

“I missed you,” Chan confesses with a groan as he tilts your face further up between the gentle hold of his thumb and index finger.

You say nothing back, shutting your eyes as you allow his lips to travel down the column of your neck, his hands lowering to find yours and take your wrists in his grasp. He resumes desperate little kisses down your neck, walking you back along the tiled flooring, until your body is effectively slotted between Chan and the wall below the shower head. And when he pulls back momentarily to let his thumbs caress the curves of your hips, the water cascades over you, too, engulfing you in a steady stream of water and wetting the clothes you still wear. Chan watches, mesmerized, as the white fabric of your blouse clings around your body like cellophane, outlining every convex along your flesh, your hair dripping with beads of water and hanging loosely into your face as you look up at him.

“What are you thinking about?” He inquires softly, tucking a strand of hair out of your face.

You pause for a moment, your eyes locked on the droplets of water that trickle down the tiled wall across from you. He scans your expression as he awaits an answer, using his index finger to tilt your face toward him again. The shower seems to drown out in white noise for a moment, Chan’s gaze flickering over your trembling eyes as he waits. Your mind goes back to the feeling of being in that boxing ring- far too big, and yet claustrophobic, at the same time, especially at the thought of hundreds of eyes on you. You think of your camera, and the sight of the little red light blinking to indicate it was recording him, and how it remained angled at him for hours at a time most days, capturing every little movement he produced. You think of the newspaper publications, the faces of the viewers who recognize him in public, even the worried expressions of the people closest to him as he bites back from indulging them in the truth about all of this.

And then you swallow, confidently straightening your posture, as you finally provide an answer.

“I think about you a suffocating amount.”

He cocks his head, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, visibly satisfied with your response.

“Yeah?” He questions. “Missed me that much?”

You let out a small gasp when he lowers his lips to your chest, and then he places a single, open-mouthed kiss on the curve of your breast, his pupils flickering to hold eye contact as he does.

“Maybe,” you breathe back to him, feeling your throat still bubble with vexation. “Of course maybe I was just looking forward to watching your fight.”

He places another kiss, and then another, and then several more, traveling inward until he’s just between the valley of your breasts. And then he lifts his head up again, grazing over your parted lips, but not yet kissing you.

“I’m afraid of what will happen,” he says in almost a whisper, toying with the damp hem of your blouse.

And Chan smiles between the tender kiss when you pull him back down and indulge him anyway, allowing the indignation you feel at the hands of him to be replaced by the pulsing sensation between your legs, shutting up your thoughts with the erotic sight of him shirtless, hands all over your wet body as you melt into his touch.

“Then do it afraid,” you tell him.

You breathe between heavy kisses as his hands snake down to your blouse, rolling buttons between the pads of his fingers to undo them. He hums into the kiss when you do, letting your hands tangle in his hair as the final button is undone, your blouse hanging open loosely and exposing your chest to the cold water that continues to streamline over your desperate bodies.

You can feel Chan smirk into the kiss, entirely too satisfied with the method you’ve both chosen to adjourn this prolonged chapter of tension that seems to exist every time he’s near- of words unspoken, knowing looks and stories that barely scrape the surface of who he really is. And though you’re still peeved at his reluctance, it feels right to be all over him like this- perhaps this is the closest you’ll ever get to him, when he’s looming over you with every desire to undress you and know the curves of your body as intimately as you long to know his mind.

The thoughts agitate you the more you ruminate on them, and yet every annoyance is shut up by the sensation of his mouth working against yours, hands snaking down to the small of your back again where he sprawls his fingertips out over the goosebumps raised along your skin.

Of course Chan will never admit that perhaps this is the closest he’s ever gotten to letting somebody into the innermost complexities of his mind- but still, he’s well aware that the desire to let you in is heightened by the reality that he wants you to know him fully.

“Is this okay?” he breathes again, as his fingers graze a little lower, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

The audible groan you emit practically relays an answer to him already, yet he smiles devilishly in response to your clear frustration, your hand tracing eagerly along the waistband of his shorts. You don’t have to advance any lower to know that he’s definitely hard for you- it’s clear in the way he whimpers at the near-contact, his breathing growing ragged when you hum softly into his mouth and tug at his hair a little.

“Answer me,” Chan commands, his hands finding their way to your pants and toying similarly along your waist. Your hand rests atop his, guiding him to pull them lower as if granting him permission, and then he wastes no time discarding them entirely, tugging the soaked fabric that clings to your thighs harshly down your body and allowing them to pool around your ankles.

“Yes, it’s okay,” you gasp, moaning softly when his lips reattach to your neck.

Your lingerie is already soiled, clinging tightly against the outline of your body, and Chan’s clothes now clearly outline his fully-erect cock, strained against the thin fabric of his shorts and desperate for some release.

The shower temperature seems to have risen several degrees with the passing time, cascading over you with almost scalding water as you feel Chan’s hands lower to take yours in his. He caresses your wrists as he pulls away from your lips momentarily, and then he spins you around to press you gently against the wall, his lips finding purchase in the shell of your ear as he prods into your lower thigh from behind. He feels big against you, his whole body indicating his clear desire to take you right here, in the hardly-private environment of the gym showers, and you shiver when you feel him work kisses down the column of your neck once more, now latching your flesh between his teeth to suck a line of bruises where his lips trail.

The reality crosses your mind again, briefly, that you’re definitely not supposed to be getting physically intimate with an interview subject for a second time now. But when his hands trail down to trace behind the strap of your bra, tugging on the fabric until his nimble fingers are working over the clasp, you don’t dare utter a single word of protest at him.

Unlike the way he retracts from opening himself up to you, his movements now are purposeful. He knows what he wants in the way he so skillfully undoes the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of water as his hands now find the mounds of your breasts. And he has clear intentions when he then slips his hands into the sides of your panties and tugs harshly, letting those pool around your ankles too, now, his hands massaging the curves of your ass as you arch instinctively and wait for him to continue.

“Will you let me return the favor now?” Chan asks boldly when his hands travel back to his own shorts. He touches himself over the fabric of his shorts, cupping a hand around his own hard girth to then stroke himself with just enough pressure to coax a heavy exhale from the back of his throat. And when you nod beneath his touch, swallowing the shower water that dribbles from between your lips to rest upon your tongue, his fingers find your face, tilting just enough to meet your gaze with his.

“I didn’t hear you,” Chan states, not yet undressing himself. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathe back, hoping the impatience in your voice isn’t picked up so easily in your tone. You’d beg him to fuck you if you weren’t already begging him to let down his stubborn walls.

He smirks at your near-desperation, and then his hands resume the action of gliding upon the grooves on the elastic waistband of his shorts- only this time, he tugs them down in tandem with his boxers, allowing his exposed erection to grow against his abdomen as his clothes fall to the tile beneath him. His hand wraps itself around the base of his cock, positioning himself behind you and pumping himself a few times. And then before he makes any move to enter you, his hand slots itself between your legs, resting along your upper thigh as he presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder.

“I still think you’re a loser,” You say to Chan, for the second time now, gasping when you feel his fingers graze your clit and rub in circular motions. “If you walk away from all of this.”

“Yeah?” he says with a breathy chuckle, pressing a series of open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder. “Is this your way of saying you care about me?”

“Hardly,” you breathe back, eyebrows arching in pleasure when he quickens the pace of his movements.

“I see the way you look at me,” Chan whispers against the shell of your ear. “Either you’re really passionate about this story,” his fingers prod against your entrance, gathering the slick of your arousal onto the pads of his fingers before dipping them into your cunt and smiling when you gasp in response. “Or you’re just as drawn to me as I am to you.”

“Am I right?” He says when you arch back against him, gasping as he moves his fingers in, and then out, swirling them around your clit and back inside of you once more. “Tell me,” he continues. “Do you always get this wet for the people you interview?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you breathe back, your chest rising and falling with every labored breath as he resumes his thrusting motions in a rhythmic pattern. “You’re the one who drags me everywhere with you like I’m your fucking assistant.”

“You could’ve declined,” Chan says plainly, his tongue finding your neck and tracing along your throat in one long stripe, before latching his teeth around the flesh as he had previously. “I think you just like me.”

You begin to respond, quickly unable to as he thrusts his fingers at a particularly fast pace now, your words coming out as a series of high-pitched moans, instead. You silently pray he can’t tell you’re enjoying this entirely too much.

He pulls his fingers out again, and you spread your thighs a little to grant him access to your clit once more, yet he doesn’t indulge you, simply letting his hand find your waist again and caressing your damp skin.

“Why’d you stop?” You say a little too abruptly, earning a chuckle from him as his hand wraps around the base of his cock.

“Someone’s eager,” Chan remarks, and you mentally scold yourself for audibly sounding it.

“Just hurry up, will you?”

His hand caresses the vein that runs along his shaft, thumb toying with his pink tip as he hums in response to your anticipation. And then he pauses again, before tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

You watch as Chan’s neck cranes up, too, his adam’s apple bobbing outwardly as he faces up at the shower head that continues to shoot a steady stream of water over your tangled bodies. He shuts his eyes momentarily, allowing the water to cascade in two streams down his cheeks now as it makes contact over his pronounced nose bridge. And then you watch his plump lips part above you, the flow of water merging into one steady stream once more as he lets it fill his mouth, his chin almost trembling as he struggles to take it all in one mouthful, quickly spilling over and dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t swallow the mouthful, he doesn’t dispose of it as he turns to meet your gaze again. Instead, he angles your face toward him with the gentle maneuver of his thumb on your chin, his lips pulling as much as they can into a cocky grin as he cups your face and allows your mouth to remain agape for him.

No words are exchanged as he partakes in the lewd action of allowing the water to dribble down into your mouth, strings of saliva accompanying the salty taste of his sweat and the metallic taste of gym shower water. He allows his mouth to fully empty into yours, guiding strings of saliva back between your parted lips when your respective mouthful begins to spill over, too. And then as the caress of his thumb along your chin instructs you non-verbally to swallow it, to let the concoction dribble down to the back of your throat and glide with ease past your trembling lips, he’s guiding himself inside of you at the same time, his hands spreading your thighs as he guides his cock into your entrance and holds it there for a still moment.

You want to verbally remark how big he feels inside of you, but you can’t speak just yet as you swallow the remainder of his saliva, gasping for a breath when he pulls back to then thrust into you with a little more force. And then his hand reaches around to your clit once more, the pads of his fingers working you in circles again as he begins to move with rhythmic motions.

“Are you okay?” Chan asks in a gentle voice, as he gathers your hair with his vacant hand, draping it over your shoulder to press a chaste kiss against your neck.

You nod quickly in response, far too overcome by the sheer pleasure of his flesh working in and out of your glistening walls to give him a proper answer, and he takes the heavy panting that escapes your lips as answer enough.

“God you feel so fucking good,” Chan remarks, as he gives your hair a little tug. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you.”

He lets his eyes shut in a blissful state of euphoria as he fucks you, satisfied groans escaping his lips as his fingers grasp at your flesh eagerly, careful not to loosen his hold on you as though he might lose you.

And then before he can ponder the implications of his breathless speech, he’s breaking the silence again, regret overtaking his dizzied state the moment he speaks again.

“What are you thinking about?”

The words are near insensitive as it now stands, and Chan knows very well that he’s going to be met with some version of dispute from your breathless figure. But you surprise him for the second time this evening, when you don’t argue against his callous actions, instead letting your lips part in pleasure as you breathe out a response.

“You,” the simple answer conveys. And Chan can feel his cock twitch inside of you at the admission, another groan escaping his parted lips as he feels himself grow twice as roused at the fact that he consumes your thoughts just as much as you do his.

Between the rhythmic sounds of his groans that precede your gasps for air, muffled by the steady stream of the shower that nearly drowns out your voices the same way the pleasure nearly drowns out your thoughts, you feel his hand reach around to grasp your fingers between his. He gives it a gentle squeeze as he angles your parted legs toward the shower stream, letting the water cascade in a pulsing vibration directly on your clit. And the dizzying sensation of your joint frustration and pleasure only reminds you that the thoughts are not limited to just him.

Thinking about Bang Chan extends far beyond just the charming public figure he now is- they exist in a capacity much larger than a longing to know him for the purposes of any stupid docuseries. The thoughts of him transcend the superficial established connection of a subject behind a camera lens- instead, you long to know the very intricacies of his consciousness, to pick his mind and comprehend his real fears, his hangups, his shortcomings and his plan for a life beyond this one. It’s a longing to know him beyond just his tales of guts and glory, and this life he’s so scrupulously centered around his boxing career.

He’s purposeful- in his strategy and his movements, and you’re quickly brought back to the gym locker showers when you feel him spread your lips a little wider toward the shower stream, earning a fervent moan from you as you feel his cock twitch again inside of you.

“Fuck,” Chan exhales, through gritted teeth, as he staves off his orgasm momentarily.

He observes the way your eyebrows arch in sheer pleasure, all fucked-out as you take him so obediently and allow the shower to pleasure you where he can’t. And then he angles your face toward him as he indulges you in one final sloppy kiss against your parted lips, the lewd remnants of sweat and spit and water still exchanging from his body onto yours.

“I’m sorry,” is all Chan can breathe against your lips, as he assists you in reaching your finish, giving your hand an affirming squeeze as your legs tremble in his touch, your walls contracting around his cock, as the shower water that cascades onto the floor is now mixed with your juices and and the echoing sounds of your high-pitched moans. And Chan nibbles on the lobe of your ear, confessing a string of apologies as he reaches his finish now, too, filling your still-aching body with his load and not loosening his grasp around your fingers.

Before pulling out, his trembling hand finds the steel handle of the shower, which he pushes into an ‘off’ position once more, before relaxing his figure against yours, hands finding purchase on your hips as you both catch your breath.

The tiled room grows much quieter now as heavy breaths escape both of your parted lips, chests rising and falling against each other as his chin rests on your shoulder.

The stream of the shower has now reduced to the repetitive tap of dripping water along the floor, echoing in the near-silence of the steamy room as you remain pressed against each other, bodies languid and far too drained of your frustrations to speak.

And yet amidst the eerie silence of the room, Chan speaks in a voice above a whisper, his fingertips intertwining with each other as he tightens his grasp around your frame.

“I’ll do it,” he says breathlessly, taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his lips for a tender kiss to your knuckles.

“Do what?” You challenge, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair out from his eyes.

He chuckles softly, cocking his head as you await a response.

“Say it,” you reiterate, and he rolls his eyes playfully before answering.

“I’ll do the fight,” Chan says finally, his shoulders seeming to relax when he comes down to rest his forehead against yours. “I’ll show up, and I’ll do this match.”

His head hangs as his figure towers over yours, fingers giving yours a little squeeze before he finishes speaking.

“And we can finish telling this story together.”

And the gentle gargle of the shower drain succeeds his words, disposing a mix of sweat and water and arousal alike.

*

GOLDEN GLOVES CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE FIGHT- BANG CHAN VS. KANG-DAE

It’s not unusual for boxers to flaunt a long list of rituals on fight days. Some have particular food specifications the night before, others ensure a strict routine of stretches. You distinctly recall a few playlists shared by previous athletes you’ve interviewed, and even lucky articles of clothing for others.

For Bang Chan, sherbet popsicles are a considerable factor in his pre-boxing rituals. And yet for the first time in his career, they’re unavailable to him.

“You tried the convenience stores on the south side?” He asks again, pacing back and forth as Mr. Seo slings his belongings into a gray storage locker.

“All sold out,” Mr. Seo explains. “There’s a few similar ones in the freezer at the back. Not sure if you wanna give those a try.”

Bang Chan thinks it over momentarily, electing not to respond as frustratedly as he wants to. And then he shoves his hands in the pockets of his gym shorts, hanging his head in defeat.

All around him, the hallways of the stadium are teeming with movement- from security in black jumpsuits traversing the rooms, sports commentators readying their equipment, makeup artists organizing their respective supplies. Even Mr. Seo seems to be heads-down in his own tasks, hardly uttering words of consolidation as he makes his way over to another staff member.

And all Chan can do is simply wait, in the green room, for further direction, as he tries his best not to get in the way. Mr. Seo had once described this part of the process as a “hurry up and wait” sort of phenomenon- something Chan never fully understood until he was participating in some of his biggest fights to date. The makeup artists will usher him to a swivel chair, where they’ll begin with a base of primer on his face, and then they’re gone again, disappearing to retrieve more supplies from beyond the green room. Staff members will begin to explain the timeline of this evening’s events, and then they’re quickly caught up in an entirely different conversation, not even completing their sentences before they’re a whole room away from him.

Even Mr. Seo will begin a pep talk, reminding Chan to “loosen up”, and that “whatever happens, happens”- and then he’s absent once again, too, quickly reminded of something he’s forgotten back at his designated locker.

So all Chan can do is wait, his eyes scanning rows of photographs that line the unfamiliar walls of this foreign stadium.

He’s entirely riddled with fear, the way he always is before a fight. Yet his thoughts are also plagued with you, and you, and more of you, as he recalls the way all of his previous evenings alongside you had unfolded.

Perhaps all of the desperate kisses you’d exchanged, and the now several times you allowed him to return the favor, served as pre-ritual enough for Chan, who practically bites back a smile when he remembers the way your delicate fingers weaved between his, reassuring him for one final time that he’s not a loser for showing up.

All of your sagely words circle his mind as though he’s indulging himself once more in the sacred moment of a boy and his favorite sherbet popsicle- apologetic confessions that he’d become an object of fascination for you. A myriad of shaky words detailing a sheer gratitude for allowing you to know him this intimately, the way he’s been withholding from the people closest to him. And although his truths had been publicly broadcast, a newfound appreciation for this level of vulnerability.

And he’s quickly brought back to reality when Mr. Seo makes his entrance again, folded blue satin grasped tightly in his hold.

“Robe’s here,” Mr. Seo explains, as he nears Chan’s seated figure. Chan cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the familiar article of clothing- blue, upon his mother's particular liking to his first pair of sparring mitts.

The whole room seems to halt their actions and stare when Chan finally rises from his seat, pulling his ribbed white tank top off over his torso with the swift motion of a hand. And beneath the bright lights of the green room, a series of camera flashes illuminates the space around him, as they capture the first moments he’s finally undressed.

“Arms out,” Mr. Seo commands.

He assists in pulling the robe over Chan’s broad shoulders, smoothing down the silken fabric as Chan adjusts the collar.

Another staff member unbeknownst to Chan gestures for his hands, where she begins to wrap nylon around his knuckles. One more readies his boxing gloves, pulling open the velcro from around the closure strap.

Makeup artists begin to circle him again, brushing powder along his nose and instructing him to pout his lips for chapstick.

As they prepare him for the biggest title fight of his career, Chan can still only think of you.

He knows you’re prohibited from interacting prior to the fight- rules which you mutually opted to establish, knowing it would be entirely too difficult to conceal your emotions in the presence of each other. But the fact stands, that he misses you, and that in the absence of his typical pre-fight ritual, you’re the only other means of instilling a sense of calmness within him.

“Kang-Dae’s already here,” Mr. Seo then says, as he fastens the strings of Chan’s robe.

“He’s here?” Chan echoes, eyes widening as the realization sets in.

He pictures the green room opposite to his in the stadium; it’s probably just as busy, with staff members working to prepare Kang-Dae for what will also be the biggest fight of his career. Chan realizes for the first time that he’ll be face to face with the same figure he’s spoken so highly of, the same person he’s made strategic efforts not to run into, and the same person he’ll now be facing in the ring- not just a practice match against Mr. Seo, or even a punching bag.

“He arrived not long ago,” Mr. Seo explains. “We have 15 minutes until entrance.”

Chan rotates his hands, at the staff’s request, as they fasten the black sparring mitts around his fists. And then his gaze falls to the mirror across from him as another stripe of powder is brushed along his nose.

His eyes scan his own standing figure for a moment- he looks taller than usual, and stronger, his shoulders pulling back as the blue satin robe hangs loosely around his toned body. His hair is smoothed back again with a gel comb, his shoes knotted three times at the laces.

And then his gaze falls to the standing figure behind him, as you make entrance into the green room at last, a colleague by your side and a team of cameras filing in after you.

“… you can begin setting up in ten,” a staff member directs them, gesturing to the hallway beyond them.

You do your best to register the instructions, nodding your head as they speak right past you, yet completely unable to do so, as Chan’s lips pull into a closed-lip smile.

He can say nothing at the sight of you, simply admiring the elegant black double-breasted dress you sport, your hair pulled back to flaunt a sophisticated makeup look. And your eyes remain locked with his for a passing moment, as you examine his appearance in all its glory- the way the blue satin robe falls loosely around his chiseled abs, the glow of his makeup under the bright lightning, even the new sight of his gelled hair, pushed out of his face to reveal his handsome features to you.

He hardly looks familiar to you this way- much less like the Chan you know at the proximity of his lips on yours, and more like renowned boxer Bang Chan, the way the rest of the world refers to him.

Mr. Seo seems to take notice of Chan’s eyes on yours, his gaze flickering over Chan’s intense stare in the mirror and then around to you, who scrambles to face your camera crew once more. He smooths down the collar of Chan’s robe one last time, giving him a pat on the shoulders, and then he calls out to the nearby staff in a moment of understanding.

“Let’s give Bang Chan a moment,” he says, gesturing to the hallway with a cock of his head. “We’ll make entrance in ten.”

The makeup crew packs the last of their belongings, shuffling out with briefcases of pallets and brushes. Security assume their positions just past the door in the hallway, shutting the heavy steel door behind them, and Mr. Seo leads the rest of the crew out, shooting Chan a small wink as he observes you maintain a safe distance from Chan.

When the green room is finally cleared, the steel door shutting fully with an echoing thud, Chan pivots to face you, leaning back on the vanity, his hands shoved into the pockets of his robe.

“Hi,” he muses curiously.

You take several steps toward him, arms crossed at the elbows, and then you halt in front of him, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“You look cool,” you tell him, the corners of your lips pulling up into a smile. “Like a winner.”

He chuckles softly, standing up straight now, his broad figure towering over you as he maintains an amused smile. He begins to close the gap between your smiling figures, but you reach a hand out to stop him, sprawling your fingers out across his stomach and pushing him away lightly.

“You can’t kiss me,” you say to him. “It’s bad luck.”

“Oh really?” Chan questions. “Says who?”

“Says me,” you voice back, chuckling softly in response. “You just got your makeup done. And I don’t want to run the risk of being seen by somebody.”

“There’s nobody around,” he emphasizes, taking your hands in his. “Besides, the makeup’s going to get ruined enough as it is.”

“Still,” you say to him, reaching up to run a finger along his gelled hair. He searches for the words to refute your argument again, but instead he’s silent, cocking his head to observe your expression.

“If I can’t kiss you,” he begins. “I think it’s only fair that you indulge me in a story. For good luck.”

You smile up at him, thinking it over a second. He rubs his fingers over yours tenderly as he awaits a response, and then his expression grows serious again when you begin to produce one.

“In 1988, Baik Hyun-Man was the first heavyweight boxer of his kind to make it to the Olympics. He trained for an incredible amount of time, and he swept in his division that same year.”

Chan nods as you speak, recounting the tale in his own mind.

“Two years later, he retired. And the world didn’t know what to make of him. In his final speech to the world, he detailed his reasoning- that maybe through tales of his, of guts and glory,”

“… we find our footing in the knowledge that we tried,” Chan finishes.

He says nothing as your lips pull into a smile, mirroring his.

And then he gives you an understanding nod, as a knock is heard on the steel door, indicating time for his entrance.

*

The arena is almost deafening with heavy anticipation when you finally make your entrance, assuming a reserved spot at the front, amidst the rows of occupied seats. Spectators sport face paint and signs, balancing buckets of popcorn in their elbows and chugging gargantuan cups of soft drinks and alcohol. The chatter of sports commentators can already be heard overhead as they detail the sight to viewers at home. And as you glance around the arena, you can’t help but worry for Chan, who you know already feels suffocated enough in the confines of the practice gym.

The same emotions you harbor when staring out at the gym are elevated- perhaps tenfold, as you lose sight of the rows in the shadows beyond the bright white recess lighting. Your cameras are set up alongside you by the crew, who assemble the tripods and angle the lens toward the ring.

And you watch nervously, waiting for sight of Chan’s entrance. Your eyes scan the sea of people, who talk excitedly amongst themselves, and then back to the boxing ring, which seems to glow under the blinding white lights- and then your attention is drawn back to the seat beside you, as a figure shuffles past toward you.

“Mrs. Bang!” You exclaim, bowing graciously as she mirrors your action.

“So good to see you again!” she states, a warm smile on her face. “We’re sitting just that way.”

She points to the right of your spot, and beyond rows of fans, you can clearly locate what appears to be the rest of Chan’s family, who greet you with smiles and excited waves.

“Wow, there’s so many of you,” you say back to her, chuckling lightly as you wave them down.

“We’ve never missed a match,” she explains. “He always knows where to find us.”

The statement is comforting to you, as you recall how nervous Chan is to have hundreds of eyes on him at any given moment- at least among a sea of spectators, he can always still count on a few familiar faces rooting for him.

“Listen,” she begins to say. “I wanted to thank you for this whole film. We had a long conversation about it, following the second part of his series. I always knew it was taxing for him- I guess I just hadn’t realized how scared he was of all this.”

She lowers her voice to just above a whisper, glancing nervously at her side, before continuing to speak.

“It was eye-opening for all of us, to view it from a different perspective. We all want him to win- just not at the cost of his well being.”

You’re quick to shake your head, shooting her an understanding smile.

“I wanted to apologize to you- I didn’t know they were going to air a lot of it,” you tell her. “I didn’t mean for his secrets to be so… televised.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mrs. Bang reassures you. “It’s the kind of honesty nobody’s been able to coax out of him before. Sure, it reached a lot of people. But it was bound to, considering how long he’s kept all of this from us. Sometimes when we’re most vulnerable, it’s the only time we’re able to truly understand what we want.”

You ponder her words momentarily, not yet separating from her gaze, as her lips pull into a small smile. You see a lot of Chan in her- restless when she’s distressed, and yet a robust willingness to decipher a meaning from all of the pain. She’s enchanting the same way Chan is- it’s no wonder he holds his family so close to his heart.

“Thank you,” is all you can utter in reply, as she reaches out a hand to give your forearm a squeeze.

“Whatever happens tonight,” she voices. “I’m glad we got to tell this story. I think you’ve done a fine job at knowing him.”

You return her words with a smile of your own, your eyes darting back to the ring, where staff members circle about and make their final preparations.

“It’s not over yet,” you remind her. “We’re still telling it.”

And she shoots you a knowing wink, as she bows graciously and begins back toward her designated seating.

*

When the spotlight illuminates over the west wing of the arena, the rest of the venue goes dark, crescendoed chatter making itself known all around you as fans eagerly await the entrance of both athletes.

“… tonight’s biggest match of the year here at the Golden Gloves Championship,” you can hear a commentator announce from the platform far above you.

“Bang Chan vs. Kang-Dae, a battle of undefeated superstars, scheduled for 12 rounds of boxing. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you our participants in tonight’s main show.”

All eyes seem to shift nervously over the west wing, squinting amidst the contrast lighting to make out whose entrance will precede the next. And when the commentator begins to speak again, your heart practically drops in your chest, when you observe the first.

“Introducing to you first, on my right, fighting out of the red corner, wearing red mitts,” he begins. “A campaign record of 23 wins, 19 coming by way of knockout. Please welcome the hard-hitting, former lightweight champ of the second division, boxer Kang-Dae.”

Your eyes fall to his looming figure on the left, observing the way he jogs in place, a bright red robe draped over his muscular build as he wears a cocky smile on his face.

He sports a shaved head, cracking his neck with a jerky movement of his neck, his buff build flexing beneath the overhead lights. If you’d previously assumed Chan to assume the appearance of an arrogant athlete, Kang-Dae’s definitely broken that record now, made even more clear in the way he raises his fists to the audience and circles the ring as they cheer for him.

“And on my left,” the commentator begins, your head snapping to the other side of the ring.

“Fighting out of the blue corner, wearing blue mitts, completely undefeated in his division on a rampant winning-streak. A total of 40 wins, 26 coming by way of knockout, we welcome the electrifying king of boxing and rising star to fame, champion boxer Bang Chan.”

The lights are illuminated over Chan’s standing figure now, and your heart skips several beats when you witness his powerful stance in all its glory, for the first time in a professional setting.

Chan adjusts the velcro around his wrists, pulling it taut between his teeth, craning his neck out at the audience, before raising a single fist and shooting the spectators a nervous, closed-lip smile.

The crowd is much louder this time around, the entire arena erupting in a sea of applause and cheers, as he rolls his shoulders back now, his gaze finally falling onto Kang-Dae’s.

You reckon you could cut the tension with a knife when they make visual contact, their eyes darting over each other’s statures and mentally relaying words of self-righteousness at one another. Although Bang Chan is visibly nervous, he looks angry, the same way he does when he’s throwing punches in the practice ring. As they approach each other at the center, your gaze is drawn back to the referee, who holds a hand out in front of each of their figures, beginning to voice a list of rules.

“Touch ‘em up,” he tells them, as you watch them raise their mitts to make contact just once, before retreating to their respective corners.

The noise is drowned out momentarily amidst your own thoughts, eyes scanning nervously over Chan’s figure, as you watch Mr. Seo fit a mouth guard over his teeth. He talks loudly over the deafening cheers as he relays some form of instruction to him, giving his shoulders an affirming tap and gesturing to Kang-Dae.

Your own gaze falls to your camera crew, who meticulously adjust the lenses to not miss a second of Chan’s movements, and you chew the inside of your lip nervously as you wait for him to assume his position. On the overhead screen, you crane your neck up to catch a glimpse of their names in flashy text, illustrating ROUND 1 alongside a headshot you’ve never seen of Bang Chan.

And then before your gaze falls over his figure once more, the double chime of a boxing bell fills the room loudly, indicating start time for the two.

It happens faster than you were prepared for, when Kang-Dae lunges forward to deliver a harsh hook, just barely missing Bang Chan as they begin to circle around each other.

Both sides of the arena are equally deafening, fans practically rising from their seats to cheer for either member. Chan’s movements to dodge Kang-Dae are swift, yet sharp, as his blue mitts conceal his serious expression, his tongue rolling once over the harsh blue color of his mouth guard.

“Approaching the midway point of a cautious start to the first round,” a commentator states. “There’s a jab, from Bang Chan in the blue. Who just barely misses Kang-Dae’s dodge- folks, do you see that footwork?”

The screen overhead now displays a timer- 45 seconds left of round one, and you turn to your own cameras when you take note, observing the way Lin fidgets with the pan arm.

“He’s being careful,” Lin comments. “We should start seeing more action by round 3.”

Your lips part to say something, but you simply turn back to the ring again, eyes darting briefly over the screen.

20 seconds, 19, 18…

“It’s neutral,” another commentator states. No one’s attempting to put the other out just yet.”

14, 13, 12…

“Listen for that bell, gentleman,” the referee announces.

“A landing jab, from Bang Chan on the right! And time, right there.”

As both boxers return to their places, you can see Mr. Seo approach Chan, who assumes a spot on a little stool in his corner, exhaling sharply before he’s quickly surrounded.

“Perfect start,” Mr. Seo tells him, pulling the mouth guard out from between his teeth. “He’s gonna start making some hard moves at you. We’re looking for counters, right? Just be relaxed, and be light on your feet.”

Bang Chan nods, as somebody to the right of him brings forward a sports water bottle and gestures for him to take a swig. When he pulls away once more, they reach out to wipe a drop from the corner of his mouth. Another figure behind him runs what appears to be a bag of ice over the back of his neck, giving him a quick massage, before retracting.

Chan doesn’t say anything for the duration- he simply nods, seemingly regulating his breathing and focusing on Mr. Seo’s advice.

And when the break is called to an end, both parties meet at the middle of the ring again, as the referee ushers for them to start round 2.

The boxing bell is just as jarring the second time around, a double chime echoing loudly throughout the arena. And this time, Chan doesn’t waste a second lunging at Kang-Dae first, his fist making robust contact with his opponent’s stocky build, a loud thump revertebrating from the hit.

Kang-Dae seems to duck as he does, his fists coiling around Chan’s waist, as he holds him tightly in his grip and shoves him forward, earning the attention of the referee, who holds out two hands to stop them both.

“Stop, stop,” he calls out. “Not another until I say go,” he explains. And the two shoot furious looks at each other, before the referee announces “go!” once more. Kang-Dae dodges a series of quick punches from Chan, whose footwork remains light and skillful, as he circles the perimeter of the ring.

“Bang Chan utilizing lateral movement along the ropes,” a commentator says loudly. “Now, Kang-Dae is still excellent coming off the ring.”

Kang-Dae quickly coils his mitts around Bang Chan a second time, swiftly pushing him forward once more, and the referee is louder when he admonishes a second time.

“Back,” he tells Kang-Dae aggressively. “Can’t tie him in a hold.”

At a minute-thirty into the match, Chan delivers another punch, this time landing hard.

And with bated breath, you watch as Kang-Dae takes a harsh tumble to Chan’s left hook, quickly pulling himself off the floor again and retreating to his corner.

The audience erupts in roaring cheers as Chan adjusts the waistband of his shorts, rolling his tongue again over his mouth guard. The referee says something indistinguishable to Kang-Dae, who nods furiously in response, and then they meet in the middle of the ring again.

“After a slow start to round 1, Bang Chan drops Kang-Dae in round 2, marking only the second time to occur in his career,” the commentator announces. “We’re at 15 seconds left now.”

Both continue dodging a series of punches and circling each other, with neither delivering another jab as ceremonious as Chan’s for the remainder of round two. And then the referee calls time again, as the boxing bell chimes five times now, and they retreat to their corners once more.

While their respective teams make haste to tend to both athletes, the large screens overhead project highlights from round two in slow motion. You watch proudly as the recap shows Chan deliver a particularly harsh jab to Kang-Dae’s chest, lunging him backward until his footing is lost, his muscular thighs making contact with the floor of the ring. While he’s quick to get back up again, his expression is irate, and Chan does a perfect job of maintaining his stance when he attempts to hit back ten times harder.

“Focus,” Kang-Dae’s trainer tells him, as another member dabs at the beads of sweat that line his brow. “Don’t think about his campaigns. This is about you. Remember- he’s scared. Take advantage of it. Get up. Man up.”

Kang-Dae hardly produces an answer, simply grunting, as the mouth guard is pulled from between his teeth.

“He’s fast,” he says between labored breaths.

“Then be faster.”

On the opposing side of the ring, Mr. Seo pats Chan’s knee, pulling out his mouth guard and allowing him a swig of water.

“Atta boy,” he says to him. “Don’t overcommit. Perfect energy.”

Chan simply nods, rolling his shoulders back, as he’s massaged in the remaining seconds. And then they’re at the center of the ring once more, as the referee calls for round three.

*

Five rounds in, Bang Chan continues to take lead of the match, delivering a sharp uppercut to Kang-Dae’s jaw, which precedes another series of smaller punches.

The crowds seem to be much louder for Chan, his punches eliciting excited reactions from all over the arena as he throws hit after hit, and Kang-Dae’s expression appears defeated each time he retreats to his corner.

“Keep it coming,” Mr. Seo tells him. “Watch for those counters. Your hooks are perfect.”

He appears more breathless each time he hoists his body over the little stool, simply nodding in response to the praise around him. And right before the sixth match, he cranes his neck, as though he’s looking for somebody in the crowd of people. His eyes tremble as he scans over the east wing, and then the west wing, his staff members practically pivoting his body back in place to hydrate and clean him of sweat.

“Focus,” Mr. Seo says, forcing his gaze back upon him. Chan nods sheepishly- but Mr. Seo is well aware that Chan seems to be seeking you out amidst the crowd, a sort of desperation present within him like he’s never observed before.

He’s competent in this evening’s fight, but he also appears distracted, like there might be something more important to be found in your presence rather than the biggest fight of his life.

And ten rounds in, Mr. Seo’s theory proves correct when Chan’s performance begins to falter.

He fumbles a little in response to Kang-Dae’s swift attempts at a landing jab- and consequently, just enough to permit contact, failing to dodge when he produces a sharp uppercut to Chan’s left side.

It feels as though it’s another slow-motion replay when you watch it unfold, observing the way Chan’s whole body jerks to the left, his eyes squeezing shut and a stream of saliva escaping from between his parted lips. He successfully dodges another one at 10 seconds to the round’s conclusion, but he’s visibly rattled when they finally call for a break.

“Easy,” Mr. Seo instructs the staff who assist him onto the stool and pull his mouth guard away, strings of saliva finding purchase on his chin and then swiftly wiped off.

“What was that?” Mr. Seo questions. He’s stern, but still gentle in his speech, and Chan just shakes his head in response.

“Spit,” a staff member chimes in. Chan turns his head to expel a thick mix of saliva and bright crimson blood into a bucket, and then he holds it agape for a swig of water, swishing it over a deep cut on his inner lip before swallowing.

“Listen, you’re getting shaky out there,” Mr. Seo tells him. “What’s going on?”

“Where’s y/n?” Chan interjects, earning a deep sigh from Mr. Seo, who simply shrugs with his hands on his hips.

“Doesn’t matter,” he counters. “Don’t get distracted now. We’ve got three rounds left to win this thing.”

Chan’s shoulders seem to sag in disappointment, attempting to peer over his shoulder again for a glimpse of you, but Mr. Seo is quick to force Chan’s gaze back to him again.

“Listen to me,” he says sharply. “Get your head back on. You start getting distracted, and you’re practically handing him the belt. Focus.”

Chan hangs his head again, and then he nods understandingly, extending a hand to hoist himself back up.

“Two rounds,” Mr. Seo repeats. “Two more rounds, and you can take home the title. Knock him out.”

Chan nods again, as staff members tighten the velcro around his wrists once more, and then the timer reduces by the seconds, as he prepares to meet Kang-Dae in the center ring again.

When the boxing bell chimes twice for round eleven, Lin turns to you, arms folded at the elbows as she leans in to speak loudly above the chatter.

“Hey,” she says, and your head turns to meet her gaze.

She watches the match for a moment, admiring the sight of Chan dodging a hard jab, and then she resumes speaking.

“I know this series didn’t necessarily follow the footing you were expecting.”

You remain quiet, wanting for Lin to conclude her speech before producing any sort of response.

“But I wanted to say thank you. As of…” she glances at a wristwatch briefly, and then back to you, folding her arms again. “Fifteen minutes ago, we’re officially the most tuned-into channel for this fight. All because of your series.”

Your eyes widen when you meet her gaze properly, mouth parting in disbelief at her words.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious. Numbers are in, too- he averaged 15.2 thousand fans per broadcast. That’s more than twice of what we pulled in the last series.”

A breathy chuckle escapes your lips at the fact- it’s no secret this series was predicted to be huge for the channel, but you were hardly expecting to outdo your last by more than double the viewership.

Both your gazes fall to the ring, distracted momentarily at the sight of Chan delivering another hard jab to Kang-Dae’s side.

“I wanted to propose an offer,” Lin continues.

Your heartbeat quickens when she begins to speak the next part- perhaps she’ll convey to you that she knows broadcasting the moments which weren’t meant to be aired was wrong- and subsequently, it’ll be an offer to pull it from the channel entirely. Maybe she’ll acknowledge that you haven’t cared for this genre of series in a long while now, and suggest a transition to another topic.

“… for you to direct the next few parts, this time about his post-win life.”

You pause from viewing the match when she speaks, turning slowly to face her again, your expression visibly dropping at the proposal.

“Next… few parts?”

“That’s right. Seeing as he’s definitely going to win this thing, it’ll be huge. I’m thinking we can pivot to some… sports reality show, about Bang Chan only.”

She wears an amused smile on her face, nudging you with her elbow, as your gaze remains fixed on the match.

Below you, you watch Chan skillfully dodge a series of hooks, stumbling back on his feet.

And then in one swift movement, Kang-Dae delivers a strong uppercut to Chan’s left side, striking him hard in his jaw. You can hardly make out Chan’s demeanor when his whole body contorts to the left, his mitts coming up in an attempt to hold his jaw. But you can make out the unsightly image of blood and saliva trickling down the side of his mouth, and the way his eyes squeeze shut in a pained manner.

When the bell chimes five times to call for an end to round eleven, you shuffle quickly past Lin to the stairs, beginning your way down to where Chan’s team prepares a bucket and a towel. You don’t have any sort of plan devised, knowing very well that you’re prohibited from congregating in the midst of a match, but you make your descent anyway, overtaken with sheer panic at the sight of his weak silhouette.

“Hold that thought!” You call out to her, assisting yourself down the banister with the swift brush of your hand.

“What- where on earth are you going?” She calls, being met with no response, as she watches you near the blue corner of the ring.

*

“Is he okay?” You call out to Mr. Seo, quickly shuffling past Chan’s team to where he’s hoisted over the stool. His body lies limply back on the surface, chest rising and falling with short, sharp breaths as they dab blood from the corners of his mouth with a white towel.

Several members grant you entry to make your way closer to him, until you’re standing just behind his slouched figure, your hands coming up to grasp the ropes as you raise your voice.

“Chan!” You call, and he seems to straighten his posture, finally pivoting around to meet your gaze. His lips pull into a hazy smile, exposing his blue mouth guard, which drips with thick, stringy saliva, mixed with the harsh contrast of bright crimson blood. A single hand comes around to pull it out of him, instructing him to spit into a bucket. It’s Mr. Seo’s hand, you quickly realize, as Chan complies and swishes a mouthful of water over his wounds.

His brow appears bruised, a gaping cut being cleaned by several pairs of hands, and his shoulders look weak, you notice, as they work to loosen them up in massaging motions.

There’s no time to position him back into place, so Mr. Seo simply lets the conversation unfold between you two, dabbing at Chan’s bloodied wounds and understanding that leading you away is only going to distract him even more.

“I still haven’t been fully honest with you,” Chan begins to say to you, between labored breaths. Blood continues to dribble out from out between his lips, wiped away as fast as possible while the timer counts down until his return to the match.

“What?” You question, confused at the direction of his speech. You shake your head, aware he may simply be concussed, as your eyebrows arch in concern. “Chan, are you okay?”

“About what scares me,” Chan continues. He chuckles as he speaks, sounding almost crazy, as the etches of his gums are outlined again by deep crimson, dribbling onto his chapped lips.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” Chan says to you. “But not just losing a match,” he clarifies.

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch a hand come around to dab at the gash on his brow again, the fresh white towel turning a dark shade of red as his blood soaks right through it.

“I never told you that I loved you,” Chan finishes.

You halt speaking, and perhaps also breathing, as his lips pull into a satisfied smile. “And that losing you is what scares me the most now.”

His team members glance at you curiously as they work to get him cleaned up, some of them just having seen you for the first time. A few of them know you to be the “filmmaker”, a little perplexed at his admission of romance to you. But before you can respond, Mr. Seo is shoving a guard back into his mouth and gesturing to the ring.

“Let’s go,” Mr. Seo commands. “Last round and we can bring this thing home. Let’s finish this at round twelve.”

Although Chan remains weak, he rises from the stool, kicking it aside and rolling back his shoulders. His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a moment, shooting you a saccharine smile, before pivoting back toward the ring and tapping his mitts together.

“Let’s finish this at round twelve,” he repeats, eyeing Kang-Dae’s figure from across the room.

And you say nothing- somewhere between dazed and also in love, as you begin back toward your seat.

The boxing bell rings just twice to indicate the start to round twelve- or otherwise the start of what could be the very last round in this match.

“And so we begin round twelve of this historic confrontation, between undefeated champ Bang Chan and his opponent Kang-Dae,” an announcer echoes loudly over the arena. Chan coming in again with strong jabs, appeared to be fully re energized as he corners Kang-Dae in the ring again.”

Your view of him is much more intimate than it was prior to being stood here on the outskirts of the ring. You can now observe every minuscule bead of sweat that flies off either member when the other produces a hit, and the thumping echos of their jabs are much louder at this proximity.

“This is certainly an adjustment by Kang-Dae,” the announcer states. “He seems to be quicker on his footwork. Chan seems like he’s resuming with heavy punches like before, but he’s still stumbling a little bit.”

Your heart races at their words, taking note of the way he visibly falters when Kang-Dae delivers a punch to his chest.

At the sight of Chan pivoting to dodge an uppercut, you glance around at the spectators, observing the sea of people whose eyes all remain set on his stumbling figure. They gasp when he gets hit once more, and they seem to laugh when he regains his balance, his arms darting out to strike Kang-Dae’s torso.

They flaunt colorful face paint, parade signs with images of his smiling face and shout for him to “fight, win!” as though their discoordinate voices may somehow be the defining factor of tonight’s outcome. And upon closer inspection, they even twirl sherbet popsicles around in their grasp, devouring them with such desperation, as though they could ever begin to comprehend the sacredness of Bang Chan’s favorite dessert- something entirely out of his reach now, unattainable. Much like a life not tainted by the pressure to win is.

It’s only then that you realize the deep sense of discomfort the sight instills within you- it’s entirely unnerving to be entertained by his fear- and even his pain, like this. To consume the sacred intricacies of his life, to know him at such proximity and put him on a pedestal like some higher power. Only to rob him of all things sacred, televise his secrets and serve as a stepping-stone into a life he never wanted for himself. Whether it be the relativity of a spectator to his public image, or of a lover to his vulnerability, it feels wrong. You can make sense of why Chan hadn’t wanted to do this for a good amount of his life now- it feels entirely too voyeuristic.

“… The current unofficial score reads 10-9, still in favor of Bang Chan,” the announcer reads. “Who’s keen on uppercuts- but Kang-Dae certainly isn't far behind with his jabs.”

Chan dodges another harsh jab, producing a strong hit to Kang-Dae, who appears breathless as he regains his composure.

“Folks, this could be the night Bang Chan maintains his unbroken winning streak, putting him ahead of all boxers in the Golden Gloves Championships for the last 20 years.”

The audience erupts in another wave of cheers when Chan hits Kang-Dae again, and again, producing repeated, robust punches to his torso.

You shift your weight onto your toes to catch a better glimpse of him, admiring the way he clenches his jaw angrily, fists spread to shield his face.

And at just 30 seconds to the conclusion of round twelve, Kang-Dae strikes again, lunging forward to deliver a harsh uppercut to Chan’s lower right jaw.

At first he stumbles backward a little bit- and then he seems to loose his balance entirely, collapsing onto the ground beneath him, his mitts outspread to soften the landing.

Although the arena is louder than ever before, it seems to grow almost silent as you hold your breath.

You approach the ring a little closer, your eyes scanning over Chan’s lying figure, his eyes blinking in a dizzied state as the recess lights illuminate his glistening torso.

He’s bloodied, in several more areas now, a generous stream of crimson growing in a patch on the side of his right eye.

You call for him once, and a second time, and then a third time- to no avail.

Perhaps your screams only escape from between your lips as whispers, if at all- that, you can’t tell, as the sound of your own heartbeat drowns out the physical noise of the arena.

A comforting hand is felt on your back, quickly realized to be Lin, from out of your peripheral vision, who watches equally as paralyzed.

The referee makes his way to Bang Chan, beginning to count down aloud, as the audience scream from all sides of the room at him.

“Get up!” They say, making erratic motions with the wave of their hands.

“You can still win!” Another is heard shouting, their voice in a clear state of panic.

“10, 9, 8…”

And as Chan lies, his back parallel to the floor of the ring, he remembers the feeling of this beside you, your languid figures silently relishing in the presence of one another.

Even with eyes shut tightly, Chan swears he can still see pairs of eyes observing him carefully, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standards of a consistent winner. Angle your fist upward. Quicker on the footwork. Harder. Faster.

Atta boy. Be a man. Be a winner.

It’s only when his coach has gone home for the evening, when the other athletes file out of the training gym one by one, towels slung over their broad shoulders and duffel bags packed with spare gloves and changes of clothes. It’s when he’s the last shower of the night, letting scorching water roll off his toned body, steam fogging the mirrors until his own reflection is indistinguishable to him once more. And it’s when he’s concluded throwing practice punches in the now-empty ring, his muscular back parallel to the floor of the ring just like this, and his eyes fixed on the gray industrial ceilings and recess lights. It’s only then that he isn’t so easily defined by a winning streak.

In fact, his wins mean nothing in the absence of other athletes, who are also defined by the numerical realities of trophies gained and matches lost. The world feels much clearer to him like this, no longer clouded by the gym chatter and bruised knuckles that seek permanent shelter in his conscience. He’s just Bang Chan- not a winner, not even a boxer. Just Chan.

And though he allows it to consume him entirely, often replacing his curiosity for the world around him and a lingering loneliness with the insatiable appetite to fight, win, conquer- he knows deep down that it’s still not all of him. There remains a sort of fragility tucked somewhere beyond all this rigidness- there’s still a heavy humanness underneath these conjectures that he’s the ‘perfect boxer’.

What is a winning streak relative to an empty boxing ring? What is a spectator relative to a participant? What are concealed identities relative to a lifetime of falsifying new ones?

“6, 5 …” the referee continues.

From well beyond his position, he can hear something about the historic event of watching a boxer lose his winning streak for the first time in his career, amidst the crescendoing sounds of simultaneous cheering and booing alike.

Kang-Dae jogs in place, tapping his own mitts together as he awaits Chan’s next move, mentally pushing for the second hand on the timer to move faster than 2mm per second.

“4…”

Yet Chan remains there, parallel to the floor of the ring he was practically raised in, letting a gush of crimson now conceal his sight, as his head cocks to one side in defeat.

“3, 2, 1.”

The word “loser” is uttered somewhere in the announcement of his loss, as Kang-Dae’s fist is raised victoriously in the air by the referee, preceding the loud blow of a whistle and another uproar of cheers.

And although the word rings throughout his ears like he’d always feared it would, it doesn’t sound nearly as scary as he imagined it might.

In fact, you’d have thought he won the match, by the way his lips pull into a satisfied smile, as the weight of a lifetime is lifted off his shoulders at last.

*

EPILOGUE

Calloused hands adjust the lavalier microphone a little higher up onto the collar of Chan’s button-down shirt, his fingers easing through the process, as he’s already done this a dozen times now.

He raises his index finger up to his right brow, running it along the row of butterfly bandages still adhered to the gaping wound he boasts, and your hand darts out instinctively to stop him, lowering his wrist back onto his lap.

“I said don’t touch it,” you instruct him.

He seems to wear an amused smile for the millionth time today, as though maybe he’s doing it on purpose to elicit a reaction from you.

Chan observes as you scribble something onto a stack of papers, your head lowered in concentration to review a long list of questions.

And then you meet his gaze finally, mirroring his smile with one of your own, as you gesture to the camera.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you say to him. “Just answer as honestly as you can.”

“Are we rolling?” Chan asks, and he’s swiftly met with a nod of your head.

“Yeah,” you say to him. “We’re rolling.”

His hands fold in his lap, the jingle of his silver bracelet making itself known as he fiddles nervously, and then you start with the first question.

“Chan,” you begin. “You recently lost your first boxing match ever.”

He nods, not appearing disappointed, but rather contented, as he crosses his legs at the ankles.

“Can you tell us how you’re feeling?”

His eyes scan the ceiling momentarily, chuckling softly, before he speaks again.

“Nobody wants to lose,” Chan admits. “When I started boxing fourteen years ago, all I wanted to do was win. And I won consistently- at some point, losing ceased to even feel like a possibility. I hadn’t considered it very seriously.”

You nod as he speaks, and then Chan swallows nervously, before continuing.

“And then I began to think about losing,” he says. “And I couldn’t stop. The thoughts consumed me, to constantly imagine putting myself in the shoes of somebody who had to walk away from something so… unvictoriously.”

He sighs, and then he shrugs his shoulders just once.

“And now I’m a loser,” he finishes. “And I realize that there’s a lot more to boxing than just winning or losing. In fact, there’s more to the word than simply being a person who didn’t come out of it unvictorious.”

“What do you mean by that?” You say to him.

“Well,” he begins. “Prior to this event, I was fully set on forfeiting the whole thing. It’s something I had wanted to do for a long time- something I felt was right, in the midst of my aversion to this… vulnerable version of myself, that I kept tucked away from the public for my whole life.”

His expression grows serious now, brows furrowed as best as he can manipulate them, in deep concentration.

“And I realized that walking away from something you’ve always wanted, in response to a fear of your vulnerability- that’s unvictorious. I was scared for people to see me as any less than a strong, consistent winner. But that’s not realistic.”

You nod as Chan speaks, shooting him a proud smile- he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable on camera for the first time since you’ve met him. And though his voice shakes a little as he speaks, he conveys his truths so elegantly, the same way he did when you first interviewed him. He upholds this new image of him with such dexterity, careful not to accidentally portray a version of himself which might somehow contradict all that he’s learned. Yet it’s easier than he assumed it would be, he quickly realizes, when he finishes with a small nod of his head.

“I might be a loser in the sense of a boxing match,” he explains. “But relative to everything else I’ve gained along the way, I feel pretty victorious.”

You glance down at your papers, brushing your fingers over the next set of printed questions, and then you disregard them entirely when you meet his gaze again, producing your own now.

“You’re stepping down from being a boxer for the first time in your life,” you say to him. “Are you scared?”

Chan thinks it over momentarily, and then he shakes his head.

“I used to get punched by people for a living. There used to be so little that actually scared me.”

Your lips pull into a smile, recalling this conversation from long before his championship match.

“That being said-” he continues. “I’m terrified. But I guess that’s just a part of being honest with yourself. I’m just going to do it afraid.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, your eyes not leaving his as he observes the way you smile back at him. He’s just as charming as the day you met him- but he’s also real, and fascinating from this distance, made more perfect by extension of all his very human traits. His fears, reservations, embarrassments, frustrations- they’re all a part of who he is- not some “perfect boxer”, or a “born winner”, but simply Bang Chan- an imperfect boxer with one hell of a story to tell.

“Chan- what’s next for you?” You ask Chan, cocking your head slightly as you speak.

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips, his eyebrows raised curiously as he ponders the question.

“I’ll return to boxing someday,” he confesses. “It’s been an honorable 14 years here. I’m just going to find what else makes me tick. Maybe… pick up a thing or two about journalism?”

You laugh lightly when he does, shaking your head in response.

Of course he jests on the topic of journalism, knowing very well that you too, are set to take a break from this line of work following the air of the final interview.

With Chan losing the fight, Lin had begged you to rope him into another series, knowing that the general public had not faulted Chan for his broken winning streak. In fact, they had taken a larger liking to him than ever before, publishing raving reviews about his persistence to compete, despite his fears. And though you’d been offered a hefty pay to film another voyeuristic series into some new athlete’s life- a fencer, so you’ve heard, the offer was politely declined, as you opt to follow Chan on to the next chapter.

“Only if you teach me a thing or two about boxing,” you say to him, and he holds out a hand to shake on it.

“Deal.”

“That’s a wrap,” you tell Chan, as you press the shutter release one last time, detaching your camera from its tripod and stowing it away into its leather casing.

“Last time, huh?” A voice says from behind you.

You pivot on your heel to meet the gaze of Mr. Seo, who shoots you a kind smile as he makes his entrance, giving Chan a friendly pat on the back.

“Hey!” Chan exclaims, turning around to deliver a warm hug to him, instead.

“I was just leaving for the evening,” Mr. Seo tells you both, his hands on his hips. He then raises his eyebrows knowingly, glancing around at the gym, before gesturing to the wall with a cock of his head.

“Come on,” he says. “I wanna show you one last thing.”

You both exchange confused looks, and then oblige to follow him down the hallway into the ring, where he halts just in front of the gallery wall.

You crane your necks up to the portraits- all the familiar faces remain in their respective positions, except for the addition of one new photograph, concealed by a white sheet.

Before Chan can inquire about the recent addition, Mr. Seo pulls it off ceremoniously, letting the white fabric drape onto the floor of the gym to unveil a brand new photo.

This one’s in color, for the first time, the stark contrast of the bright blue mitts against his tanned skin drawing the attention of all your eyes. It’s a still shot of Bang Chan, his fists extended into a mean uppercut, eyebrows narrowed into a stern expression as he strikes at his opponent. You recognize it to be from the night of Chan’s title fight, and although he hadn’t taken home the title that evening, the photograph is no indication of any form of loss. In fact, he’s entirely indistinguishable from the rest of the winners housed on the wall- including Baik Hyun-Man, who now lives just to the left of him.

“You’re kidding,” Chan exclaims through tearful laughter. Mr. Seo just smiles, shrugging casually in response.

“All the greats are meant to live here,” he tells Chan. “Especially the winners.”

Before Mr. Seo makes his departure, the same black duffel bag hoisted over his shoulder, he stops in his tracks, turning to Chan with a sense of urgency in his voice.

“I almost forgot,” Mr. Seo exclaims. “Popsicles!”

“What?” Chan questions with a small chuckle.

“I found them finally, in the convenience store on the south side! I left them on the table for you toward the gallery wall, though. You’d better eat them before they melt.”

And then he’s off at last, the setting sun outlining his departing figure beyond the glass gym doors.

Chan does as he’s told, retrieving what are indeed his favorite sherbet popsicles from the table by the gallery wall, and providing you with one this time.

“You’re gonna love these,” he says to you, undoing the wrapper of both your popsicles and discarding them both on the gym floor.

“You’re making a mess!” You exclaim, as Chan shoves one into your grasp, instructing you to devour it entirely.

You bring the bright orange dessert up to your lips, taking a small lick, and Chan eagerly awaits your reaction.

“Well?” He questions, beginning on his own in the process.

“That’s phenomenal,” you say to him with a chuckle, taking another lick, and then another, and several more, the dessert quickly melting in your grasp and finding purchase along your forearms.

Chan laughs, too, bringing his lips down to your arm to trace his tongue along the trail of sticky sherbet and leaving a trail of tender kisses as he cleans you up. And then he kisses you just once when he’s finished, a sweet mixture of sherbet present on both your tongues as you bite back a smile.

When he pulls away to resume working on his popsicle, he cranes his neck up at the gallery wall once more, cocking his head to examine the rows of portraits.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, the way he always does, and you chuckle lightly in response.

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say instinctively. And then you hum softly as you crane your neck, too, remembering you’re no longer an interviewer relative to Bang Chan, but rather comfortably in love with him, as you move onto the next chapter alongside each other.

“I’m thinking about all these boxers,” you opt to say instead. “Like, where do you think Hyun-Man is now?”

Chan hums in response, shrugging at your question. It’s a strange thought when he remembers how future spectators will be pondering his whereabouts someday, as they hold their respective gazes on this very wall.

“I don’t think he’d want us to know,” Chan confesses. “I think he purposely left us only with tales of guts and glory to remember him by.”

He tilts his head the other direction now, working his tongue along the base of his popsicle, before speaking again.

“Through tales of mine, of guts and glory,” Chan voices deeply, mimicking the renowned boxer’s famous last speech. And then his words are pacified by his popsicle, as he relishes in the flavor of something finally sacred to him once more.

But neither of you need to utter another word to conclude his sentence, mentally finishing it on your own.

“… we find our footing in the knowledge that we tried.”

[darlingnomii]

horn dog thoughts

hoi, first time im posting something of my own aha- weird for it to be some spoicy shi but i cant get these thoughts out of my head so why not share em djdbd-

warning; smut, just plain old horny, stepcest, "reader" is obviously above the age of 19 pls dont come at me-, spanking, consensual noncon maybe?? if you squint ig, thats it... i think-

bang chan as your doting step dad who would give you anything you want. babies you constantly. even though you're well into your adult years, he enjoys spoiling you like a pretty princess. You want these pair of clothes? Bought. You like this perfume? All yours. Need help buying a set of lingerie? He's all eyes and ears.

loves it when you call him daddy. especially when you want something. just seeing your pretty big eyes and pouting lips as you coo that title makes his cock tighten in his pants every. time.

feels bad for feeling this way about you, but your his baby girl, and your soo cute.

lee minho as your strict step daddy. dont get me wrong, he loves you and will get you what you want but disrespect him, he's spanking that ass. If you're out past curfew, every minute over is a spank. Of course if its over 5, after the spanks he'll massage some cream on your poor red cheeks, but punishments need to be upheld.

yet he is surprised to see you be bratty more often, almost like you want to be spanked. only then does he noticed the way your panties get wetter with every slap. he need to come up with a better punishment!

still spanks you, but nowwe you have a vibrator on you pretty little wet pussy and you have to count out every lash, and if you mess up he starts over. Oh, and, you dont get to cum until he's done :). maybe now you'll learn to listen to him... maybe not.

seo changbin is a mixture, very doting but don't take his kindness for granted. You do as he says or you get punished. His punishments are different though, and they vary. You talk back, you have to read a chapter from a book he chooses while you bounce on a dildo. Don't mess up or pause too long or you have to start over. Wont stop you from cumming but if you do, an automatic restart ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯. You don't do your chores on time, you have to do them with a vibrator taped to your clit. no panties. dont make a mess on the floor or you'll have to clean that up too.

dnjedncj ughhh- if you want a step bro version with the rest of them lmk 😩😩

[drunkwhenimadethis]

Too many brilliant scientists thinkers consciousness researchers etc ruin their appeal because they’ll upload a lecture about something incredibly cool for example how memory may not live in the neuron’s synapses or how awareness is not localized in the brain and then title the video “TRANSFORM your REALITY with THIS one SECRET” Who is clicking on this. I’m just here because I read your book. Best of my generation destroyed by SEO

[minminyoonjii]

Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

💚Announcement and Clarification

💛Scenarios/Fic Requests [x]

Stray Love Haven Series Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: MLM/MLF Short Summary: A Stray Kids Kink Book with 31 Days' worth of plot

Time Out Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Bangchan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Two idiots in love who couldn't tell the difference between platonic pet names and romantic pet names

Silent Cry Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: Stray Kids Ot8/Gender Neutral! Reader Short Summary: You had a rough day, wanting nothing more than to sob your heart out alone but what if the eight men in your life felt it

Monster Under My Bed Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Bang Chan/Lee Felix Short Summary: Stress was catching up to Chan and he wanted to relieve himself, somehow tentacles joined the mix and so did Felix

Phobia Genre: Angst|Psychopath AU|Flash Fic Pairing: Stray Kids Ot8/Fem! Reader Short Summary: You had a crush on Chan but your best friend Minho seems to disprove your liking. A night out of clubbing, swirled into weeks of terror.

My Love Genre: Fluff|Romance Pairing: Lee Minho/Han Jisung Short Summary: Minho saw a goddess rush past him, taking his breath away. Only to see the same goddess sit on the swing next to him

Sticky Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Plant Monster! Park Jimin/Human! Jeon Jungkook Short Summary: Yoongi kept Jungkook in charge of his wild plant. He warned him about the consequences but Jungkook undermined the warning.

I'm A Charmer Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Stray Kids Song: Venom/Stray Kids Song: Charmer/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Have you ever wondered what it's like to fuck a humanoid version of your favourite song? This is that unhinged fic.

Mini Log Series Genre: Fluff|Ddlg/Mdlg Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Domestic scenes of Chanlix and their little. There will be praise, there will be punishments and most importantly, there will be tooth-rotting sweetness.

Check Up Season Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Doctor! Lee Minho/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Medical play with heavy tension. Lee Know wearing glasses and a doctor's coat is very attractive.

Limousine Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: 3Racha/Short Fem! Reader Short Summary: You pissed off Chan so they fucked you behind a moving vehicle and confessed their love.

Winter Flowers Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Fluff Pairing: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho Short Summary: Getting stuck on a ski lift isn't ideal, especially if you have acrophobia. Enemies to friends to lovers, a 2Min classic.

Stray Kids Scenarios Series Genre: Undetermined Pairing: OT8/Reader Content: Tucking You In|First Time: Calling Them by Their Title|Pillow Fort|Nightmare|When They Notice You Crying During Sex|Lost My Way|Types Of Spankings|Sneak In|Types Of Aftercare|When You Start Being Bratty|9th Little Member|When You Feel Sick|When They Get A Nightmare|Fussy Diaper|Second Chance

Mirror Genre: Fix-it Fic|Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: Father! Seo Changbin & Son! Bang Chan Short Summary: Coming out is never easy but imagine coming out to your adult son. Changbin just wants to explain to his child why he divorced his mother and left for ten years.

Monster On My Ceiling Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Lee Minho/Hwang Hyunjin Short Summary: Hyunjin wanted nothing more than to get railed silly by Minho but before anything could've happened. Our tentacle friend from Chanlix's endeavours joins in.

Adore You Genre: Fluff/Slight Angst/Smut Paring: Fem Dom! Reader/Bang Chan/Lee Minho/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix Short Summary: Hyunjin had a rough day, so you decided to make love until his brain turns fuzzy.

Champagne and Cigarettes Genre: Fluff/Smut/Abo Pairing: Virgin! Reader/Bang Chan Short Summary: Jisung has been courting you for months, you already knew everyone in the pack and tonight's the night you become a pack member. The only problem is that you didn't know what you signed up for.

Sweet Little Unforgettable Thing Genre: Fluff|Smut|Age Regression Short Summary: It's the few days before your actual period where you just want to get railed. You got overwhelmed and ended up slipping into little space. What are your responsible CG's going to do?

Nightfall Genre: Fluff|Hurt/Comfort|Slight Angst|Age Regression Short Summary: Snow covered the backyard, and you wanted to play in it. Nightfall came, and the members promised you could play more the next day but why wait until that morning when you could play while they were asleep?

Sanrio Carnival Sanrio Carnival Visualizer Genre: Fluff|Domestic|Age Regression Short Summary: You were a big fan of Sanrio characters. Varying from the mainstream to the niche. One day, your caregiver bought tickets for the Sanrio Carnival. Tons of prizes were won, and many characters were seen. What did you do? Who did you see? 

Monster In My Closet Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin Short Summary: Seungmin wanted to tease Jeongin into a pile of mush when slick pooled up to his ankles, holding him down.

Threeway To Heaven Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Raves were something your best friends go to frequently and this time they wanted you to join them. Things don't go as planned when you get served a free shot.

Topline Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Fem Dom Leaning! Reader Short Summary: You drove home thinking it was just another day. Hyunjin wanted to try something new to spice things up, who else to ask except his beloved members to help him out?

Teacher's Pet Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Fem! Reader/Lee Minho Short Summary: Mr. Hwang's course has always been a pain in the ass for your GPA so he decides to confront you on it, but you couldn't hold back from snapping at him. Mr. Lee heard the commotion and wanted to lay some advice.

Moral Of The Story Series Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: OT8! Straykids/Fem! Reader Short Summary: When a poly relationship starts turning cold, with regret, fear, and betrayal tying the strings of fate.

I Need You Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Fem! Reader/Lee Felix Short Summary: Dance practice ended early and Felix had pent up energy. Carving is a strong emotion to deny when it comes to handsome men who can't stop holding you against them.

Chasing That Feeling Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Lee Minho/Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Movie night snacks are always essential. Who knew bumping into a wall would lead to this?

Guilty Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: What's a little bit of teasing, when you're dating two most sexually driven men with the sheer need to ruin you.

9th Little Member Series Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Fluff|Age Regression Pairing: OT8/Reader Short Summary: You always felt that being a little was troublesome for the group. Hiding it was the only option you had. But you forgot one thing, your members can see through everything. Kidult|Tea Party|Otter Chaos

I'll Be Your Man Series Genre: Smut/Fluff Pairing: OT8/Fem! Reader Short Summary: A Stray Kids Smut Book with a crazy twist

Stray Heart Untold Series Genre: Fluff|Hurt/Comfort|Smut Main Pairing: Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Hero/Villain, betrayal enemies to lovers plot with world building and live writing ARG. Cause of writing: The 2023 5 Stars Trailer - Bang Chan.

Your Fault Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: All you wanted to do want watch a movie. You warned him, you told him it was slow. It's all his fault that his cock took over his brain.

Mommy's Home Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: There's nothing a good old-fashioned BJ can't fix, especially when you're stressed.

Double Trouble Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Seo Changbin/Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Princesses always had the right to feel full. It's not wrong to beg your boyfriend for another set of dick.

[cryinginmyroomsposts]

Easy - Seo Changbin

Pairing: Seo Changbin x Reader

tags: fluff, just pure fluff, boyfriend Changbin, oc overthinks a bit, subtle mentions of trauma ig, oc gender not specifically mentioned

a/n: not proofread, kind of a ramble, desperately needed to write cuz grad school has been kicking my ass

masterlist

The pitter-patter of rain keeps you awake through the night. You stare at the ceiling and then turn around to see your boyfriend lying on the bed next to you.

It was wild how quickly life can change. Just less than a month ago you were sleeping on this bed, in your new apartment, alone and cold. And now there is this beautiful boy right next to you, the warmth emanating from him lighting up your soul from within.

Changbin had come into your life like a whirlwind that calmed your soul. One moment he was a stranger giving you a kind smile when you dropped your books on the floor of the library staircase and the next he was a friend holding your hand through a tough evening. And now he is yours, in every waking and sleeping moment.

You watch as he breathes peacefully in his sleep, his chest rising and falling calmly. You trace mindless patterns on his arm that lay across your midriff. He stirs in his sleep and holds you tighter.

A year ago you would've absolutely despised the ides of going to sleep with someone because you're hyper independent brain could never fathom the idea of letting yourself be this vulnerable and close to someone. Your bed had been your refuge for a decade, no matter how incorrigible life became you could always come back to your bed and breathe peacefully in the comfort of the dark and let the acidic feelings out into the ever-absorbant pillows.

As you stare into the peaceful sleeping face of Changbin you realise that you haven't struggled to breathe in a while now. You could breathe freely around him, even on days when the whole world was weighing down on you. And especially on the days you got exhausted of him and yourself... you could still breathe freely and express yourself around him.

It all seemed like magic. Yet it felt like the most normal order of things. For this exuberant, softie of a boy to come into your life and turn it around the way the leaves turned orange all around you. During the summer you had taken all measures to spend the winter in your own comfortable company- even buying extra heating to stay warm as the snow falls. And yet, months later, you can see the snow fall out the window and warmth spreads around you from Changbin's soft breaths.

Changbin made it seem like loving you was the easiest thing in his life and for once you had someone to lean on without feeling inferior.

He was everything you didn't know you needed. He matched your loudness, played along with your childishness, and held you softly like a rare flower blooming only under his touch. Changbin showed his love loudly, proudly and ardently but understood that you express it in the little things. Sure the understanding hadn't come in a day, it had taken work.

You still remember the hurt on his face as he watched you ruin yourself because it felt impossible for you to let yourself be loved or taken care of. You remember the tears that rolled down your eyes on a chilly fall night as the both of you let your frustration at work get into your relationship.

It is that very pain, those salty tears and nights of apologies and condolences that made this very moment rewarding. Without the bad times, you would never know how valuable having Changbin by your side is.

"Slee-eep... babbyyyy..."

Your very erratic train of thought has been interrupted by a low grumble from your boyfriend. You titled your head away from the window on the other side to face him. His eyes were closed but you knew he was awake by the way he scrunched his nose and immediately snuggled into your neck when you turned to face him.

"Huh?" You mumbled back soft enough for him to hear but not wake up entirely.

Changbin's pretty eyes opened up slightly and he smiled softly at your face before leaning in and leaving a soft peck on your forehead (that never got old) before pulling back to see you.

"It's too early for your brain to be whirring." His morning voice was deep and his face was soft like a baby. This man was a living juxtaposition most of the time, but that's what made him special.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" You ask tracing your fingers along his cheeks and nose.

"The noise from your brain running woke me." He said and nuzzled right back into your neck making you snuggle closer into his embrace.

"Sorry..." was all you could say before he gave a light peck on your lips and pulled you into a tight embrace against his chest.

"No need. just rest."

You couldn't really argue when you were smack dab against his very built chest and soft belly. It felt the closest to a home and the storm in your gut settled down. You could feel Changbin's palms caressing your back and his lips pressed lightly on your head as he drifted back to sleep. His steady breath formed a nice rhythm that made your brain relax and your eyes close.

Falling asleep in the arms of a man who patched your broken pieces with love that flowed and ebbed from every part of him as the snow fell down the cold streets like diamonds from the sky was all you could've asked for. You felt lighter in years as you drifted to sleep. A small smile formed on your lips, when you realised that Changbin's lips left a smile against your head as he slept.

[slytherinshua]

(IM)PERFECT WEDDINGS

genre. fluff. a little hurt/comfort. warnings. a lot of crying and distress. yul is there to comfort <3. a little talk about having children. pairing. fiance!yul x fem!reader. wc. 2k. request. no. a/n. i wrote this specifically for @candewlsy <3 mizu ik you've been having a bit of a hard time recently but i hope this cheers you up a bit!! yn may or may not be inspired by you 👁️

Yul knew something was wrong with you the second you refused his request to meet up 5 days ago. It was times like these that he wished he could speed up the preparations for your marriage and just be able to see you at any time he wished as your husband. But for another 4 months, he would still be confined to the frustrating but precious title of fiancé.

Due to his studying and teaching at Jeongjingak, he hadn’t seen you in longer than he would have liked. It was bordering on almost 2 weeks and Yul was rarely the clingy of you two. If he was feeling the effects of missing you so greatly that it was hard to even focus on his work, he wondered how much worse it was for you.

You had as busy a schedule as him, mostly because of your decision to take on all the preparations for your weddings single-handedly. He knew you wanted it to be as perfect as possible. You had been dreaming of this day since you were little. Now that you had found the perfect man, you needed to plan the perfect ceremony as well. From the flowers, location, food, ceremony, afterparty, and even attire, you were responsible for planning it all. 

Yul had always admired how big a dreamer you were. You had fantasies and aspirations and always worked incredibly hard to complete them. And while he was hard-working and book smart, logistical and artistic planning had never been his strong suit. He was lacking in many ways, and watching you work reminded him of it every day.

Or he would have been able to watch you, if you hadn’t been seemingly avoiding his presence for over twelve days now. It was a perfectly sunny afternoon and Yul had finished all his work early. There was absolutely no excuse for him to not come to see you— even the weather was encouraging him to pay you a visit. He knew you were probably cooped up in your room, writing a million letters to all the vendors and designers you had hired for the wedding. It would benefit you greatly to get outside.

The sounds of shouting and subsequent rushing of footsteps was definitely not what Yul had anticipated hearing as he walked up to your home. One of the maids seemed to rush out of the house in a panic, her eyes widening and her face growing hot out of embarrassment once her eyes landed on Seo Yul.

“Master Seo! Oh, goodness, you should not be here right now— If Miss. L/n finds out she’ll only panic more—”

“Why is she panicking?” Yul interrupted the maid’s hurried jumble of words, concern growing every second he didn’t know what was going on. He had only been gone from you for twelve days; what possibly could have happened in that time? Before he even got an answer from the maid, he was already making his way towards the front door, unable to wait a second longer to figure out what was wrong.

“M-master Seo, please!” The poor maid scurried along after him, warning him to not go into the house. Yul seemed to be conveniently deaf to her pleading. As soon as he stepped in, he realized why he might not have been wanted at this particular moment.

Dozens of fabrics were… well, everywhere. On every surface, scattered on the floor, and even some stuck hanging from the walls. Yul’s concern grew, as well as his utter confusion and astonishment at how the house could have gotten this messy.

He followed the sounds of distress until he reached the doorway to your room— exactly what he expected. A harsh shout for everyone to get out sounded, and the silence that followed was almost deafening. Yul waited just outside in almost frozen shock, registering that the shout must have come from your mouth. Never in his life had he heard you shout. You barely ever got angry. A row of servants quickly filed out of the room, each bowing their head in shame.

Yul breathed out heavily, considering whether it would be wise for him to just leave now and not bother you. The last thing he wanted was for him to make you more upset, especially if you felt like you needed to be alone. But he couldn’t bear to leave when he could just make out your broken sobs and sniffles from the closed door. It was the most heartbreaking sound he had ever heard.

He slowly slid the door open a little to peek inside the room, being as quiet as possible in order to not startle you. The room was as messy as the rest of the house— extravagant fabrics strewn all over the floor and tables. You were sitting in the middle of the room, hunched over yourself. Yul noticed that you were dressed in a particularly elegant white hanbok dress that draped over your figure perfectly.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” He spoke as softly as he possibly could, making sure he didn’t make the situation worse. He wanted to help lessen your tears, not create more. His soft approach seemed to have the opposite effect that he wanted, though. As soon as you heard him, you startled and turned around quickly. Upon laying eyes on him, your sobs only got worse and you immediately hid your face. Yul’s heart sank.

“Love? Tell me what happened.” He coaxed, kneeling down next to you, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder. He could feel how tense you were, but also how you softened ever so slightly once you felt his touch. He felt relieved that he didn’t seem entirely unwelcome. “Can I help at all?” 

“No! It’s— it’s all ruined, Yul! W-we should have never tried in the first place!” You cried, heartbroken, and Yul frowned again. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping his strong arms around you in a safe embrace. It was clear that he wouldn’t get an answer to what started this mess until you had calmed down a bit. He stroked your back and softly shushed your sobs, waiting patiently for your crying to subside a little. When it finally did and your face was dryer, he pulled away from the hug slightly and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong now, love?”

You nodded, eyes focusing on a certain spot on the floor as you started explaining in a mumble, “It’s stupid, but… Since I can’t make my own dress, I wanted to get it from this particular dressmaker. But with our wedding in 4 months, they won’t have it ready in time.” You looked up at him again to gauge his reaction, your eyes watering again as you tried to go on. 

“I tried the other dresses, but they’re just not the same. I just wanted to look pretty for you, and now— now it’s impossible.” Your face crumbled again as you gripped the current dress you were wearing, looking like you wanted to shred it to pieces.

“What do you mean it’s impossible? You always look pretty to me.” Yul said simply, cupping your face in his hands and brushing away some of the new tears that had escaped. He offered you a soft smile, something that would help reassure you that everything was okay.

“I get that this… dress is important to you. You want to wear it more than anything, right?” He asked quietly. Knowing you and how long you had looked forward to getting married, he knew you had probably planned your dream wedding since you were little. It seemed as if you had had your eyes on this particular dress for years now.

You nodded, “If I had more time, I could order the fabrics myself and sew it… But I can’t. This dressmaker has the best fabrics. You know I know everything about fabric— it’s really important for the design. It just won’t work with anything else.” You sighed, seemingly more relaxed about the situation now, but still disheartened.

“Did you design the dress yourself?” Yul questioned. You had always been interested in textiles, and picked it up as your main hobby for most of your life. Most of your wardrobe was made up of your own designs, and you had even designed some pieces for him. Each design was so detailed and stunning; Yul thought you were better than any other designer he had seen.

“Yes. Songrim doesn’t have good seamstresses, Yul. They’ll mess it up, I know they will. This was supposed to be a mockup, but it’s completely different from my original design.” You gestured to the dress you were wearing right now. Yul looked at it again, trying to figure out what you thought was so wrong with it. It looked beautiful to his eyes, but he knew next to nothing about garments.

“We could always… postpone the wedding?” He offered, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He had already waited so long for this that waiting even longer seemed like torture. But he knew you cared more about the wedding than he did, and he would do anything if it made you happy. 

“But… You wanted to get married before Spring.” You reminded him, heart sinking at the thought of postponing the wedding. It was even worse than not being able to wear your dress. It was clear that you would have to sacrifice one or the other.

“I’ll just pick a different design.” You whispered. “Mine was too complicated to complete in 3 months anyway…” 

“Are you sure?” Yul’s worry reached his voice, and though you didn’t feel quite sure about the decision now, you knew it would all turn out good enough. It didn’t need to be absolutely perfect, sometimes good enough was something you had to accept.

“I’ll save the design. Our daughter can wear it at her own wedding. I’ll make it for her myself.” You spoke, your smile growing as you thought of the idea.

Yul raised an eyebrow, “Our daughter?”

You glanced back at him, “I know you want one.”

He nodded, his face growing a little flushed, “I-I do, but we’ve… never… talked about it before.”

You laughed, “Well, we just did.” You kissed his lips before any more flustered words could come out of them. Despite the disaster that Yul had found you in, and the fact that the situation was still partially unresolved, the kiss made everything feel okay again. You sighed in content at being able to feel his soft lips against yours. Twelve days had really been far too long.

Your hands found their way into his soft brown hair, threading it through your fingers as the kiss went on. His hand cupped your jaw and his thumb stroked your cheek gently as you finally let all the stress of the afternoon panic leave your body. You giggled when you broke apart, your eyes shining with pure love as you looked at your betrothed. His hair had gotten messy from your fingers and his face was flushed as it always was after a long kiss. But he looked so content and at peace, and you savoured knowing that you brought Yul some rare serenity that he had seldom had the luxury of experiencing in the past few years.

“I can’t wait to call you mine.” You confessed, basking in the silent eye contact that Yul gave you. His eyes seemed to hold a million different emotions, all of them professing his undying love for you.

“You know that I already am, love.” He whispered back, pressing his lips to your temple forehead one more time to complete the statement.

↳ k-drama taglist: @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @tempobaekh,, @candewlsy,, @cosmicwint,, @cyberpunksunwoo

[lgihtspeed]

SONG OF THE SUMMER — THE DEBUT EP

SONG OF THE SUMMER is the debut EP of fictional pop group LIGHTSPEED. It was released physically and digitally on JUNE 20, 2024 by C ENTERTAINMENT. The group promoted title track LEFT RIGHT for four weeks: two weeks on Korean music shows and two weeks on American television. Their American promotions were followed by live shows in a few of the cities the members are from, including Los Angeles, New York City, and Calgary.

The album covers were designed by ASH. The physical release comes in three versions: SUN, MOON, and STAR. 

They also released six member versions of CD-only jewel cases. Shortly after the album’s initial print, they released a limited-edition vinyl, all of which were signed by one or more members.

TRACKLIST

TRACK 001. LEFT RIGHT Written by Ash Jang, Constance Im, Ev Sharpe, LABYRYNTH Composed by LABYRYNTH Arranged by LABYRYNTH

TRACK 002. GOT IT LIKE THAT Written by Ash Jang, Seo Sejun, LABYRYNTH Composed by LABYRYNTH Arranged by LABYRYNTH

TRACK 003. HAMSTERBOY Written by Constance Im, RHYTHMAGIC Composed by RHYTHMAGIC Arranged by RHYTHMAGIC

TRACK 004. BUZZING MELODIES Written by Seo Sejun, Constance Im, Ash Jang Composed by RHYTHMAGIC Arranged by RHYTHMAGIC

With lyrics entirely in English, most of the songwriting is done by the group members rather than their Korean producers. CONSTANCE and ASH quickly emerged as the group's most prolific songwriters. Production was done by C Entertainment’s new in-house producer duo RHYTHMAGIC and by elusive producer LABYRYNTH, best known for his work with Lightspeed’s label mate, SEJUN. To fans’ surprise, Sejun also made a few appearances as a lyricist, keeping with his tendencies to write songs for everyone except himself.

STATS

13:01 — TOTAL RUNTIME

20M — MV VIEWS IN 24 HOURS

90 — BILLBOARD HOT 100 PEAK

8 — THEMED DANCE PRACTICES

LOOK BOOK

The era’s styling was entirely in shades of black and white and gray. The outfits were inspired by TECHWEAR—coincidentally one of the many themed dance practices—as well as the CYBERCORE and Y2K FUTURISM aesthetics.

HIGHLIGHTS

They were clowned to hell and back for the album title. They also made a disgusting number of “Did I just write the song of the summer?” TikToks, which did not help their case. The only one that went viral was the one of Ev deadpanning the script alongside his signature stiff peace sign ending fairy pose.

The music was well-received and that made the title slightly less egregious. Then Tyler and Mia went on the record and said they didn’t like it and everyone went back to clowning it.

The division between the people with more media training (Violet and Mia) and the people with less media training (everyone else) became obvious very early on.

There were three not-quite-but-almost-there PR disasters. The first happened not long after their debut: Tyler finally deactivated his controversial Twitter account. He probably should have stopped tweeting after he passed the first IGNITE! audition but he didn’t. The fan response was split between those who supported this decision, because idols shouldn’t be tweeting shit about their peers, and those who thought maybe it’s time an idol got to talk his shit. Three days after his account was deactivated, it was reactivated again, causing, in the nicest way possible, a shitstorm on Luminosity Twitter. C Entertainment finally did a bit of damage control by releasing a statement saying that multiple people had access to the account, which no one believed.

The second one occurred during a DIY karaoke livestream where Constance was taking song suggestions from the audience and someone asked for a boy group song. She singled out the commenter, and took a leaf out of Violet’s book by responding she “couldn’t care less about boy groups” and anyway, the people in her stream should just “listen to Lightspeed instead of men.” Never mind that there are men in Lightspeed. 

The third and final close call happened in an off-handed comment Ash made. While they were discussing their favorite and least favorite moments from IGNITE!, he remarked about how poor of a representation their profile pictures were. Having recently re-edited and posted his pictures to Instagram, he had to keep going and mention that ever since he graduated from college, he doesn’t have access to legal Adobe products. Everyone else sat in silence after he revealed that until Violet forced the conversation to move along.

They filmed a dorm tour that went viral because their dorm is a house. With six bedrooms and two kitchens and a second floor. In Seoul.

Between the two centers, Mia was clearly the favored one. She was the center of every chorus and the center of every OT6 photo and styled slightly differently from the rest of the group. 

Ev’s songwriting credit on “Left Right” came from a competition the group members minus Ash and Constance held to write the second verse of the song. To almost everyone’s surprise, Ev won. He was the only person unsurprised, revealing that his university major prior to IGNITE! was English Literature.

The “Left Right” line distribution was surprisingly bad. Constance, Mia, and Tyler sang most of the song, and the rest of them were left with crumbs. #LetEvSing trended on Twitter after their album release, especially because he wrote part of the song.

SHIP RANKINGS

ASH X TYLER (ASHLER) — One of the most popular ships from IGNITE! for their past friendship. Every single publicly available pre-IGNITE! interaction—all five of them—are also subject to intense scrutinization. Haters will say they can't possibly be dating because they dap each other up too much.

MIA X TYLER (MYLER) — The two centers! They were paired together for everything. Their shared dance break in a “Left Right” special performance had a ridiculous amount of chemistry, and then they covered Trouble Maker’s “Trouble Maker.” Absolutely no moving on from that.

CONSTANCE X MIA (CONIA) — According to their shippers, Constance doesn’t look at the Mia in the same way she looks at everyone else. The evidence is in clips of the two of them making eye contact slowed down to 0.5x speed. Also, they were roommates for the entire last half of IGNITE! (Oh my god, they were roommates.)

ASH X CONSTANCE (ASHSTANCE) — They wrote almost every song together, but more importantly, in vlogs showing off the time they spent in New York, the two of them sat next to each other in every restaurant they ate at. Their alternate ship name is Cash.

TYLER X VIOLET (TYLET) — Similar to the above pairing, Tyler acts in a noticeably different way with Violet than everyone else. He’s usually easygoing and quick to laugh with everyone else—especially Mia—but he froze up in all of the one solo conversation he had on camera with Violet. Which is clearly enough to make a ship.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

Or the sixteenth installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel Series.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, ot8, SKZ drabble, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, poly!skz, omegaverse, pack!prequel, skz!pack prequel, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, lee felix, hwang hyunjin, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, skz x you, skz x reader, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios

Genre: Fluff, Non-explicit Smut

Warnings: Mentions of Unprotected Sex, as a treat (Wrap it before you Tap it, kids)

Title: Bet on You

“And you have no idea what he has planned.” 

You shake your head and huff out a sigh, studying the patterns on the dorm’s old popcorn ceilings. 

“No idea. And I hate surprises.” 

“We know.” Hyunjin remarks wryly from his spot beside Felix on the couch, chin on the other omega’s shoulder. 

You raise your head just enough to shoot him a glare and then let it flop back down to the floor once more with a groan. 

“God, I never should have agreed to this.” 

“What, going on a date?” Seungmin asks plainly, not bothering to look up from his book, as he flips to a new page. “I think it’ll be good for you.” 

“You would say that.” You retort sharply and then with a pointed glower in the beta’s direction, “Traitor.” 

“Maybe he won’t even show.” Jisung pipes up distractedly, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he tries to beat a level on whatever game he’s currently playing, eyes trained on the switch in his hands. 

“Why do you say that?” Felix asks curiously, playing with Hyunjin’s fingers in his lap. 

“Dammit.” Jisung mutters under his breath, before letting the handheld game fall onto his lap, his eyes focusing on you as he raises his head slightly from its position atop your shins. 

He looks suddenly sheepish. 

“Um, well, I might have scared him off. Because I maybe asked him if he’d fuck me in the studio sometime? It’s been like a lifelong fantasy of mine, you know?” 

Changbin chokes on his water, coughing violently, and Minho thwacks him none too gently on the back in response. 

Hyunjin is cackling. 

Changbin gets enough of his breath back to gasp out incredulously, eyes bugging out of his head, “Why wouldn’t you ask me that?!” 

Jisung shrugs, already focused back on the new level of his game. 

“I didn’t know you’d be into it.” He glances up now, smirk on his lips, as he stares at the astounded alpha. “Would you fuck me in the studio, hyung?” 

Changbin splutters. 

“Yeah, of course I would, if you had asked!” 

“Oh. Hm.” 

“Oh god.” You groan and cover your face with your hands. “This date is going to be a disaster.” 

“Take heart, noona.” Hyunjin reaches down to pat your head in a patronizingly sweet manner, and you swat blindly at his hands. You can hear the grin in his voice. “Jisung did you a favor.” 

“Yeah!” Jisung pumps a fist and starts upward, voice triumphant, until he glances up in confusion and sinks back down to his spot against your legs. “Wait. What did I do?” 

Hyunjin grins like the cat who’s just had the canary. 

“ Now nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to appear more daunting for Chan-hyung than meeting Han Jisung.” 

********

“I really, really don’t like surprises.” You repeat dolefully for what feels like the fifth time in as many minutes, and Chan shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperation, equal parts fond amusement. 

The latter has your heart doing a weird little skip in your chest. 

“So you’ve said. But I swear to God-” He avoids a puddle in the middle of the sidewalk, and comes back to your side with a slight grimace and a look upward at the dripping trees overhead. “-it’s nothing crazy.” 

“Damn.” You reply sarcastically, tone teasing, as you watch your footing, careful not to step in the mud that lines the path. “And here I was hoping that you’d rented me a yacht and a Michelin starred chef for the evening.” 

Chan chuckles, and you hide your grin behind your teeth. 

“I mean-” He holds his hands out and gives you a sidelong glance. “-I’ve been told I can cook a mean pot of ramen.” 

“Oh yeah?” You snort and eye him disbelievingly. “Who told you that? Changbin?” 

Chan hesitates as you both step around another pool of rainwater. “Maybe.” 

You scoff. “Please. Seo Changbin will eat anything. That man would eat my cooking and rave about it for a week, and that’s saying something.” 

Chan laughs again, and you try to ignore the fact that you really like hearing it-his laugh. It’s nice. 

He cocks his head and gives you the start of a smile, biting on his bottom lip as his dimples start to hollow out his cheeks. 

“What, it’s that bad?” 

You snort beneath your breath again and this time, you let yourself grin, even as you roll your eyes. 

“Well, it’s not good, that’s for sure.” 

Chan huffs a laugh beneath his breath and digs his hands into the pockets of his coat as you round the corner and stop abruptly at the back of one of the buildings downtown.

You’re not sure which building it is, not from the back, but you squint suspiciously at the door before you, the door which Chan currently has his hand on, the door clearly labeled No Public Access. 

The other alpha glances over his shoulder at you, and upon seeing your expression, chuckles, his hand already turning the knob. 

“I promise, I’m not gonna kidnap or murder you. Swear to God.” 

You stay rooted to the spot, staring him down, eyes still narrowed. 

“I’m not worried about that. I could absolutely crush you in hand to hand combat, Christopher Bang. Felix has been teaching me taekwondo.” 

His eyes go wide for a moment, and then he laughs, a genuine, throaty chuckle, and starts to pull open the door. 

“Good to know.” 

He throws another mischievous glance back at you, before ducking through the door, and you realize, with a deep sigh, that you have no other option but to follow him. 

With slight caution, wolf on high alert, you step through the door. 

Chan is waiting on the other side, and he watches with a growing smile on his face as your jaw drops and your eyes widen. 

“Oh my god.” “Surprise?” He offers hesitantly, still watching you carefully.

You step forward, still staring, open mouthed, at the behind the scenes of the biggest traveling science exhibit that has ever graced downtown Seoul. 

Chan cocks his head beside you, grinning full force now. “Seungmin said you really wanted to go.” 

You glance back at him in disbelief. “Yeah, and he also said that tickets sold out instantly. How did you-?” 

Chan shrugs, grin only widening, and gives you a mischievous wink. “I happen to have an inside man.” 

Your gaze lifts once more to the towering displays, the hundreds of people walking by on the opposite side of the glass cases, and you feel your heart do a weird little thing in your chest. 

You force your gaze to remain impassive as you turn back to the other alpha once more. 

“You don’t like science.” 

He shrugs again, looking serious now, his eyes holding yours. “Yeah, but you do.” His lips lift once more into a cheeky grin, dimples appearing. “And I like you, so.” 

You scoff, hoping to god he hasn’t seen the light pink starting to dust your cheeks, and glance down at where your sneakers scuff the floor in an effort to avoid his gaze. 

“Disgusting.” 

Chan chuckles, and his hand finds the small of your back. His palm is warm, even through the thick material of your coat. 

“Oh, speaking of man on the inside-” 

You raise your gaze curiously at his words, and see someone headed directly toward you, purpose in their step, and there’s two things you notice immediately about Chan’s ‘inside man.’ 

Number one-she’s not a man, not in the slightest. 

And two, her candied peony scent wafting toward you tells you only one thing-omega. 

Your wolf growls protectively, and you swallow, trying to keep your own scent stable. 

The woman reaches the two of you, and eyes crinkling into a large smile, stops just short of touching Chan, her heels coming to a sharp staccato on the tile beneath your feet. 

“I’m so glad you made it!” 

Chan, however, doesn’t hesitate, sweeping her into a hug that has them both laughing as he exclaims, “Lisa! Super great to see you, mate!” 

Your wolf snarls-mine-and you immediately force the thought deep down inside, because it’s bullshit, all of it. 

Chan isn’t yours-you’re not even sure if you like the guy-and he’s definitely not pack, so why is your entire body quivering with withheld jealousy at this moment? 

You note the sour tone to your scent, and force a deep breath and a smile as Chan finally releases the omega and she turns to you. 

Chan grins. “(Y/N), this is Lisa. She’s the one who managed to get us in.” He glances at the shorter woman proudly, then, “She’s one of Seoul’s top emerging event planners.” 

Lisa giggles and swats his arm. “Stop. Don’t tell her things like that, Channie.” 

The nickname has bile rising in the back of your throat, and you try to ignore the way Lisa tucks her long blonde hair prettily behind her ear as she steps toward you and holds out her hand. 

You take it, noting the way her perfectly manicured red nails are in stark contrast to your own, currently sporting chipped teal nail polish haphazardly applied by Jisung. 

“It’s so nice to meet you. Chan doesn’t shut up about you.” She gives you a little conspiratorial smile and wink as she shakes your hand gently. 

“Oh?” You glance past her to Chan with a raised eyebrow, and he’s dutifully avoiding your gaze now. “That’s good to hear. I’m flattered, Channie.” 

He glances up at the sharp use of the nickname, but you’re already looking away. 

“Well.” Lisa steps back, releasing you, and your whole body gives a sigh of relief as the smell of peonies starts to fade. “I’ve got things to do. But it was really nice to meet you, (Y/N)-” She gives you a little nod and smile, and gives Chan one more quick hug before stepping away, pointing a menacing finger in his direction. “-Keep in touch better, Channie. Your eomma is worried.” Chan rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly and huffs a laugh. “I’ll call her this week.” 

Lisa nods. “Good.” She waves to you both. “Enjoy the exhibit, you two!” 

She disappears into the crowds. 

You watch her go, trying to calm your bristling nerves and annoyed wolf, and Chan steps up beside you. “Ready?” 

You drag your eyes away from where Lisa disappeared, and can’t help but be petty, just for a moment. 

“She’s pretty.” 

Chan is quiet for a moment, and then he drops a hand on your shoulder, leaning in to murmur in your ear with slight amusement, “You don’t need to be jealous, you know.” 

You scoff and shrug out from under his hold, determined not to look at him. 

“I’m not jealous, Christopher, I’m bisexual.” 

One of those things is the truth, so it’s only half a lie. 

Without another glance back, you stomp toward the line for the science exhibit.

Chan chuckles beneath his breath and follows you without another word. 

*******

You’re watching Chan cook beef-raw, red, rare, just how you both like it-on the small barbecue grill at the restaurant later, and you don’t know if it’s the soju or the atmosphere or the leftover glow from the exhibit, but everything feels soft, nice, in place. 

Maybe it’s because he’s your moonmate, your wolf whispers, and you bury the thought deep beneath the surface before you can dwell on it, knocking back another shot of soju. 

“You should drink some water.” Chan hums beneath his breath, as he flips another piece of meat, and you roll your eyes. 

“No.” 

“Yeah.” He motions with his chopsticks to your water glass with a raised brow. “It’s good for you.” You hold his gaze defiantly, and reach for the glass without looking, draining the water before setting it back down on the table. 

“Happy?” You ask in an overly sweet tone, batting your eyelashes at him for good effect. 

Chan laughs and shakes his head, going back to tending the meat. 

“Yeah, happy.” He flips the meat once more, lips still pulled into an amused smile at your antics, and settles back into his chair, watching it carefully as it continues to sizzle. 

He catches you off guard when he says, “You know, I know you think you’re being all bristly and standoffish when you’re like this, but it can’t be helped.” He glances up at you through the shag of his curls and grins, and you try to ignore the flash of his dimples. “I find it incredibly cute when you’re trying to put up a defiant front.” 

You stare at him and then groan, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh god. You’re one of those.” 

Chan stares at you in open confusion. “One of those?” He questions back, looking entirely lost now. 

“Yeah.” You nod and prop your chin in your hand, staring him down, as he pulls pieces of meat off the grill and places them on your plates. “A brat tamer.” 

His chopsticks pause in mid air. “What?” 

You pop a piece of beef into your mouth and chew, before you say, pointing at him with your chopsticks now, “Yeah. Someone who likes when their partners defy them, or rile them up on purpose. Minho’s one too.” 

Chan is staring at you. “Oh, really?” 

You can tell. He’s just had some sort of epiphany. 

You eat another piece of meat and chew while nodding emphatically. “One hundred percent. See-” You wave your chopsticks around again, as Chan moves to turn off the grill, popping his own piece of beef into his mouth. “-You and Minho. Makes sense. Changbin, he’s like, half that way? But only with certain partners. Usually Hyunjin, cause that one is a capital B Brat. With me-” You take a sip of your water thoughtfully. “-Changbin usually switches. He’s big into bottoming sometimes.” 

Chan chokes on his own sip of water. 

You wait for his coughing to die down, and then he says hoarsely, “That–feels illegal to know.” 

You shrug and eat another bite of food. “I mean. If you wanna be part of the pack, you need to know all that shit, right?” 

You eat another bite, dutifully avoiding his gaze, even though you can feel it boring into your head, and try to ignore the way the atmosphere has gotten suddenly serious. 

Finally, Chan clears his throat and asks quietly, “You–want me to join the pack?” 

You shrug and continue to avoid looking across the table, moving your food around your plate aimlessly now, just for something to do. 

“I mean. Jury’s still out. And it’s not just up to me. But-” You glance up now, and you have to stop yourself from letting your gaze fall to his mouth, the plush skin of his bottom lip sucked between his teeth in an anxious gesture. “-I don’t think I’m opposed anymore.” 

Chan sucks in a sharp breath, you see it in the rise and fall of his chest, and then he grins so brightly that you’re almost blinded. 

You clear your throat and take another long drink of water, just so he doesn’t see the blush creeping up your neck. 

“I-” He sets down his chopsticks and folds his hands in his lap. “-I’m really happy to hear that actually.” 

“Don’t go getting a big head.” You warn teasingly, though you still can’t quite meet his gaze. “Like I said, it’s not just up to me, and Minho’s a hard sell.” 

Chan’s grin widens. 

“I wouldn’t worry about Minho. Now that I know we have so many similar qualities, I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

******

“Well, this is me.” You offer awkwardly, trying to be cheesy because you know Chan just lives a floor up from you, but falling flat, as you both stand in front of your door after dinner. 

Chan laughs anyway, because he’s a good sport, and you appreciate the gesture. You’ll never admit it to him, but when he laughs and his dimples appear, it makes you go all warm and fuzzy inside, your thoughts turning to mush. 

Damn soju. 

You’re both hesitating for some unknown reason now, and Chan looks like he wants to say something, but can’t quite brave it, and you decide to hell with it, you’ll do it, because what’s the worst that could happen? 

“Do you wanna come in?” You blurt out, no hesitation, voice confident, and Chan looks entirely off guard. “And yes, that’s entirely a line. It’s definitely an invitation. Just so we’re clear.” 

He’s still staring at you blankly, and the smirk curving your lips fades in the face of his silence, and suddenly, you’re floundering.

You backpedal a bit, hand sneaking behind you to the doorknob. “I mean, only if you want to, of course. You don’t have to if you don’t want to-” 

Chan kisses you before you can make an even bigger fool of yourself. 

This kiss is entirely different from the first time, when you kissed in the hallway outside Felix’s room, on the brink of something unknown and an omega’s heat. 

That kiss was sweet and soft and gentle and a bit timid, languid, testing unsure boundaries. 

No, this kiss is nothing like that. This kiss is impatient and hurried, frantic, teeth bumping and tongues tangling almost instantly, licking into each other’s mouths as Chan cages you back against the door, angling your chin expertly with one big hand. 

There’s a break for breath, and you find words still tumbling from your lips. 

“We never got to talk about it, after Felix and everything, and we said we’d do it later and I just thought-” “(Y/N).” Chan’s low, commanding use of your name has you shutting up, meeting his gaze, his irises swirling golden and caramel, his lips pulled into the start of an amused smirk. 

He lets his thumb trace over the outline of your bottom lip, slow and sensual, and you have to stop the visceral reaction of a shiver that threatens to run up your spine. 

“Stop talking.” 

You swallow, and freeze beneath his hand, his fingers now tracing down your throat.

“Right. Sorry.” 

His smirk flickers, and then he’s leaning in once more, slotting his mouth over yours, picking up where you left off. 

Chan tastes like soju and vanilla chapstick and how the forest floor smells after rain, and you know that doesn’t make sense, but somehow it does and-

The warmth of his fingers curl around the jut of your hip bone beneath your sweater, and suddenly, cognitive function ceases to exist, what is a thought? You wouldn’t know. 

He slots a thigh between your legs, and makes a content noise in the back of his throat when you gasp in response-something between a hum and a growl-and dammit, if it doesn’t instantly make you wet. 

His fingers graze your scent gland and-

Fuck.

You’re stumbling backward into your apartment before either of you know what you’re doing, tangled up in each other, blindly navigating the hallway, your fingers tangled in his curls, his palm on the small of your back to keep you from falling. 

When your back hits the bed, you break contact for another brief moment, and you stare at each other for a long second, and you don’t know what Chan’s thinking, but you’re admiring the way he looks like this-all kiss bitten and rumpled from your fingers, hovering above you, knees on either side of your hips, staring down at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

He seems to snap out of his daze after a moment and glances around your small room. 

“Fuck. I didn’t-” He glances back to you helplessly, and you understand what he’s getting at. 

“It’s fine.” You motion to your arm with a raised brow. “Birth control. You can hit it raw, pretty boy, with no consequences. Consider me every man’s wet dream.” 

Chan stares at you for another long moment, and you think he’s gonna make a comment somewhere along the lines of ‘but what if-’ or ‘we should be safe, just in case-” because you don’t know much, but you’ve gathered that Christopher Bang is a bit of an overthinker, even in the short time you’ve known him. 

But instead, he simply leans back in, and putting his lips close to your ear, murmurs, “Would you like that? Tell me, would you like me to breed you, (Y/N)?” 

All the air leaves your lungs, and when he meets your eyes once more, you see it, see the alpha, the gold swirling, mesmerizing, in the depths of his dark gaze. 

Everything inside of you wants. 

“I-” You start to say, because you can’t think of the words, can’t even form a cognitive thought after what he’s just asked, even though inside, your wolf is practically clawing in impatience, begging for you to say yes. 

Yes, alpha, I’d like that. God, I want that, more than anything. 

He’s still staring at you, eyes like minted coins, and he cocks his head, raising a brow in an entirely too attractive way for your own good. 

“Hm?” He hums beneath his breath, reaching up to trace a finger over your mouth, finger coming back slick with spit. “Use your words, baby. Tell alpha what you want.” 

You swallow, and gain back some of your senses. 

“I think you want me to beg you to fuck me, alpha.” You reply instead, heart hammering in your ears, trying to keep your expression neutral as you stare up at him, your wolf making it hard, as it already bares its throat. 

Chan smirks, predatory and dangerous. 

“Is that what I want?” 

You shrug casually, trying to put on an air of indifference. 

“Sure sounds like it.” Chan, for what it’s worth, looks thoughtful, before he once again leans into your space suddenly, his fingers looping around your wrists as he pins you down, eyes sparking. 

“Interesting. Because I think-” He muses beneath his breath, voice almost a growl in the back of his throat, and you have to stop your body from quivering beneath his in a physical reaction to his tone. “-it sounds like I’m asking you to tell me how badly you’d like for me to finish inside of you.” “Oh my god.” You exclaim, staring at him in shock now, as he drops the facade and instantly looks worried, like he’s hurt you somehow, or done something wrong. “This is a kink for you, isn’t it?” 

You see his shoulders slump in relief, and he suddenly looks like he’s reflecting. 

“I dunno. Is it? Maybe. I’ve never really thought about it.” 

“It’s definitely a kink.” You laugh at his open surprise, reaching up to stick a finger into the outline of one of his dimples. “But we can talk about that later. Right now-” 

You let the grin drop from your face as you push yourself up on your elbows beneath him, and Chan looks curious, frozen, like he’s waiting for what you’re going to do next. 

You lean in close and let your lips brush his ear, teeth grazing his pulse point as you talk. You don’t miss the way he shivers. 

“Right now, alpha, I’d really like for you to fill me up.” 

******

“Breeding kink.” You announce triumphantly, as you sit down at the table in Changbin’s kitchen, letting your backpack drop to the floor. 

“Oh god.” Chan groans out from between his fingers, already flushing pink. 

“Really.” Hyunjin whistles, glancing at Chan with a smirk, before he reaches into his pocket and flicks Changbin a dollar across the table. “Interesting.”

“I did not see that one coming.” Jisung looks thoughtful, and a little bit betrayed, as he too reaches into his pocket and slaps a dollar into Changbin’s outstretched hand. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Chan has gotten over his embarrassment enough to look appalled at what’s happening around him. “Did you guys bet on this?” 

“Of course we did.” Hyunjin snorts, stuffing a hot cheeto into his mouth, as he pulls out his phone gleefully. “I gotta call Felix. This is gold.” 

“And I won.” Changbin announces smugly, counting the dollars in his hand slowly, as if he’s a banker at a betting table in Vegas, collecting his hard earned winnings. 

Chan glances at you with helplessness in his gaze, and you shrug, leaning over to snag one of Hyunjin’s cheetos. 

“Sorry, dude. Welcome to the pack.” Jisung cackles suddenly from his spot beside the refrigerator. 

“God, Minho-hyung’s gonna be pissed when he finds out. He was really gunning for spit.” 

“Oh my god.” Chan groans again, and you grin at him wickedly, raising an eyebrow as you stuff another hot cheeto past your lips. 

“Like I said. Welcome to the pack, Christopher Bang. Enjoy your stay.”

************************************************************************

💗 Taglist: @hosh1kwonon @carolinexkpoppop @blithevix @sunabokuto @wildflower-at-heart @faericals @5sos-wdw @hyuneyeon @studyingthemind @illicee @maddmartian @binnie--baby @xwinchesterprincessx @ley-lani59 @lady---boner @rosegaming117 @meivida @sai-kida134 @cutecucumberkimberly @aroseharder @spideyweirdo @coureurs-de-bois9 @unfiltered-starlight @sixswaggy @shimmeringmoons22 @thatgirlangelb @beautifulcolorgarden @runningthroughlifestay @dearalice @patat-boi @stay-berryful @laylasbunbunny @misxing-you @sawadabegum @changbinsrightboob @maliamaiden @sunnibearr @bkirsted @jamlou512 @latinxmochii @goquokka @leeknowsw0rldd @yoongihan @simeonswhore @rubberduckieyourtheone @chanlovesme @janvibutbetter

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[talesofsorrowandofruin]

WIP Intro

Me? Planning a fourth book before starting the third one? It's more likely... Nope, it's exactly as likely as you'd think! Behold, the latest Yo-han mystery!

Title: Mine Eyes Dazzle

Genre: Murder mystery

Setting: Shanghai, 1905 (in an alternate history that has very little in common with the real place or time period)

Summary: An amateur theatre company performs The Duchess of Malfi. The director wins an award for it. The next day he's found dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Seo Yo-han must answer one important question: did he fall accidentally, as the inquest decided, or was he pushed, as the actors believe?

Status: In progress

Taglist: @lightgriffinsect, @akindofmagictoo, @oh-no-another-idea, @kittensartswriting, @joeys-piano,

@thescatteredscribbles, @the-inkwell-variable (Let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

Fun facts:

The title is a quote from The Duchess of Malfi: "Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young". I chose it specifically as a reference to Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie, which also uses this quote.

Yo-han is the only character from the other books

Despite what you might think, the plot of TDOM has very little to do with the mystery

None of the Case-files' settings bear much resemblance to real history, but it's especially blatant with this one

Aesthetically, the main inspiration is the series Miss S (2020). Which is set thirty years later. Oops.

Adding Moth's, Glass's and Deceit's taglists in case you're interested: @akindofmagictoo, @lightgriffinsect, @original-writing, @zeenimf, @oh-no-another-idea,

@verba-writing, @kittensartswriting, @sarahlizziewrites, @acertainmoshke, @author-a-holmes,

@sam-glade, @late-to-the-fandom, @cljordan-imperium

[studio-multi]

Half Baked #3

Title: MUSCLE MEMORY

Cast: Boxer!Jeon Jungkook x FWB!OC/Reader

Plot: JK is a boxer and OC/Reader is his FWB that he hooks up with when he has a match in the area. No animosity form either side, they both have busy lives and know dating isn't in the books for them right now.

Notes:

He calls OC/R up, let's them know that he's going to be in town for a match that he books that little modern gothic a-frame cabin (he's obsessed with) out in the woods to meet her at afterwards. That they "can have sex in every bed".

So once OC/R gets off her happy hour shift at the bar, OC/R heads over with takeout in tow (because JK is always hungry especially after a match and a couple of intimate rounds in the bedroom).

OC/Reader is eating their takeout and watching the match on the tv.

The opponent is Seo Changbin and when they touch mitts in the ring, Changbin leans in for a peck which JK reciprocates.

-cue the rice from the hibachi falling out of OC/R mouth-

JK gets in late and OC/R asleep in the bed, wakes OC/R up with cuddling. Sleepy (consented) sex and mutual head.

His stomach growls and she reheats his food for him, -insert cute angry eating faces on Jeon Jungguk-

Cute bath session in soaker tub, where JK gets all pouty when they talk about Changbin.

[kiestrokes]

Kiiiieeee can you do another collab with B and rank SKZ as "house husbands"?

Stray Kids Most to Least: House Husbands | SFW

Pairing: Stray Kids x Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: MTL, headcanon, imagine, slice of life. Warnings: maybe some cursing.

🗝️ Note: alright alright alright. lol the way that @chans-room wrote most of this from my tentative ranking, and I'm just giving them house husband titles. Teamwork makes the drift work bby 🤗

B is the 🦇

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

Lee Minho (the tyrant)

🦇: Lee Minho is the god tier house husband but if you ever tell him that he will never forgive you. He cleans, he cooks, he meal preps your lunches, he has meals frozen ready to be made when he’s gone, he texts you about making sure you drink water through the day. 9/10. Only point missing bc if you so much as consider giving his cats tap water he will know and hold it against you.

Bang Chan (the granola daddy)

🦇: Bang Chan is also a quality house husband, but he def works from home. But he is (usually) able to balance the cooking and cleaning and his own shit. He’s helping you on rough days and giving you all the love and care and attention you want. 8/10 only bc he rarely goes to sleep at a decent time, and also bc he’s attempted to get you to drink a protein monstrosity. You nearly died and banned him from using the blender.

Lee Felix (the muffin man)

🦇: Omg Felix he’d just be so cute and helpful (even tho sometimes he’s not helpful at all) and you’d come home daily to random baked goods. 7/10 for effort but man sometimes you wonder how one man can make such a mess. It’s a feat honestly.

Hwang Hyunjin (the trophy wife husband)

🦇: Hyunjin would have the whole trophy husband bit DOWN. If he’s staying home then you better earn him babey. He cleans for sure, but his cooking is either hit or miss. He looks so good doing it though you really don’t even care how shit he is at cooking. 6/10 because sometimes you come home to smoke pouring out the windows.

Seo Changbin (the muscle pig)

🦇: Changbin…sorry but no lmao he wants you to be his house spouse (lmao). He has those big boujee rich vibes where he’d want to provide for YOU and feel weird if he wasn’t doing anything. If you can convince him to work primarily from home while you go make money, it’s still not super working in your favor. He’s spending most of his time at the gym and his kitchen experience is using a damn blender. 5/10 but he gets points bc he absolutely will order some fancy ass dinner to be delivered to you every night if you’re expecting dinner lmao.

Yang Jeongin (the chaotic black cat)

🦇: Jeongin is also a No lmao. If you left him home all the time alone he’d respond like a fuckin gremlin cat sent loose to wreak havoc on your life. He’d be fine playing video games or whatever on his own for a while but then… he’s finding any trouble he can get into. You come home to a mess like every day and it would be exhausting. 3/10 bc he is very repentant and will try to soothe your ire with cuddles.

Kim Seungmin (the divorcee)

🦇: Seungmin is also just a no lol. He wouldn’t see the point of staying at home when he was perfectly capable of going out and doing things on his own. More often than not, you’d come home to an empty house, Seungmin nowhere in sight OR napping in bed with a book. He’s not built for that life. 2/10 bc he’d probably cook on occasion, and he’d def clean, but he will complain about both. Loudly. On end.

Han Jisung (sorry I'm the wife)

🦇: Han would be shit at it and would be more of a sugar baby than anything. He is bbg. He is not cleaning, cooking, or anything, I’m sorry to say. Love him to pieces but 0/10 sorry babes.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes & chans-room All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.