#chan x reader angst

[writingforstraykids]

More than friends - Chp.2

Pairing: Minho x Chan x fem!reader / Minchan x fem!reader

Word Count: 5052

Summary: Things with Chan don't work out as expected and he seems a little irritated by your sudden deep bond with Minho, feeling left out. When he doesn't feel well you're the one taking care of him...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, insomnia, chan has trouble breathing, emotional hurt!comfort, hurt!comfort, insecure/jealous!chan, soft!minho

A/N: For everyone wondering why this chapter isn't going as you thought...I'm currently working on chapter 4👀🤭~🌙

PART ONE | PART THREE

"You're not mad?" Minho asks and tilts his head at him. 

"We've talked about this, baby. I could tell you like her more than a friend, and she's so desperate for love she doesn't pick up on a damn signal," he rolls his eyes at you. "I knew one day I'd come home, and you'd tell me you met someone. It's even better knowing it's my best friend." 

Minho's face softens, and he visibly relaxes. "And you're okay with that?" 

Chan smiles at him fondly. "I am very okay with that." 

“Great…because there’s more,” Minho nods gently, and Chan frowns at him.

“More?” he asks puzzled.

Minho meets your eyes and nods encouragingly. "I…I know I've been a complete bitch yesterday," you start gently, making your way over to the table. 

"You were," Chan nods, still not quite forgiving you for treating Minho that shitty. 

"It's because I was jealous," you confess. 

"Jealous? You mean of me because I'm Minho's boyfriend?" he asks, frowning softly. 

"And jealous of me because I'm your boyfriend," Minho clarifies, and Chan's frown deepens. 

"I've been in love with you for years, Chan," you admit quietly. "I gave up on that, and then I met Minho and developed a crush on him."

"Oh." Chan breathes out, eyes widening. 

"And then you told her we're a couple." Minho nods. 

"Yeah," you nod and anxiously rub your arm, sitting down at the table with them. "Like, what's the chance the two guys I fell for become boyfriends instead?"

Minho giggles. "Mhm sounds frustrating." 

"It was," you nod and chew your lower lip, glancing at your hyung. "Chan I…I still have feelings for you too." 

Chan nods very gently and rubs the back of his neck, glancing from you to Minho and back. "I uhm…what's the plan here?" 

Minho steps in, placing his hand on Chan's resting on the table. "I told you I'm open to having more than one partner…she would be too. That doesn't mean you have to be, and I don't want you to feel pressured or anything," he says, and Chan searches his eyes observantly. You watch them anxiously, feeling like you're intruding even though this is about you just as much. 

"Phew, okay," Chan nods very slowly, looking at you shortly. He can tell you're desperate to hear his answer and wishes he could give you what you want to hear. Sighing, he closes his eyes for a moment before focusing on Minho again. His boyfriend's kind smile and understanding eyes give him a sense of safety in this new situation. "I…I don't think I'm ready for all this," Chan gently shakes his head, and your heart drops slightly. He sighs and turns to look at you. "I love you too, I have for years," he says, a gentle smile covering his face. "But…"

"Not like that," you nod, swallowing hard. 

"No, that's not it," Chan shakes his head and squints his eyes at you for a second. "I'm-I love you, actually, but…I'm not ready." 

"Okay," you whisper, swallowing down tears bravely. 

"It's not you; it's the job and what comes with it. I'm still not very used to Min and me hiding all the time," he says, looking back at him, his smile saddening a little. "I don't think I can handle having to hide two partners right now, it's…it's too much and…oh, darling, please don't cry," he ends with a whisper, as he looks back at you and sees a big tear falling down your cheek. "God, I'm so sorry," he says and gets up, stepping behind you and pulling you against his chest. He kisses your cheek softly and leans his head against you, meeting Minho's eyes. "I love you, okay?" 

"Love you too," you nod and gently pat his arms, which are wrapped around your chest. 

"I need some time to figure this out, okay?" Chan asks gently, and you nod again, swallowing hard. "This is all very new to me, starting with the fact that you have feelings for me too. I didn't think you did. Also, I'm…I never really thought about having multiple partners, dear." 

"It's fine," you promise, quickly wiping away another tear. 

Chan squeezes you tightly and gently rocks you in his arms. "I'll figure this out, I promise," he says, and you can do nothing but nod. "I love you so much, Y/N. Don't forget that while I do," he tells you and places a gentle kiss on your shoulder. 

Minho joins the two of you and cups your face, soothingly caressing your cheeks. "Maybe it's better this way for now," he says and gives you an encouraging smile. "After all, the two of us have enough to figure out on our own for now." 

"Yeah," you nod and exhale deeply. "I need a moment," you say and squeeze Chan's arms for him to let go of you. 

Chan stares after you, deep in thought, and almost reacts a little startled as Minho steps next to him, rubbing his shoulder. "Minnie baby?" he asks quietly. 

"Yes, love?" Minho asks patiently. 

"I didn't just fuck that up, right?" he asks anxiously. 

Minho shakes his head and steps in front of him. "Look at me," he says softly, and Chan's worried chocolate orbs meet his own calm ones. "I'm proud of you." 

"What?" he asks confused. 

"You made sure to set your boundaries even if it meant hurting her for now," he says, and Chan's eyes flicker away guiltily. "Hey," he gently grabs his chin and makes him look at him again. "It's important, and she knows you love her nevertheless."

"I didn't want to hurt her," he says and anxiously chews on his lower lip. "It's just…I don't even know right now if I still love her like that." 

Minho lovingly fondles his lip with his thumb, easing it out from between his teeth. "Remember this?" he says, gently taking Chan's hand and placing it on his chest right above his heart. Chan smiles softly and grabs Minho's hand, placing it on his chest. "Your feelings are valid. Your comfort matters. You have to listen to yourself first." 

Chan nods along, exhaling softly, and feels the pressure of keeping up an act until everyone else is happy falling off him. He can feel Minho's heart beating beneath the palm of his hand, Minho's hand spreading warmth on his chest. "Thank you," he whispers. 

Minho covers his hand with the other and rubs mindless patterns against his skin. "You feel that?" he asks, speaking of his heartbeat, and Chan nods. "As long as this is beating, I'll be right there reminding you of these things and loving you with every fiber of my body." 

Chan's face breaks into a sweet smile, dimples accentuating his face. "I love you too, Minnie." 

"I know you do," he smiles softly. "Which is why I'll respect you taking your time, and I promise I won't pressure you because I trust you." 

Chan smiles and presses their foreheads together. "I don't know what I'd do without you." 

"Stop that," he giggles and takes Chan's hand, that's still resting on his chest. He brings it up to his mouth and plants tiny kisses on his knuckles. "I'll go check on her, okay? Why don't you wash up, and I'll make dinner after?" 

"Sounds good to me," he nods and leans in, stealing a loving kiss. "Thank you, baby." 

"I just kissed your best friend, and you didn't freak. I should be thanking you," he giggles playfully and pokes his side. Minho makes his way upstairs and gently knocks at your door before letting himself in. He bites back a laugh, seeing you lying on your stomach in bed, your face buried in a pillow. Minho throws himself onto the mattress next to you, mirroring your position for a moment before pulling his face from the pillow. "How the fuck do you breathe like that?" 

"I don't," you say, your voice muffled by the pillow. 

Minho giggles softly and shifts onto his side, bracing his head on his arm. "What are you feeling right now?" he asks, very gently brushing his hand over your head. 

"I don't know," you whine softly. "Like, I'm happy we talked about this and everything…but I feel bad for throwing it onto Channie like that." 

Minho hums softly. "He feels bad for hurting you."

"What?" you groan, pushing yourself up. 

"Well, he hates seeing you cry, dummy," he snorts and mindlessly rubs his hand down your arm. "Give him time, alright?" 

"It's not like I'd have a choice," you sigh. 

"Not really," he smirks and gently pokes your nose with his finger. "But you have me for now…that's a start, isn't it?" 

You laugh softly and roll your eyes at him. "You're right," you nod and let him caress your cheek caringly. 

"We'll need some time as well to figure out how things work out for us," he tells you. "I don't want to rush." 

"I get that," you nod agreeingly.

Minho nods before pulling you close and on top of him as he turns onto his back. "You're gonna be okay? With Channie, I mean?" 

"I'll be alright," you tell him, smiling down at him. 

"Good," he hums gently and smiles up at you, eyes sparkling as he does. 

Every time you see him up close, you can tell why Chan fell so hard for him that easily. You mindlessly brush back his hair before meeting his eyes again. "Should we go and make dinner?" 

"Yeah," Minho nods and searches your eyes before gently connecting your lips. You smile into the feeling and kiss back softly before pulling back. "I got you," he promises softly, and you believe him. 

-

A few days later, Chan comes back from the studio, throwing his bag aside and making his way toward the two of you on the sofa. He subconsciously slows down seeing you on Minho's lap, giggling with him as you show him something on your phone. Minho mindlessly rubs your thigh, head resting on your shoulder. Chan sits down on the sofa with a bit of distance between him and the two of you, somehow feeling like he's intruding. 

Minho looks up and flashes him a genuine smile, reaching out for his hand. "Hey, Channie love." 

"Hey there," you say, scrolling through your pictures. 

"Hey," he says softly, squeezing his hand. 

"You had a good day, love?" he asks caringly.

Chan hums gently. "Yeah, it was alright." 

"We didn't make dinner yet," he tells him, squeezing his hand. 

"Okay," Chan nods and gets up. "I'll go shower first, then." 

"Sure," Minho nods and focuses back on you as you show him something. He giggles as you show him something. 

"What are you looking at?" Chan asks curiously, and you also turn the phone for him to see. "Y/N, I told you not to show him those," he groans as he sees a picture of himself as a kid. 

"What?" Minho frowns at him. "You look so cute." 

"No, I didn't," he shakes his head, frustrated. "Can you stop that?" 

"I'm sorry, I just stumbled across them in my gallery," you tell him honestly. "I found a few of us back when we were like five. You wanna see them?" 

"No," he shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

You frown softly and shut off your phone. "What's wrong? Usually, you love looking at old pictures." 

"No, I don't. You love looking at them," he says, giving you a meaningful glance. "For me, they're a reminder of the freedom to do whatever I want I don't have anymore." 

"Okay, you could've told me that," you tell him gently. 

"Whatever," he huffs and walks upstairs before you can react any further. 

"What the hell was that about?" you frown. 

"He's probably tired," Minho shrugs and gently pats your hips. "Can you handle dinner tonight? I'll go make sure he's okay, help him wash up and stuff." 

"Sure," you nod agreeing, and busy yourself in the kitchen. Earlier today, Minho and you decided to surprise Chan with his favorite, and you're determined to get it right. 

Minho steps into their bathroom and pulls the door closed after him, leaning against it. "What was that about?" 

"I already told you," he says, pulling off his beanie, curls falling freely around his face. 

"You never told me that before," he frowns softly. 

"Mhm, because you always get all happy and giggling, and that's cute," Chan rolls his eyes playfully, pulling off his sweater. 

Minho watches him observantly and chews his lower lip. "You know I asked you if you're okay with the thought of me having another partner like a thousand times, right?" he asks, and Chan hums simply, throwing his sweatpants into a corner. "And what did you tell me?" 

"Min, this isn't about you and her being a thing now," he groans softly and raises his eyebrows as Minho steps in front of him, grabbing his chin and making him look at him. 

"Don't do that," he says, searching his eyes. "Don't play pretend with me." 

"I'm not -" his mouth falls shut at Minho's firm look. "Baby," he groans in protest. 

"You're either going to be honest with me right now, or I'll leave and ignore you sulking all evening," he says, and Chan closes his eyes in defeat. 

"I…not now, okay?" he asks quietly. Minho watches him for another moment before turning around and leaving, going back downstairs. Chan bites back a frustrated groan and rubs his face tiredly, wondering if he pissed him off now. Only shortly after, the door opens again, and he's back, closing the door after himself and locking it. He doesn't pay much attention to him as he turns on the water in the tub and checks the temperature. 

Minho's clothes soon meet the floor, wearing only his boxers. He closes the distance and pulls him into a fierce kiss. Chan's hands land on his hips, pulling him in, as he chases his lips desperately almost immediately. Minho deepens the kiss and fondles down his back. "You trust me?" 

"Yeah," he whispers against his lips, his eyes falling close as Minho kisses down his neck. Minho pulls him into the bathtub as soon as it's filled and straddles his lap, hugging him close as he does. Chan instinctively buries his face in his neck, humming lowly as Minho runs his hand through his hair. 

Minho soothingly massages his scalp before easing out all the knots in Chan's neck and shoulders, making his boyfriend moan against his skin in relief. "You're tired, love?" he asks gently, and Chan hums in agreement. "Lean back your head a little; I'll wash your hair for you," he says, and Chan does as he says, eyes fluttering close as soon as Minho starts massaging the shampoo into his hair. Minho smiles softly at the sight and takes his time, lovingly washing his hair for him. "You're so pretty," he says adoringly once he's done, and Chan blushes heavily. 

"No, I'm not," he protests tiredly. 

Minho shakes his head at him and cups his face, planting tiny kisses all over his face until Chan starts giggling. "Gosh, my sweet love, I wish you'd believe me one day when I tell you that." 

"Sorry," he smiles, pained. "I just don't see it." 

"I'll tell you until you do, my pretty boy," Minho promises and gently rubs his shoulders. ���So, what’s going on?”

Chan sighs softly. "I guess I'm scared." 

"Of what?" Minho asks patiently, soothingly fondling his back. 

"That she'll be better for you than I am," he admits. "Or that you'll end up loving her more." 

Minho cups his face and searches his eyes observantly. "My sweet Channie love," he says adoringly. "Why would I ever compare the two of you, huh? This doesn't mean I'll leave you behind." 

"Promise?" he asks, almost sounding a little timid. 

"I promise," he nods and kisses him soothingly. "I love you so much, Channie; I'd never want to miss that." 

"I love you too," he smiles softly. 

"I mean it, love," Minho promises and presses another few soft kisses all over his face until Chan's giggling and trying to get away. 

-

Just like that, another two weeks passed, and Minho and you grew more comfortable around each other. Chan doesn’t seem to mind anymore, knowing he’d always have a special place in Minho’s heart no matter what, and you’re not pressuring him to make a move. He still has no idea of what his feelings look like for you and he's glad you haven't brought it up until now. 

You’re getting ready for university as Minho rushes down the stairs, putting on his sneakers in the process and almost stumbling. 

“Baby, be careful,” Chan says, sounding a little stressed as he watches him stumbling once more. “There’s no use in you getting hurt just so you’re on time,” he laughs as Minho’s glasses drop to the floor and his boyfriend curses.

“If you woke me up in time, I wouldn’t be running late,” he protests, stuffing the laces into his sneakers. 

Chan rolls his eyes playfully and picks up his glasses for him, putting them back on his nose. “You have an alarm for a reason, baby,” he reminds him gently before kneeling in front of him. 

“That’s the third time this week you missed putting an alarm,” you frown softly. 

“I didn’t forget today,” he shakes his head, smiling softly as Chan ties his shoelaces for him. He gently ruffles his hair, and Chan makes a soft protesting sound. “I simply didn’t hear it.”

“You were that tired?” you ask worriedly. “I thought you went to bed early yesterday?”

“Well, I did, but-” he glances down at Chan before looking up at you again and smirking. “I didn’t go to sleep just then.”

“Got it,” you snort and ignore Chan’s chuckle. “Why was he up that early then?”

“When am I not?” Chan laughs and rolls his eyes at himself. 

“Okay, fair point,” you chuckle.

“I really have to leave,” Minho says and kisses Chan, gripping the hem of his shirt for a moment as if he’s scared to let go of their shared intimacy only hours before. 

Chan grips his hips, kissing back sweetly. “See you later, baby.”

Minho smiles softly and steals another kiss before rushing over to you. “Bye, kitten,” he smiles and quickly kisses you before racing off. The door slams shut behind him, and Chan turns to you. 

“Three, two, one,” he says, and the door gets ripped open again.

“Forgot my bag, sorry,” Minho shouts and is already gone again. 

Chan and you exchange a look before cracking up. “Fucks sake, he really doesn’t change,” Chan giggles and glances at the clock above the kitchen counter. “You need a ride?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you assure him, taking a bite of your toast and scribbling down a few notes. 

“I know,” he shrugs and tilts his head at you. “But I want to.”

“Okay,” you smile at him gently and grab your things. 

“You have everything?” he asks, checking the room as he grabs his keys.

“I think I do,” you nod agreeing, and follow him outside to his car. Chan starts the car as soon as you’re buckled up and starts driving. “Any plans for your day off?”

“Probably catching up on some sleep if my body lets me,” he chuckles and keeps his eyes on the road for now. “It’s been weeks since I got a reasonable amount of sleep. The last few days, I slept four hours tops.”

"Four hours isn't that bad for you," you think out loud. 

Chan clears his throat. "In total. Not every night." 

“But you’re okay so far?” you ask, eying him suspiciously. “No dizzy spells? No trouble breathing?”

Chan opens his mouth to assure you he’s fine but closes it again quickly. “I’m…it’s manageable up until now,” he evades your question. 

“Meaning?” you squint your eyes at him. 

“I get dizzy when I get up too quickly,” he confesses and scrunches up his face for a moment. “Also, I hate those damn stairs at the moment.”

“So you do have trouble breathing,” you sigh softly. “Does he know?”

“No, it started this morning, which is why I was up that early,” he shakes his head and checks his mirror before taking a turn left. “He has to host today, didn’t want him to worry.”

“Will you tell him after?” you ask patiently. 

“Not sure yet,” he says, laughing at your tired huff. “Minho worries too much already; he’ll try grounding me if I tell him. I can’t take a break right now with the new album coming up and everything.”

“As long as you don’t overdo it,” you sigh softly and turn to look at him. Only then do you notice the dark patches beneath his eyes, his pale skin, and how he’s controlling his breaths. “You look like shit, mate.”

“Finally, someone agrees,” he comments dryly and pulls into a parking spot in front of your university. 

“Channie!” you protest, making him giggle. “What I mean is you look like you need a break. Seriously, go home and try to sleep; don’t you dare do anything else.”

“I’ll try my best,” he promises. “I’ll come pick you up if I’m still awake.”

“Okay…but don’t you dare get up because of that,” you warn him, and he chuckles, shaking his head as you leave the car. “See ya.”

“See ya, hun,” he smirks and waves you off.

-

Chan doesn’t show up once you’re done a few hours later, and you’re glad because that means he must be sleeping. You stop at a store nearby to buy some sushi for dinner, knowing Chan’s and Minho’s preferences by now. Your phone lights up with a message from Minho, asking you how your day at uni has been. You smile softly, knowing Minho always made time to check in on you and Chan whenever he was busy. After typing a quick reply and sending a selfie with the sushi, you make your way back home. 

You quietly close the front door after you and slip out of your shoes before sneaking into the kitchen, desperate not to make too much noise. You stop in your tracks as you spot Chan at the end of the stairs, sitting there with his face buried in one hand, eyes closed, and one hand pressed against his chest. “Fucks sake,” you sigh softly and make your way over, crouching down in front of him. “Channie?” He replies with a pained, low hum, and you know what’s up. “Dizzy?” you ask, and he shakes his head very subtly. “Can you breathe okay?”

“Hurts,” he whispers strained, taking very short breaths. 

“Can you get up?” you ask calmly, gently rubbing his knee. 

“Dunno,” he admits, but he doesn’t think he can right now. 

“You’re cold?” you ask, noticing his hand shaking against his chest and the goosebumps on his arms as he’s only wearing a shirt. Chan hums, contorting his face in pain at the action. “Take my hand,” you say gently, and he does, hesitantly taking it off his chest. “One squeeze for yes, twice for no, okay?” you ask, and he squeezes one time. “Does anything else hurt besides breathing right now?” you ask, and he squeezes your hand twice. “Okay, that’s good…You want me to stay or leave you alone?” you ask gently.

“That’s two questions, hun,” he whispers with a weak smile, looking at you through lidded eyes for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“Sorry,” you chuckle. “Stay?” you ask, and he squeezes once with a smile. “Did you take a sleeping pill already?” Another squeeze. “How long ago?”

“Not sure,” he answers honestly. He has no idea since when he’s sitting here, too exhausted to move any step further. “Shortly after I got back,” he adds, a little drowsily. 

Your eyes widen. “Fucks sake, that’s three hours ago at least,” you burst out, and he chuckles before wincing in pain. That explains how long it takes him to process your questions.

He sinks forward, burying his face in your shoulder, and presses his hand back against his chest. “Ow,” he sniffles softly, eyes brimming with tears.

You soothingly run your hand through his hair and squeeze his other hand, that’s still in yours. “Shh, I got you…Can I leave you for a moment and get some things to make you more comfortable?” After a moment, Chan squeezes your hand and sits up again, contorting his face softly as he does. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” You race up the stairs and go into their room, grabbing a sweater of Minho and Chan’s fuzzy blanket and the pillow he keeps stealing from your room. You throw everything into a bag and pull the mattress off their bed with a grunt. “Fucking Chan, and you fucking overworking yourself,” you curse to yourself as you push it into the hallway. “Channie, can you, like, very shortly move away from the stairs?” you ask and watch him worriedly as he pushes himself up, gripping the railing of the stairs as he does. You push the mattress down the stairs and place it right at the end of them. “Okay, here we go,” you say and wrap your arm around Chan, helping him sit on the mattress for now. You grab Minho’s sweater and pull it over his head, giggling as his curls are covering his eyes now. 

"T'fuck are you doin'?" he asks, amused as you brush his hair back for him. "What is this?" he asks, gesturing at the mattress. 

"You said you can't move properly," you say. "The stairs aren't comfortable, you're cold, and you look like you could use some cuddles. I won't do that on the stairs." 

"But on a mattress in the middle of the hallway?" he asks, and you nod firmly. Chan cracks up, wincing almost immediately, and buries his face in your shoulder. "You're so stupidly adorable," he groans. "Also, that's Min's sweater." 

"That's on purpose, dumbass," you snort and feel him smile against your neck as he adjusts his head. "Okay, let's get you comfortable." 

Chan watches you as you unpack your bag, smiling tiredly as he spots his favorite blanket and your pillow. You know him too well sometimes. You get everything into place before kneeling down in front of him, gently placing your hand on his knees. He locks eyes with you and gets lost in them, memories of your shared childhood and never-ending friendship flooding his brain. "You…," he swallows softly at your questioning look. 

"Is the lack of air getting to you?" you ask gently as he doesn't continue and see a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

Chan chews on his lower lip and watches you intensely. "You look pretty today." 

"Oh," you breathe out, ears burning up. "Thank you." He smiles gently before lying down on his side and curling up a little, still breathing pained. You lie down next to him and soothingly rub his arm. "Still cold?" 

"A little," he nods, and only seconds later, he's covered by his blanket and in your warm embrace. He allows himself to relax in your arms, closing his eyes and trying to give his body a break. It still hurts, and his eyes brim with tears of frustration. "Y/N?" he asks, barely audible after a while. 

"Yeah?" you ask gently, running your hand through his hair. 

"Can you call Min?" he asks quietly, subconsciously playing with the hem of your sweater. 

"Want him to come home?" you ask, soothingly rubbing his back. 

"Mhm," Chan sniffs softly, cuddling up against you more. He doesn't know why, but he really wants you both there now. 

"Okay," you nod and fumble for your phone, calling Minho. He takes it on the third ring, and you chuckle to yourself. "Hey, Min," you say. 

"What's wrong?" Minho asks, and you bite back a laugh at him, sensing something is off. 

"Can you come home early?" you ask gently. 

Minho glances around the room and hums softly. "Not sure, why? Did something happen?" 

"Channie's not feeling well, don't worry, I'm with him," you tell him and glance down at Chan in your arms. 

"Fucks sake, I knew something was off," Minho groans, frustrated, and already gathers his things. "What did he do this time?" 

"He had trouble breathing when I came home…but it's better now, right?" you ask, and Chan hums in response. "Yeah, it's better now."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." 

-

Minho keeps his promise, and only fifteen minutes later, you can hear his keys at the door. He drops his stuff in the entrance and makes his way over quickly, stunned at the sight of you two. "What the fuck?" 

"He couldn't move, so I had to bring the bed to him," you shrug unbothered. 

Minho joins you on the mattress, lovingly brushing back Chan's hair. "Hey, love," he says softly. "Didn't get enough sleep lately?" 

"Not really," Chan says, muffled by the fabric of your sweater. 

Minho hums gently before getting comfortable next to him and spooning him. His hand slips between your bodies, soothingly rubbing Chan's chest. "Try and get some sleep, okay?" he asks softly. 

"Can you two keep talking?" he asks, knowing your voices would lull him in eventually. He feels safe between the two of you, surrounded by warmth. Minho's rubbing his chest, you're playing with his hair, and he slowly drifts off to the sound of your voices. 

Not much after Chan seems to be asleep Minho drifts off himself, cuddling up to Chan in the process. He's tired from his day at work and doesn't seem to mind that little break. You smile gently and reach out, fondling both of their hair before wanting to get up and give them some privacy. 

Chan's grip around you tightens as you do, and you stop in your tracks. "Stay," he mumbles sleepily, and you get comfortable again. 

Maybe he just really needed both of you right now. Was that a first step in the right direction? 

PART ONE | PART THREE

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[astraystayyh]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

[sunboki]

🛒 SKZ TEXTS — you leave without giving him a kiss

including. ot8!

warnings. cursing, joke abt relapsing

notes. hyunjin’s has me crying i’m ill 😿

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[linopls]

linopls kinktober list '23

depending on the prompt, it could be a drabble or a 2k-4k words. please let me know which one your most excited for and please leave requests for the 31st !! (i ran out of ideas lol.)

choking jeongin x reader

titfucking seungmin x reader

makeup sex minho x reader

roleplay hyunjin x reader

first time jeongin x reader

teasing minho x reader

virginity chan x reader

breeding hyunjin x reader

oral chan x reader

praise kink changbin x reader

humiliation minho x reader

somnophilia jisung x reader

size kink changbin x reader

orgasm denial felix x reader

degradation seungmin x reader

double penetration vocalracha x reader

foursome 3racha x reader

voyeurism danceracha x reader

spanking jeongin x reader

shower sex felix x reader

lingerie jisung x reader

bondage seungmin x reader

deep throating chan x reader

sex toys hyunjin x reader

edge play changbin x reader

masturbation jisung x reader

sexting felix x reader

daddy chan x reader

public minho x reader

overstimulation jeongin x reader

request !

[chahnniesroom]

for richer, for poorer

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: gift giving has always been something you've agonised over. for chan, just having you in his life is enough.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: insecurities (especially related to finances), feeling anxious, hurt/comfort

a/n: i know it’s still a long time until october, but i didn't write it in time to fit as like a holiday related fic. formatted this on my phone bc i'm lazy so please let me know if anything looks weird!

bonus: minho's reaction to his gift (included as a reblog of this post)

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Gift giving has always been something that you agonised over. You wanted so desperately to get something meaningful and special that nothing you ended up getting seemed special enough.

So when Felix had proposed throwing both Chan and Minho a party for their birthdays, you were more than happy to help plan. You could see that Chan had hesitated when Felix had told them about it, but he had ultimately agreed when he saw the way Minho had seemed to perk up at the idea.

It wouldn’t be anything too big, Felix promised, just inviting some close friends to have dinner and hang out. It slowly balloons into more than a simple dinner, but the opportunities for the members to have their friends gather are so rare that you swallow your concerns.

The night of, you can’t help feeling a bit nervous. You recognise almost everyone, but that's the part that scares you - you've only seen most of these people through your phone screen before. You know Chan and Minho have a lot of idol friends, but you didn't realise there would be so many at the party. You had discussed the guest list with Felix briefly, but your concern had been about the number of guests and not who they actually were. Now you’re starting to regret it, you aren’t mentally prepared to be face to face with so many celebrities.

The time passes surprisingly quickly with people trickling in as the night goes on. Dinner is casual, you’ve helped to cook a number of dishes and takeout was ordered to fill the rest of the counter. There isn’t enough proper seating so everyone is spread throughout the kitchen and living room.

You spend most of the time just wandering through and making sure that there’s no shortage of drinks, appetizers, and that the empty dishes or cups are cleared away. Of course, you greet everybody as they arrive and thank them for coming, but it’s hard not to be intimidated by all the famous faces.

Eventually Changbin drags the birthday boys to the living room, standing them in front of the TV to open gifts. Everyone else either crams themselves onto the couches, sits on the floor, or loiters closer to the doors.

Chan insists that he open presents at the same time as Minho instead of one at a time like Jisung suggests. Someone pushes a couple of matching boxes into their hands and steps away.

It's almost comical how different they open them. Chan takes his time, carefully pulling apart the ribbon that's wrapped around the box, sliding the lid off and putting it to the side, then slowly peeling aside the tissue paper. Minho on the other hand, manages to pull the ribbon off the box without untying it and flips the box to shake off the lid and reveal the contents.

They're complementary hoodies in the casual and oversized fit that the boys usually go for. You recognize the brand, have seen the members wear it on more than one occasion, and know that they most likely cost the same as your monthly salary.

The next gifts seem fairly innocuous, a beanie for Chan and a baseball cap for Minho, but you know their pieces often go for over a million won, more than you’ve ever spent on a single clothing item.

It continues on like this, the boys receiving items like music equipment, alcohol, and sunglasses. It makes you swallow hard when you think of your own, mostly handmade gift.

Maybe the worst part is that nobody else at the party even blinks an eye at it. You can’t blame them, it’s the nature of their occupation that has gotten them desensitised to being surrounded by luxury and it’s not like they can’t afford to indulge in getting more expensive things.

When you look down, wanting to stop staring at the pile of opened gifts, you see that you've partially crushed the packaging of your own gift. It already looked shabby enough, it was obvious you had wrapped it yourself and the paper you used was from the supermarket, but now it was even worse.

When you try to smooth out the crinkles, your shaky fingers somehow make it ruin it more. You bite your lip, hard, then stop, self conscious about your appearance around all these idols.

It suddenly feels cramped and too warm, sweat starting to gather on your forehead and back. The room starts to spin slightly and you become overly aware of your heart beating in your chest.

A burst of laughter from the crowd spooks you, pulling you out of your head. You use the opportunity to get to your feet and excuse yourself. You slip away as quietly as you can and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it into Chan's room without anyone following you.

You don’t bother to turn on the lights, not wanting anyone to check up on you, and sit on the ground with your back against Chan’s bed. With the door closed, the noise from the party is muffled and it’s significantly colder in this area of the dorm. You press your hands to your face and take a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you because you know you shouldn’t feel like his. You had been looking forward to watching Chan and Minho open their gifts, you had spent a lot of time preparing them and you had felt confident that they would enjoy them.

Well, until you saw everything else that they received.

Now your ideas just seemed silly. You feel humiliated at the thought of everybody seeing the obviously cheap gifts and even worse when you consider how ashamed Chan might be for others to know that you were his partner.

Although you were working full-time at the moment, you had only graduated from university last year and your student debt was an ever present weight on your shoulders that you tried your best to hide. Everything you had went to paying it back and checking in bi-weekly to see the number get smaller and smaller was the only thing that made you feel better.

Chan knew that you often worried about money. You had been mortified the first time that he had walked in on you trying to organise your finances for the next few months. He had glanced over your shoulder before you had even realised he was in the room and all the red cells showing where you were in a deficit were hard to miss.

It had been early on in your relationship and the dates that the two of you had been on as well as a couple unforeseen events had meant that you had been spending way more than what you had anticipated. Of course, Chan had treated you on a number of occasions, but you refused sometimes because you felt guilty every time he offered to pay, especially since it had been only a couple years after his debut.

He had been more than understanding, but you had been so embarrassed and caught off guard that you couldn't stop the tears from streaking down your face. Since then, Chan and the members had never done anything to make you feel like they pitied you or thought any less of you for your financial situation, in fact they did the opposite.

When you had first started visiting the dorms, opening the food delivery apps was like a reflex for all of the boys once it was dinnertime. You were always hesitant to choose anything and felt even worse by the nonchalant way that they covered the costs each time. Even though you knew they didn’t think anything of it, you couldn’t help but feel like you were taking advantage of their hospitality.

Somehow they caught on to your reluctance to buy food and now it's tradition that you cook for them when you come over, enough so that they keep the kitchen stocked with more than ramen, chicken breasts, and protein powder.

In particular, Minho absolutely loved your cooking and had needled you many times on sharing how you made it. You had always denied him though, saying that you didn't use exact measurements and came up with things on the fly. That’s why for his gift, you had taken the time to create a recipe book, complete with pictures for each step and modifications that he could make based on the ingredients he had.

You had spent a few months thinking about what to give Chan. He was harder to shop for since you knew he wasn't overly fond of celebrating his birthday and didn’t want you to spend money on him, but was always touched when you got him something. Usually, you tried to do something he was more likely to accept.

Last year, you had organised with the company to give Chan a day off and had taken him out to a movie. It was a pretty standard date, but the two of you rarely had the opportunity to go out together and you knew Chan had resigned himself to watching the movie when it was released online instead of going to the theatres like he had hoped to. Having to spend a few days trying to sort out all the logistics of secretly rearranging Chan’s schedule had been more than worth it with the way that his face had lit up when you had told him about what you had planned.

You don't know how long you sit alone, but every time that you tell yourself to get up and rejoin the party, it feels impossible to move.

“Hey,” Chan's voice is cautious, but you startle anyway, scrambling to stand up. Stuck in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed him entering the room. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just needed some air, it was getting kind of stuffy in there,” you explain. “I didn't think you'd notice.”

“Of course I noticed. You were there one second and gone the next, I didn't know what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” You avoid Chan’s gaze, not wanting to see the concern that shines in his eyes.

Chan steps closer, then reaches out and tangles your fingers together, using your connection to pull the two of you to sit on the bed.

“Y/n, baby,” he says softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in here.” He leans forward until the side of his head bumps into yours.

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s not important,” he warns. “It’s important to you and that makes it important to me, okay?”

“Uhm,” you pause for a moment, unsure of how you want to word your thoughts. You trust Chan, but it still feels scary being vulnerable. “I guess, I was just feeling… Insecure.”

“Insecure?” Chan tilts his head slightly. “About what?”

“Everyone-” you laugh slightly, embarrassed. “Everyone gave you guys such nice gifts, I feel like mine don’t even compare.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t care about that kind of thing. If I had the choice, nobody would be giving me gifts at all. Just having you in my life is enough.” Chan’s voice is painfully sincere.

“I know you don't mind. It just- It feels bad that I can't give you something nice like they can. It's dumb, I know, but I can't help it.”

“I can open it here, away from everyone else if you want,” Chan offers. “Or you don't even have to give it to me today, you can save it until you feel better. Or don't give it to me at all, it's all okay.”

“No no, I want you to have it,” you say immediately. Before you can think better of it, you reach down and retrieve the gift from where you left it on the floor.

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable,” Chan reassures you.

“This is fine,” you decide. “Just the two of us."

“Okay.”

“It’s not designer,” you say suddenly, fiddling with the ribbon that keeps the two packages together. Both of you ignore the fact that you’re just stalling at this point.

“I don’t need any more clothes, I barely wear everything I own now,” Chan jokes.

“Really, you might not like it,” you warn.

“Baby, when have I ever disliked anything that you’ve gotten for me?” Chan drops the teasing tone. You think for a moment.

“When you asked me to order noodles for you and I accidentally got you the spicy version and it made you cry?”

“Did I say that I didn’t like them?”

“No, you ate it all even though I warned you that it would make your stomach hurt for the next couple of days,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory.

You had gotten yourself the same dish and had found it to be bearable, while Chan’s face had turned bright red after the first bite. You had offered a few times to get him a non-spicy version so that he could enjoy himself, but he had been determined to finish, soaking his shirt and beanie with how much he had sweated. He hadn’t even been able to continue carrying a conversation with you, too busy trying to suck in air to cool his mouth.

It had been even funnier for you the next day, receiving multiple texts from Chan about his stomach hurting and having to continually pause dance practice to go to the bathroom.

“The pain was worth it,” Chan insists. “I'm actually convinced that I'll like anything you give me. Now come on, let me open my gifts!”

You hand over the gift and watch as he pulls away the ribbon to separate the boxes and peels away the tape on the first package. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries not to rip the wrapping paper.

This gift was more neutral, a set that contained a wallet and cardholder, both in black. Although Chan hadn’t complained at all, the wallet he had been using was from years ago and the synthetic material was starting to crack and flake away at the edges.

He looks delighted, examining it briefly before pulling out his old wallet and transferring all his cards and cash into this new one. Although it’s not a name brand, you had purchased it at a small shop specialising in handcrafted genuine leather goods at a surprisingly affordable price. It was good quality and suited the simplicity that Chan preferred.

“It's just what I needed,” he says, sounding pleased. “You pay so much attention.”

“I'm glad you like it,” you say, feeling relieved even though you had been pretty sure that he would be happy with it.

The unease comes back when he turns his attention to the second gift. Once again, he puts in effort to gently unwrap it, revealing an old chocolate box that you had repurposed from one of your dates.

You’ve always been on the more sentimental side and had saved it, wanting to remember the evening that Chan had taken you out and the two of you had spent 20 minutes in the shop, meticulously picking out the flavours that you wanted to try. The box is made of a surprisingly durable material and is the perfect size for this gift. You’ve painted over it too, concealing the original design.

Chan turns it around in his hands curiously, before sliding the lid up. You turn away to stare at your hands, overwhelmed by nervousness.

You already know what’s inside. It’s a deck of cards that you’ve transformed, with 52 things I love about you inscribed on one of the jokers. On the flip side, you’ve painted a picture of you and Chan smiling widely with your cheeks pressed together. It’s his favourite, one he always tells you would be permanently on his lock screen if he wasn’t an idol.

The rest of the cards are decorated similarly, a small drawing or painting on one side with the things, people, and places that Chan loves on one side, and something that you love about Chan on the other. The last joker is the only one that's different, you've treated it as a card and have a small message written on.

You had been so excited when you had thought of the idea, even though it was almost embarrassingly cheesy. Chan was often hard on himself, overly critical, and sometimes insecure. You tried your best to reassure him that he was doing well, both in his career and personal life, but you weren’t always able to be with him to do it in person.

As time goes by, your dread just continues to build, but you don't dare look up, not wanting to see Chan's reaction. Based on the silence, he’s clearly not thrilled with the silly idea that you had gone with. You can almost imagine his expression, jaw clenched and lips pressed together as he tries to think of what he can say to let you down easy.

Finally, you can't take it any longer and you lean forward, reaching out to grab at the cards that he's still reading though.

“I'm sorry, it's stupid, I know,” you say quickly. “You can tell me that you hate it, it's okay. I don't know what I was thinking, but just- give me more time, I'll get you something else, something nicer-”

It catches Chan off guard, and instead of successfully taking the cards away, you grapple with them for a second before they slip between both of your hands, scattering across the floor like confetti.

You instantly drop to your knees, scrabbling to scoop them up like the most awful game of 52 pick up that you've ever played in your life. To your horror, the task gets even more difficult as tears start to well up in your eyes.

“Y/n-” Chan says gently, reaching out and taking your wrists in his hands to stop your frantic movements. “Come here.”

You resist for a moment, but he pulls you into his arms, cradling your head so your face is resting on his shoulder. The tears leaking from your eyes soak into the fabric and you sniffle softly.

“I'm sorry,” you say, voice partially muffled. “I'm a mess.”

In response, Chan pulls back slightly and when you don't turn towards him, he taps a finger against your cheek until you face him. Your eyes widen when you notice that he also has tear tracks streaking down his face.

“What-”

“It's okay, I'm a mess too. I should have said it sooner,” he says, voice low and gravelly. Still in his embrace, you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “I love it. I was overwhelmed, I wanted to say something but you left me speechless.”

“Don't just say it-”

“I've never had a gift so thoughtful, Y/n,” Chan says earnestly. “How could you think this was stupid? You must have spent hours and hours on it and I really appreciate it. It’s just- is this really what you think of me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Do you really love that-” Chan picks up the closest card to him and flips it so that he can read the message. “That I snore? Y/n, why do you even have this in the list?”

“Yes, snoring was one thing and it's because with everything, there’s always a reason to love it. It's not that I love that you snore, but with your insomnia, hearing you snore is a relief because it means you're sleeping, that you're resting. Even with your insomnia, I know you're busy thinking of every little way you can make things just right for you and the members. It's because you care so much, how could I not love these parts of you?”

“You- you really love all these little things?”

“Of course I do,” you say in a hushed voice. “Of course. When I was making these, I couldn't fit it all. I love everything about you, Chan.”

This time, it's Chan that breaks eye contact, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

“It's not about deserving. You didn't have to do anything, that's the whole point. I love you just as you are.”

“You know that's how I feel about you, right?”

“Chan-”

“Even if you never got me anything ever again, I wouldn't love you any less. You being in my life, by my side, that's the greatest gift you could ever give.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[godslino]

MIGRATION | bang chan first date series. strangers to lovers.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader word count: 5.5k genre: fluff, romance, falling in love at first sight summary: you've never been lucky when it comes to dating, but a blind date with chan just might turn that around

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

author’s note: hello and welcome to my first date series!! i seriously had so much fun writing this and i’m so excited to continue with the other members. i hope you all enjoy! if you liked it, please remember that any and all feedback is appreciated!! happy reading <3

“So…I know a guy.”

You groan, throwing your head back against the cushion of the booth you’re currently shoved into. Changbin drops his fork to gesture at you with his hand, a look of exasperation on his face.

“Come on, I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“The problem is that you’ve said anything at all.” You say, glaring at him as you reach for your drink.

Changbin, as much as you love him, is notorious for being the worst wing man in the history of wing men. His most recent pick, Jooyoung, was a friend of his from high school. A freelance writer, the owner of a snazzy apartment in one of the more sophisticated districts of Seoul, and conveniently single. They’d recently reconnected after a mutual friend threw a party that they both went to, and he was ecstatic to try and set the two of you up.

You’d been reluctant, rightfully so, but Changbin is anything but a quitter and you also just so happen to be the world’s biggest pushover (his pout is just too good, okay?), so you’d agreed on the off chance that it just might work out.

Long story short, it didn’t.

Jooyoung was probably the biggest asshole you’d ever been on a date with. Not that you were surprised, though. Changbin’s circle of friends when he was younger mainly consisted of grade-A douchebags who were born with a golden spoon in their mouths. Perks of being born into a wealthy family and attending one of the most elite private schools in the country, apparently. Changbin had attended a university on the outskirts of Seoul for a reason. Lesser known, laid back—to study music of all things—and the sole reason for his father’s headache, as he’d put it. That’s where he met you.

“Okay, but I think this guy might be the one.” He makes air quotes around the two words, and you scoff as you cross your arms.

“And what would you know about that?”

“Um, a lot? You’re my best friend, I know exactly what you’re looking for.”

This is the part where things go south—or so you assume. Changbin puts on the puppy eyes, jutting his bottom lip out to hell as he stares at you from across the table. You glare at him dead on, unwavering. He won’t get you this time. Not over your dead body.

“At least let me tell you about him?”

“No.”

“I met him at the company. He makes music just like me, only slightly better. And you know how I am, I don’t just say that stuff. That means he’s really good.”

Choosing to ignore him, you go back to poking at your noodles.

“He’s from Australia. Born here, moved there when he was young, then moved back to pursue music. Kinda ballsy if you ask me. But he speaks English, so at least communication won’t be as much of an issue as other guys.”

A small crack in your composure. The idea of this guy growing up somewhere other than Korea is…pretty intriguing.

Despite moving here three years ago for school, it’s still kind of hard to communicate when your Korean could be more polished than it is. You’d basically kept to yourself for the first year until you met Changbin. He’d easily integrated you into his group of other music majors, even though you stuck out like a sore thumb as both a foreigner and a stem major. But if it weren’t for him, you think that you might’ve hauled ass back home a long time ago due to the isolation. So to be introduced to someone who can speak english, under the prospect of possibly dating them, sparks a bit more interest.

Changbin notices the slight twitch of your brow and smirks, one side of his mouth pulling downwards. Bastard.

“Hmm, what else? Oh! Dude’s got a killer set of dimples. You’re into that, aren’t you? You used to go on and on about that younger guy in your physics class during senior year. What was his name—Jeongsuk? Jeong—Jinyoung? Jeongin! It was Jeongin.” Changbin snaps his fingers like he’s impressed with his own memory, pointing at you as you fix him with a blank stare. “He has dimplessss.” He sing-songs for emphasis.

And, really, this should not be the breaking point. You’re better than this. You’re not so shallow that you would throw away your pride for a man you’ve never met—let alone never seen before—all because he has dimples.

But, once again, you’re a pushover. A big one. So yeah, fuck it.

“What’s his name?”

Changbin blinks like he wasn’t expecting you to fall for it. “Seriously? That’s what got you?”

“You have five seconds to tell me his name before I change my mind.”

He scoffs, mouth agape. “I went as far as disregarding my own talents to play up this guy and his music making abilities—”

“Five.”

“—tried to give you a little bit of a backstory, too—”

“Four.”

“—and the dimples are the final nail in the coffin?”

“Three.”

“Chan! His name is Chan. God. Just—stop counting. It freaks me out.”

Chan. You throw the name around in your brain for a bit, pointedly ignoring the way Changbin is whining about how you sound like his mother when you do the whole number thing. It’s kind of…cute. Not enough to conjure up an idea of what he might look like, but putting a name to a faceless stranger with dimples in your head is gonna have to do for now.

“You swear this guy is normal?”

Changbin rolls his eyes. “Define normal.”

“Okay, let me rephrase myself,” you push your plate forward, laying your forearms on the table as an indicator that you’re serious, “Is he an asshole?”

“No.”

“Hm. Okay. So that’s a maybe.”

“What the fuck? I just said no.”

“Yeah? You also set me up with Jooyoung, remember? The guy who literally started flirting with the waitress right in front of me five minutes into our date? And then proceeded to yell at her when his fries weren’t salted?”

“How was I supposed to know…” Changbin mumbles, looking off to the side guiltily.

“Nevermind. Just—if this goes bad, I’m blaming you. And then I’m never going on a blind date with one of your friends again. Matter of fact, I’m never going on a date again, period. Deal?”

Changbin grins, the apples of his cheeks shiny under the restaurant lighting. He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you take it hesitantly, grimacing when he uses his strength to jostle your arm like a ragdoll.

“Deal.”

🎥🍿

Any hope you had for the date going smoothly starts to dwindle once Chan texts you the day of.

You’d gotten his number from Changbin, who had so kindly already given Chan your number before he’d even broached the subject with you. The resulting lecture about privacy and consent may or may not have extended the rest of your time at the restaurant, a sheepish Changbin rubbing at the back of his neck while you berated him for his lack of common sense.

When your phone buzzes on your bathroom counter, Chan’s name flashing across the screen, you mistakenly think that he might be messaging because he’s early. Which, given the fact that you were standing in nothing but a towel, hair still wet from your shower and face covered in moisturizer you hadn’t rubbed into your skin yet, would be less than ideal.

Chan [12:32p.m.]

Hey! I’m really sorry to have to do this, but can we push the date back an hour?

Something came up at the studio

I tried to get out of it but I have a deadline to meet, client probably won’t be too happy of their track isn’t done on time

Great. Already off to a rough start.

In his defense though, you appreciate the fact that he’s messaged a whopping two hours in advance. Most people probably wouldn’t be bothered to allow that much of a grace period.

You [2:33p.m.]

no worries!!!

you didn’t buy the tickets yet, did you?

Chan [2:34p.m.]

Nope! So we should be fine

I’ll purchase them for 6 and then be there to scoop you up around 5:30 if that’s cool?

You [2:36p.m.]

sounds perfect

hope stuff goes well at the studio!!

Chan [2:40p.m.]

You’re sweet

Thank you, I’ll see you soon :)

You’re sweet. You stare at the words on the screen, your brain buffering for a moment. A big fat loading circle floating above your head.

Suddenly it’s way too hot in the bathroom. You blame the fact that you shower with the water cranked all the way up to boiling, because really there’s no other explanation for the warmth spreading throughout your cheeks.

To be fair, it’s been almost a year now since you’ve had any sort of positive interaction with another male. On one hand, your last relationship ended in a ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ ordeal that most definitely gave the impression that it was you. On the other hand, most of the dates you’ve been on have ruined themselves within the first five minutes, never really giving you the chance to feel any sort of connection. Cocky attitudes, overly pushy encounters, and even someone who walked into the cafe you were seated at, took one look at you, and walked right back out. That one still hurts.

It’s a little sad that Chan is the only guy out of the mix whose elicited any sort of reaction out of you. Especially since you haven’t even met him yet.

The extra hour that you have to compensate for flies by a lot quicker than you expect, and before you know it Chan is messaging that he’s five minutes away.

You take one last glance in the mirror: a pair of light wash jeans that sit right above your hips, black halter top bodysuit, and a thin cream colored cardigan to tie it all together. Simple and cute. A movie date doesn’t really call for all the dramatics, and you’d hate to overdress for a first impression.

You’re in the middle of reapplying your chapstick when the doorbell rings.

Take it easy, you say to yourself, inhaling deeply as you reach for the door handle. You let the air out with one final huff, swinging the door open only to be met by a bouquet of daisies directly in front of your face.

You blink in surprise. Well that’s a first. Before you get a chance to speak, the bouquet is being lowered, and the moment Chan’s face comes into view causes a small gasp to fall from your lips.

He’s…cute. Beautiful, even. A bright smile, dimples that tuck themselves into his laugh lines as his eyes disappear into crescents much like the moon, and lips that make your head spin when his tongue darts out to wet them nervously. His hair falls messily across his forehead in a faded hue of purple with hints of brown, definitely unconventional and an obvious result of one too many washes, but he makes it work. He makes it work well.

He clears his throat, brings a fist up to his mouth to emphasize it, and then grins. “Hi there.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Even his voice is attractive. He’s using english, which leads you to assume that Changbin has already told him that you’re not from here. His accent is there, not too noticeable but also strong enough to be picked up on.

“Hey.” You smile, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

“These are for you. I, uh, as an apology for being late. Is it too much?”

You shake your head quickly. “No! No, these are—they’re beautiful. I love them. Thank you…Chan.” His name rolls off your tongue hesitantly, but it all disappears as soon as he flashes that smile again.

“Good, I’m glad,” his voice catches the breathy end of the laugh he lets out, “This is weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t really do well with this kind of stuff. But you look really nice, and I’m excited. My car is parked just out front if you’re ready to go.”

Honest. Awkward. A laugh that makes you want to hear it over and over again. You were sold the minute his eyes met yours. Chan offers his elbow for you to take like you’re in some cheesy romance movie from your childhood.

Yeah. This one is definitely gonna go well.

🎥🍿

Chan might not show it, but he’s just as nervous as you are.

You wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance that he spent an entire forty-five minutes deciding on an outfit, only to settle with some jeans and a white shirt, a jacket thrown on top for some color.

When Changbin first proposed the idea of going on a date with you, he was adamant that he wasn’t looking for anything right now. But as soon as you opened the door, eyes wide and looking like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s glad he said yes.

“So what movie are we seeing?” you ask, frowning when Chan laughs. “What? What’s funny?”

“It’s a surprise.” He smiles, rushing forward to hold the door of the car open for you. When he puts his hand against the top part to block your head, you have to suppress the smattering of butterfly wings that start to clamor against your ribcage.

Chan is sweet. He double checks that you’re buckled in before driving off, he asks if there’s any specific music you want to listen to before foregoing it all entirely to ask about you instead, he listens with an attentiveness that has you feeling seen and heard, and he smiles with such genuinity and warmth that you feel cold once it disappears. You stare at him in awe, like he’s a figment of your imagination.

Chan’s been staring back, too. He spares glances in your direction when you’re not looking, feels the steady thump of his heart gradually increase whenever you lean a little too far to the left when he makes you laugh, and he thinks your voice is prettier than anything that’s ever played on the radio.

You learn more about him as he drives. He moved back from Australia when he was seventeen, he’s got two younger siblings and an adorable puppy named Berry back home (and pictures on his dashboard to prove it), he prefers Australia’s summers over Seoul’s winters but he finds more inspiration here in the city than anywhere else. You resonate with the fact that he doesn’t really have anyone here besides a small circle of friends. No family, no one to fall back on when things get tough.

Chan talks like he’s an old friend, like he’s re-telling a story you’ve heard a thousand times. He makes it easy to fall into step with him as if you’ve been here all along.

By the time the two of you get to the movie theater, the initial awkwardness that had hung in the air is gone, replaced by comfort and ease. Chan throws the car in park and all but books it out of his seat to open your door for you, and you giggle when he makes a dramatic bow as you exit.

The theater is kind of busy for a Thursday night. There are families with their kids lined up to get tickets and groups of teenagers at the concessions, all of which make for a crowded lobby. Chan glances down when you place a hand on his arm, mostly because you want to stay close, but also because it’s hard to ignore the feeling of being magnetized towards him. He smiles, bending at the elbow to allow your arm to slip into his.

There are cardboard cutouts along the sides of the lobby, all of which serve to promote the newest animated release about a family of ducks. You squint at the showtimes once the two of you make it to the front of the counter, letting your eyes scan the movie titles until you finally land on—

“Two tickets for Migration, under Bang Chan.”

The girl behind the counter looks up, her eyes bored. She can’t be any older than sixteen, most likely resentful about the fact that she’s stuck here on a school night. “The kids movie?” She asks, unimpressed.

Chan braves a glance in your direction and—ah, there goes that grin again. Cue the butterflies. You’d agree to a three hour long showing of static and white noise if it meant he’d never stop doing that.

“Yup, that’s the one.”

Tickets in hand, a smiling Chan right next to you, and a massive line for popcorn that honestly might have the two of you late for the previews. “We’re seeing a kids movie?” You ask, moving up a spot in the line.

“Mmhm. I spent so long looking at all the options. The romcoms seemed boring, Bin mentioned that the newest superhero movie was bad, and I figured a scary one was too cliché,” he eyes you sidelong, “Unless you’re into that.”

You huff out a laugh, not really expecting him to be so straightforward, “I definitely am not.”

“Hm, so the old yawn to put my arm around you trick won’t work?” His eyes are playful, but something about the idea of being in even more contact with him has your stomach doing flips.

“Nope. Sorry. Seen that one before.” You say, making him laugh, his earring dangling when he drops his chin towards his chest.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out something else then.”

Another thing you learn about Chan is that he enjoys interesting food combinations.

“You like peanut m&ms?” he asks, throwing a bag of them onto the counter when you nod your head. After he pays, he pockets his wallet and turns to you with a bucket of popcorn tucked under his arm and a large drink with two straws in his hand. “Could you grab the candy?”

First door, theater one. There are a bunch of parents and their kids entering ahead of you, all of them buzzing with excitement. It’s a little funny, the fact that two grown adults—no kid in tow—are walking into the showing of a kids movie.

Chan leads you to the very back row. “For the kids, just in case they can’t see over us.” He quickly clarifies after noticing the way your eyebrows shoot up in silent question, but even in the dim lighting you can still see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Taking me to a kids movie and then propositioning me in the presence of five year olds? You’ve got some nerve.” You say, timing it perfectly as Chan is leaning forward to take a sip of the drink that’s placed in the cupholder between the two of you. He sputters around the straw in surprise, coughing into his fist.

“That’s not—” You laugh, cutting him off as he stares at you with red eyes from his coughing fit. The mood shifts after that, and Chan visibly relaxes into his seat as he starts throwing jokes out a lot easier than before.

“Learned this from my dad,” he says, opening the bag of m&ms, “It’s my favorite thing to do at the movies. Haven’t been in a while because—well, I don’t really have anyone to go with.”

You watch as he dumps the candy into the popcorn bucket, shaking it to mix everything together. He reaches in to grab a piece of popcorn and an m&m at the same time, popping it into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, “Forgot how good that is.”

When you don’t respond, he looks over. “You okay?”

Are you? You’re not sure. Every bone in your body is screaming bloody murder because Chan is making it really hard to not want to lean over and kiss the concerned frown off of his stupidly pretty face.

The thing about it is that you don’t do blind dates. And you most especially don’t enjoy them. But Chan is different. Chan holds doors open for you and makes corny jokes. Chan laughs at everything like it’s his last day on earth and he’s making up for lost time. Chan listens when you talk and responds with genuine interest. Chan compliments the little girl in the theater lobby who’s wearing a princess dress to watch the new superhero movie. Chan shares something as special as his dad’s favorite movie snack with you. Chan is just…Chan. And you like him. A lot.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, I’m just—thank you. For sharing that with me.” You say, the corners of your mouth lifting.

“Stop doing that.” He mumbles, eyes trained ahead.

“Doing what?”

“Smiling. It makes my head spin.”

Your heart slams against your chest. You’ve spent the entire date trying to make sense of the way Chan makes you feel, trying to put it all into words. Yet here he is, right in front of you, saying his thoughts as they come and absolutely ruining your resolve in the process. Like it’s easy for him.

There’s no time to answer when the lights go down, the screen up front widening to signal the start of the movie.

Just like any other kids movie, it’s easy to get caught up in all the surface level jokes while also understanding the themes. You and Chan laugh outwardly at some parts, hold your breath at the suspenseful ones. It’s almost like you’re a kid again, enjoying yourself fully for the first time in a really, really long while.

Chan was right, the popcorn and m&m combination is good. You reach back into the bucket for more, freezing when Chan does the same and his knuckles brush yours in the slightest of touches, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. It happens a few more times, each one leaving his hand lingering for far longer than the last, until eventually he makes a show of digging really hard for an m&m and hooks his pinky with yours in between the popcorn. It’s cheesy and cliché but god does it make your stomach do somersaults.

About three-quarters of the way through the movie, when it’s clear that neither one of you are willing to take it the next step further, you lean into his ear.

“You okay? You look kind of tired.”

Chan turns, confused. He’s certain that he wasn’t dozing off. He did have a late night last night. He was up working on the track that still somehow managed to hold him back today, hoping to have everything polished so that he didn’t run into any obstacles before your date. But that didn’t really work out in the end.

“Huh? No, I’m fine. Honest.”

“You sure?” you ask, a slight lift to your voice, “I don’t know, you looked like you were about to yawn.”

The light from the movie hits the left side of his face, illuminating all of his features in a way that makes your breath hitch. He’s pretty. So, so pretty.

Chan blinks, slow, and then his confusion slowly turns to one of understanding. Cue the grin.

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it…I am kind of tired.” He makes a show of fake yawning, stretches his arms above his head (and not blocking any children since you’re in the back row, thankfully), before bringing his right arm down and around your shoulders.

You spend the rest of the movie like that, tucked into Chan’s side while his fingers move gently against your shoulder. He’s unbelievably warm, and eventually you find your head resting in the spot just between his shoulder and his neck, his cheek pushed up against the side of your head. The position makes it easier to reach up and pat his eyes dry at the end, a single tear slipping out as he sniffled and mumbles a ‘M’not crying’ that has you giggling and doting all over him.

He doesn’t move his arm for the entire walk back to the car, and you momentarily mourn the loss when he opens the door for you (again!) so you can climb in. When he finally gets in on the other side, he says nothing, just reaches over to intertwine his fingers with yours and places your joined hands on the center console like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, looking over at you.

You glance down at your hands, then back up at him. “Is it weird if I say no?”

“Not at all,” Chan grins, throwing the car into drive, “I was hoping you would say that.”

🎥🍿

“For you.”

Chan plops down on the bench, a hand outstretched with a steaming hot chocolate ready for you to take.

“Thanks,” you smile, cradling the cup between your hands.

After some deliberation, you and Chan had decided to come to the Han River. It’s quiet, the bridge lights reflecting off the water as the sounds of the city fade into the background. The temperature is slightly on the colder side, the tail end of winter just barely there. When he notices the slight shiver of your shoulders after a particularly strong gust of wind, Chan shucks his jacket off in a heartbeat to drape over you.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“You’re cold,” he scolds, pulling at the collar of the jacket to tighten it around you. His hand lingers near the base of your neck, fingers itching to reach out and touch. He doesn’t though, just smiles and settles back into the bench. “Plus I think Changbin might actually kill me if something were to happen to you.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “Ignore him. I’m not a baby.”

Chan takes a sip of his own hot chocolate, licks his lips to catch the excess. Not that you’re staring. “I’m serious. I mean, I get it. He told me that you’re here alone and stuff.”

You hum in understanding, turning your head to stare out at the water. “So are you.”

It’s Chan’s turn to look at you now, his elbows resting against his knees, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as his face turns unreadable.

The silence stretches thin, nothing but the sound of cars passing and a dog barking nearby. It’s kind of comforting in a way. Being on your own in a new place has been one of the hardest transitions you’ve ever had to deal with. There were times where it felt like a mistake, where you wished that you’d never even gotten on the plane. But then there were times where you felt lucky to be experiencing the things you are; to be able to try new things and pursue a life for yourself that you never thought possible.

“How’d you do it?” you ask quietly, turning to meet Chan’s gaze. “I mean, you were young. Seventeen is basically still a kid. Being alone in a place like this is scary as an adult, I can’t even imagine what that was like.”

Chan smiles, but it’s sad. His eyes twinkle with something like resentment, the lights from the bridge making it look like he’s glowing. A flame that’ll never burn out. “Would you believe me if I said I’m still figuring it out?” The end of it comes out as a laugh, but you can tell he means it.

“I don’t know, being a big shot music producer with deadlines and clients seems pretty figured out to me.”

Chan nods and stares at the cup in his hands. “My parents hated it. Still do, I think.” You don’t say anything. Chan is grateful for that; grateful for the space you’re giving him to explain. “They wanted more for me I guess. But I’m not sure that more would’ve necessarily been what I wanted, you know? I’m content with where I am now. I’m doing something I love, even if it took a while to get here. They don’t see it.” He chews his lip nervously, fingers playing with the soggy material of the paper cup’s rim.

Chan doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. He’s not the type to completely bare himself out to anyone, to scoop away at his insides until there’s nothing left besides the hollowness he feels whenever he thinks about how he traded his life back home for a life of music. But you’re different somehow. Chan knew since the moment he saw you, felt it in the way your eyes lit up whenever he spoke and in the ease of how well the two of you got along. He was doomed from the start.

“I see it.” you say, your eyes still fixed on the water. “I might’ve only just met you today, but I see it. And I get it, too. Maybe not to the same extent, but the feeling of wanting to do something for yourself even if it meant losing something else. There’s purpose in that, in you. It’s okay to be selfish if it means you’re prioritizing your happiness.” You let the words settle for a bit, hoping that you don’t sound too shallow. When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking back.

“You don’t know me enough to say that.”

“I don’t have to know you to believe in you, Chan.”

A beat of silence, and then he’s laughing, short and punctuated as he lets his head fall forward with a small shake.

“You’re…”

“What? Corny?” you supply, smiling over at him.

“No,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Perfect.”

You huff out an incredulous laugh, looking away to hide the blush that’s spreading across your cheeks. “You can’t just—god, now who’s corny? Huh?”

“I never said I wasn’t corny.” Chan argues, sitting up to face you fully.

“Yeah but you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? I think you like it.”

Your mouth opens and closes quickly, lost for words. Chan’s closer now, a lot closer than he was before. One arm thrown across the back of the bench, loosely framing you in, he bends it at the elbow to bring a hand up and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I never said that.” you mumble, your gaze flicking down to his lips and then back up again.

“You want me to stop then?” he asks, voice just above a whisper. You know what he’s implying the minute his fingers trace the shell of your ear, moving down slowly until they start playing with the collar of his jacket.

“Is it bad if I say no?”

Chan’s hand is warm to the touch, ice to fire. You lean into it. A moth to a flame, one that’ll never go out.

“Not at all,” he repeats, just like earlier, “I was hoping you would say that.”

A dog barking in the distance. Cars beeping as they pass by. A plane flying overhead. A group of friends laughing as they ride past on their bikes. The minute Chan’s lips connect with yours, everything fades, the sounds warbling together like static. Unintelligible; nothing besides the feeling of Chan kissing you matters.

It’s slow, nothing more than a press, but you feel it in every fiber of your being. Kissing Chan feels like the poles of the earth are colliding, meeting in the middle and sending its molten core spreading throughout your entire body. Warm, warm, warm. Chan is warm. He’s soft and gentle and his lashes tickle your cheeks when his eyes flutter closed halfway through because he was too busy etching your features into his memory.

You’re the first to pull away, admiring the way Chan’s eyes slowly peel open, lips swollen and pink. Unable to resist, you lean in and peck them once more, giggling when he blinks at you in shock.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as compelled to kiss someone as I was just now.” You smile.

“Me too,” he sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t normally kiss on the first date.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t normally do dates anyways. At least not ones that don’t immediately go up in flames.”

“What about now?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow. “Have I changed your mind?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I kind of told Changbin that if this was a disaster I was never gonna go on a date again.”

Chan laughs and pulls you into his side, tucked right under his arm like the shape of him was molded in a way to make sure that you fit perfectly in his embrace.

“Is it bad if I say I like that idea?” He asks, glancing down at where your head is resting against his chest.

“Nope,” you say before leaning up to kiss him once more. He smiles into it when he feels your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, humming softly against your lips.

“Worst date ever, then?” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling back to stare into his eyes, big and brown and brighter than the stars, “Worst date ever.”

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny ]

© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.

[valkyrieeeee]

💬 Skz Texts | They want you to meet their parents

*·˚ᑉ³ OT8 x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Smau, Comfort, Fluff, some angst,

ᑉ³warnings; Use of pet names, insecurities, overthinking, a little suggestive for some members but nothing crazy.

ᑉ³Authors Note; I don't love love these but I want to do more skz texts :) let me know your thoughts

Chan

Minho

Changbin

Hyunjin

Jisung

Felix

Seungmin

Jeongin

*·˚ᑉ³ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like. © Valkyrieeeee 2024

[pretty-blkgirl]

Texting Skz “Happy Anniversary” (Hyung Line)

//gn!reader x Skz//

Synopsis: You try and wish your boyfriend a happy anniversary for Skz Day

Genre: crack, fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: HAPPY SKZ DAYYYYYYYYY. Wanted to put a little something out for the kids’ 6th year 🫶🏾

~Maknae Line~

~~~~|~~~~

[jinnie-ret]

stray kids reaction to s/o who can't sleep in the same bed

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: cheating, implied toxic relationships (not with skz)

request (from anon): I wanna request a skz reaction to their s/o who has trust issues and prefers to deal e things herself and also prefers to sleep alone in her room n stuff bc she trusts them but she needs to work her way up with being comfortable and ok to feel vulnerable enough to sleep w them n how they'd react to s/o taking months to a year for the to finally allow themselves to sleep next to them or even the same room as them?

SKZ REACTIONS MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Bang Chan

Your boyfriend Chan had texted you asking you to come over last minute, but of course, you weren't going to deny you or him from seeing each other. The issue was, plans being this last minute meant you hadn't had time to shave your legs. You didn't think Chan was the type of guy to judge you or anyone for having hairy legs, but it was more so your own qualms about things, and not feeling like you were deep enough into your relationship to trust that it wouldn't make him look at you in a different light.

Currently you were both heading into his bedroom, ready to cuddle and get some sleep - yes, you had managed to get your boyfriend to steer away from staying up all night.

You dove into the bed, Chan chuckling behind you as you shuffled under the blankets, wiggling like a worm.

"Babe, what are you doing?" Chan laughed at you as he stripped out of his t-shirt and joined you in bed.

"Going to sleep?" your voice was muffled by the pillows your face was pressed into.

"Oh right, in jeans, yeah?" Chan laid on his side, brushing your hair out of your face.

"Sometimes when I nap in them they turn into pantaloons and I've really been into ATEEZ and pirates lately," you rambled on. Yes there was some truth in that, but it wasn't the thing that needed revealing today.

"Babe what?" Chan blinked confusedly at your rambling, "why don't you get comfy?"

"Ummm... Actually I think the sofa is more comfy, I'll just sleep there," you scrambled out of the bed.

"What's wrong with the bed?" Chan grabbed your hand gently, pulling you back towards him with a slight frown as he sat up, "you've slept in it before."

"I ummm..." your voice wavered, looking at the floor and chewing the inside of your cheek feeling awkward.

"Babe, just tell me," he shuffled over to be sat directly next to you.

"I haven't shaved," you mumble incoherently.

"Huh? What was that baby?" Chan wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer.

"I didn't shave my legs... I'm embarrassed," you admit with big eyes, looking at Chan's expression and hoping not to see disgust.

"Is that all? Babe I don't care if your legs are hairy, I want to be with a woman, not a little girl, I don't care if your legs get hairy it's natural, yeah?" Chan preaches to you after a sigh of relief. He had his arm still around your shoulder, yet he was rocking you side to side.

"Hmmm..." you said in thought, trying to fight off a grin appearing on your face and instead look contemplative instead.

"What, was it something I said?" Chan rose an eyebrow.

"Yeah actually..." you fake sighed.

"Oh I'm sorry what was it that I said?" Chan intertwined your hands, speaking carefully and wanting you to feel comfortable enough about what was said wrong.

"You say you want to be with a woman not a little girl, so why do you insist that I call you Dadd-" you start laughing, just about managing to get your words out.

"Stoppp, stoppp, go, shoo, you, go put your pyjamas on funny girl," Chan sighed with a laugh, unable to hide it as he pushed you to stand.

"Ok Dadd-" you turned to tease him again, before he cut you off.

"Y/N!" he chased after you, tickling your sides as you squealed and laughed. You were glad that he didn't care about you having hairy legs. It was now reassuring in the future for any worries that you had, that he'd understand.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Minho

"I swear you hug the cats more than me," he smirked, simply teasing you from where he was sat at the other end of the sofa with Dori in his lap. You had the ginger babies Soonie and Doongie in yours. You were glad though because it brought you great comfort with the paranoia you had been feeling more and more recently.

He was your boyfriend, and you loved him, but you worried his teasing comments were actually subtle digs. You were still shy about being physically affectionate with him, particularly with sharing a bed with him.

"I-i'm sorry Min, I'm trying," your voice wobbles.

"Darling, I'm joking, don't worry," Minho lifted Dori off of his lap, standing up and stretching and not seeing the distress that still remained on your face. "Right, I'm going to get some sleep, you want to join?"

"I-i'm not ready yet, sorry Min."

"It's ok, darling." He always announced when he was going to bed, always leaving the question in the air so you could say yes if you felt ready. But that still wasn't the case this time, and as he turned to get a glass of water from the kitchen, he was stopped in his tracks by your cries.

"I-it's not because I don't love you, because I do!! I really do!! I just want to work myself up for it you know? I don't wanna be awkward and stuff but-" you had lifted the cafs off of your lap, feeling guilty and in that moment seeing him turn away from you felt like he was annoyed.

"Hey, hey, darling, where's all these tears coming from, hmm?" Minho soothed you, his voice slightly higher pitched when he was being gentle with you. "I told you, it's ok, really," he wiped your tears off of your cheeks.

"I feel like I'm being annoying," you sniffled, looking down only for him to tilt your chin upwards.

"I'd rather you be comfortable, ok?" Minho was always patient with you, "don't let it stress you out ok?"

"O-ok," you took in a deep breath, calming yourself down.

"I love you, get some rest, ok darling?"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Changbin

Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping in bed, small snores escaping his lips as his face was squished against one of his thick arms. And he was a light sleeper, probably from previously living in a dorm full of boys before that were chaotic to say the least, and that was from what you saw meeting them outside of their home space.

You tiptoed into the bedroom, taking a deep breath. Never sleeping in the same bed as him was something you knew didn't deter him but you could see it when he'd miss you goodnight that he wished that you would sleep with him. That boy wanted nothing more than to hold you all night in his arms, but he respected your decision still. Tonight, things were different.

Slowly crawling into bed next to him, you lifted up the duvet and laid down beside him, slowly resting your head against the top of his back and an arm across his waist. You were nervous, yes, but you had missed his comfort after wishing each other good night, even though it had only been half an hour.

The beast had awoken, quite dramatically you must admit. But it was fair, considering you wouldn't normally sleep next to him he wouldn't be expecting anyone in bed next to him.

"Huh...? Woah! What?! Honey?" Changbin's initial murmurs had turned to surprised joyful shouts as he flew out of bed to make sure this was all real. You just sat there stunned with your hands covering your ears.

Your boyfriend did a happy dance, jumping into bed next to you as he wiggled against you, and instead he was the big spoon this time round. His heartbeat was racing and so was yours.

"Surprise?" you giggled, making him coo and squish your cheeks.

"My honey," Changbin kissed your cheek before cuddling up to you even tighter, "good night."

Now that, was in a much deeper voice in comparison to his excited shouts. The duality of this man, and he was all yours.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Hyunjin

"Baby! I haven't seen you in ages!" Hyunjin quickly got up from his seat, bringing you into a hug. With your usual solace in his presence you sink into his embrace.

"Hey Jinnie," you then sat down across from him in the cafe.

"I'm so glad you saw me today, I was worried about you," Hyunjin grabbed your hands, holding them in his.

"Worried? You don't have to worry about me," you offered an awkward smile, knowing fully well why he felt this way. He had asked you on multiple dates just to see you when he was miraculously free from his busy schedule. But each time you cancelled, getting worried you were falling too deeply only for it to be thrown away. You were scared to get close in case you got hurt, so you flaked out from each time he wanted to see you. It wasn't until your friends prompted you to see him that you thought maybe you should this time.

"You haven't been wanting to see me... I haven't done something wrong have I, baby?" Hyunjin worried, one of his hands releasing one of yours in turn to sip from his iced americano.

"It's not you Jinnie, I'm just... scared," you answered honestly, for the sake of reassuring him. It didn't feel fair for him to worry without knowing why you were really avoiding him.

"Scared? Of what?" Hyunjin leant forwards, elbows not resting on the table between you both.

"I-i don't want to ruin things between us because once we get closer we'll be going round each other's apartments and then it's sharing a bed together and I'm just not ready for that yet," you explained, words tumbling past your lips as you felt flustered.

"Oh baby, we never have to force anything, I'd never rush you if you're not ready. If your pace is slower than mine, so be it. I will not make you catch up with me, I'll be right next to you instead," Hyunjin promised you, looking deeply into your eyes so you knew it. "I wish you told me sooner, I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too Jinnie."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Han

"Please don't feel bad my baby, I really don't mind," Han pleaded, not wanting you to feel guilty. You both held hands as you were sat on the sofa watching a film, specifically, Spirited Away.

"You don't find it weird?" you weakly ask, eyes not leaving the TV screen.

"I've never been with anyone before that's felt the same way, but I love you, so I'm not about to throw that away because you're not ready to sleep in the same bed as me," Han spoke calmly, like it was something he had gone over in his head plenty of times.

"I want to, I really want to, Ji, I'm sorry babe," your voice wobbled, thick with emotion, Han kissing your hand as he tentatively brought your it to his plush lips, always careful with you. He was always understanding that you needed more time with things due to previous relationships.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, I have an idea," Han grinned, leaving the sofa without any explanation and getting busy with moving things around in the bedroom.

~~~

"Come on, it's like a sleepover every night, I don't know why I didn't think of it in the first place..." Han felt proud of himself gazing across at you from the bed. You see, Han had taken it into his own hands to make you feel more comfortable around him to sleep near him, not quite next to him yet. Fortunately, his apartment came with a spare bed frame, bedding, the works, so he had set up a bed for you across from his own. It was perfect, right? You didn't have to sleep next to him in bed yet, but at least you could stay over this time, and one day cuddle in bed til you fall asleep.

That was what Han hoped. You on the other hand, were too busy in your own world, thinking about the worst things that could happen to mentally prepare yourself, your hand twisting the blanket in its grip.

"Baby, is it too much? I can drive you home now if you want?" Han stretched his leg out, nudging your foot with his own to shake you out of your thoughts.

"N-no I'm just gonna umm... Let you fall asleep first... Makes me feel safer so I know that you won't do anything you know," you rambled with your jaw clenched. That all too familiar lump in your throat was making its presence known and you didn't know if you were going to yawn or cry.

"Hey?" Han softly said.

"Y-yeah?" you nervously look up at him, only to see pure adoration and warmth oozing from those boba eyes of his.

"It's ok, yeah, I wouldn't do that to you, I care about you far too much," Han slowly walked over to you to allow you to process his movement happening in front of you, and brushed some hair back from your eyes.

"You're the best," you murmured, leaning your face further into his hand making him grin.

"I know, baby."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Felix

There it was again, that funny feeling. You hadn't gotten so lucky before being cheated on in your previous relationship, so when you smelt the different perfume on the pillows in your bedroom, you were heartbroken. You didn't have it in you to be angry at Felix, not him. Maybe just at yourself for not noticing it sooner. But maybe a part of you wanted the pain, to know for sure it was true, because you didn't leave straight away, no, you just waited for him to notice something was up.

"Hi love, you going to sleep?" Felix grinned as he came up to you, stroking your hair out of your face. And you let him.

"Yeah... I was going to borrow one of your pillows but I couldn't help but notice it smelt differently," you brushed his hands off of your hair.

"Oh, did you like the smell?" Felix beamed at you, ever so sunny when all you felt was blue.

"Are you kidding me? Did I like it?" your voice cracked. "Lixie, is this some sick joke?"

"Love..." he reached out to hold your shoulders but you backed further away.

"Don't. Please don't. I gave you a chance just then to admit what you had done. Is it because of me? Because I'm not ready to sleep in bed next to you, you have to get another woman? And don't try to tell me I borrowed that pillow last night because my perfume does not smell like that!" you cried, wiping your nose as you did and pointing at the bed in disgust.

"It could though, let me explain, love," Felix held your hands and even though he was the source of your upset, or at least the version of him that your brain created was, you sat with him on the sofa.

"It's a new perfume, not from another woman, but for you if you like it. I-i just didn't want to give you one and you didn't like the scent so I got the tester to try out and if you liked it then I was going to buy the bottle for you," Felix brought you into his arms whilst he explained, and you felt like a bitch.

"I'm such a bitch."

"No, no, don't be silly love, I didn't realise that it could have been triggering for you, ok, so don't call yourself that," Felix mumbled in his deep voice soothingly, kissing you on the head.

"I did like the perfume scent by the way," you whispered. That's what would have been more annoying - that the imaginary woman had a good taste in scents.

"I'm glad you do, love."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Seungmin

You had been judged many a time by your last boyfriend for your sleeping habits, whether it was for your not so soft snores or when sometimes you'd accidentally drool because of having your cheek pressed against your hand all night. So when you got with Seungmin, you were hesitant in sharing a bed with him, let alone falling asleep next to him. Sometimes you just couldn't help it.

The two of you had been watching a movie and foolishly you let yourself fall asleep, only to be awoken by Seungmin's giggles.

"I never knew you were a snorer, honey," Seungmin laughed to himself, but you were awoke in an instant, the sounds of your peaceful sleep cut off as you looked at him in alert.

"Oh sorry, I know I'm loud, I, umm..." you rambled awkwardly, cheeks inflamed in a rosy red tint, bringing the blanket more around your body in attempt to comfort yourself.

"Like a drone or something," your boyfriend giggled once more, but his smile faded at seeing you frown. "Hey I'm just joking..."

"No you're not," you mumble grumpily. It had to come back to this. Always. You couldn't help it. It was a habit for a reason.

"I am, I am, don't hide from me," Seungmin insisted, tugging the blanket away from you face, bopping the pout your lips wore.

"Stoppp, I'm embarrassed, Minnie," you pushed his hands away, well tried to.

"Don't be, I don't care, honestly, I sleep easily and plus you're not the only one who snores," Seungmin pulled you into his arms.

"You snore too?" you rose an eyebrow, you had never heard him do so before.

"No but Channie does. He's like a foghorn. So don't worry, yours is far better," Seungmin chuckled, teasing his leader when he wasn't even there.

"You sure? I never wanted to disturb you, is all," you look up at him as he leans down slightly to kiss you on the head with a sweet smile.

"Very, now please sleep in my arms, you can relax, honey," Seungmin gently rubbed your back as you turned to face him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Jeongin

Worst. Day. Ever.

Was it normal for a part time job at a cafe to be chaotic? No, not the one you worked at anyways. This was why it was such a surprise for you to deal with a rowdy customer that decided that he didn't like his coffee because it was 'too hot' and wanted a refund, all whilst you had the busiest shift of your life. Well, he certainly didn't get one after chucking the freshly brewed beverage all over you.

You were dismissed earlier by your manager, who could see how anxious you were feeling, and after you were checked over you returned to yours and Jeongin's apartment, being the first home for once. And you couldn't resist the comfort of his soft, plush bed as your spot to let yourself cry, despite the fact you've never slept next to him before. In fact, your unfamiliarity of being in the room distracted you from the fact the front door unlocked and that there were foosteps heading straight towsrds you.

"Jagi?" Jeongin asked confusedly seeing you curled up in his bed. It wasn't a sight he expected to see. He understood you had boundaries and didn't feel ready sharing a bed yet. The more concerning thing was the sobs wracking through your body.

"Oh?" you jumped, turning to see your boyfriend with care and sadness shining in his eyes at the sight of your tears.

"What's the matter, hmm?" Jeongin slowly sat down next to you, resting a hand gently on your knee. That was when you dissolved into tears once more. "Oh, jagi," he instinctively pulled you in for a cuddle, before you shuffled out of his arms.

"I'm sorry, I've just had such a bad day and your bed looked so comfy and-"

"Why's your neck all red?" Jeongin frowned.

"Angry customer, threw his drink at me, and it hurt, and then my manager sent me home and-"

"Come here," Jeongin quietened you, opening his arms once more which you accepted this time.

"I'm sorry," you cried into his chest.

"Don't be sorry. I don't care that you laid down in the bed. I'm more worried about you, Jagi, ok?" Jeongin's embrace became tighter when he heard your small whimpers, a clear sign that you were trying to stop yourself from crying.

"Just wanna forget about today," you mumbled sadly.

"I know, I know, let's ummm... Ok maybe not a hot bath... let me get some cream for you, treat those burns," Jeongin pecked you on the cheek, deciding against your skin enduring more pain from hot water, and quickly got up, soon returning with some ointment for you. He made the decision to gently rub it into your neck, having a better pair of eyes than you did. One, because you couldn't see it fully, two, because your eyes were still slightly blurred from tears.

"T-thank you, Innie," you kissed his hand before it fully pulled away from your neck, making a weird face as the cream went onto your lips, the taste of it not so pleasant.

"Silly girl, here," he wiped the cream off your lips with his thumb, kissing you just to make sure the taste still wasn't there, and then you were both satisfied.

"Love you, Innie."

"Love you too, Jagi, even with panda eyes."

"Shit, I forgot I wore mascara today."

"I know, Jagi, I know."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist

[hjizngs]

BF TEXTS W/ SKZ

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

whoohoo second post!! don’t ask me how long it took to figure out how to text urself. why did this take longer than writing a whole fic.

cw: FEM. reader, corny, cursing, pet names, seungmin is a meanie for a sec but it’s ok!!

[skzstannie]

Hii it’s okay if you can’t but I was wondering if you could do a skz x 9th member reader where she was in a car crash as well as the others? But she was badly injured as well and had to be looked after by chan because she wasn’t in good condition? Totally okay if you can’t thanks❤️

"You're awake!"

SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member!reader (Chan-centric)

genre: angst, hurt/comfort wc: ~3,200 cw: some cussing, car accident, reader and skz get hurt

summary: ^^ see request

A/N: Hello! Not super happy with how this came out, but I hope you still like it anon! Started a new semester, so updates will be less frequent, but I'll still be lurking in everyone's feed through likes and reblogs 👀

Masterlist | Happy Scrolling!

"I'm just saying, if penguin's could fly, I think they'd take over the world."

"Felix, literally what are you talking about?" you give him a strange look from where you're seated diagonal from him in the car.

"If penguins ever learned to fly, I think they'd try to overthrow the government in a vengeful fury."

You all sit in silence for a moment, trying to preserve the last of your braincells from deteriorating.

"Okay..." Seungmin responds, quirking his eyebrow at him.

"I am so excited for tonight!" you break the silence that settles, practically vibrating in your seat from the excitement.

"We know, you haven't stopped talking about it," Minho boredly comments, his phone lighting up his face from the shadowy back seat.

Jeongin throws an elbow in his side from where he's seated beside him, earning himself a nasty glare from the man. "Don't be mean to Ynnie, she's just excited to perform."

"I'm so sorry. Let me rephrase that," he clears his throat, setting his phone down in his lap, "Oh my gosh, I know! It's all you've talked about since this morning!" he squeaks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," you mumble, rolling your eyes at your grumpy member.

Before Minho has the chance to respond, your entire world is shaken when another car T-bones you from the right.

Time seems to slow down as the car is flipped, sending you out of your seat towards the ceiling of the car. Your seatbelt manages to control some of the damage to your head, but it slices into your neck from the pressure. Blood starts to drip out of your wound, but you don't even feel it as your hazy gaze travels over to your members.

Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes land on Felix's still body in the back seat, his eyelids draped shut. He doesn't appear to have any other injuries, but you're immediately ripped away from the sight of Felix when you hear Minho groan in pain. You Jeongin a quick once over, and upon seeing no visible injuries, keep your eyes moving. You don't miss the way Jeongin's hands are firmly grasped around Felix's forearm as he shakes the older man, trying to wake him.

It's painful to twist in your seat, but you do so anyway. Catching a glimpse of Minho, you see a jagged piece of glass protruding out of his forearm. It appears small, but you know it must still hurt like a bitch. Other than that he looks okay, so you continue to look over your remaining members. His eyes are panicked as he frantically looks over the four of you. "You guys ok?" his voice shakes with fear, and his teeth are clenched from the pain radiating from the glass in his arm.

The ringing in your ears starts to subside a bit, and the grunts coming from your right get louder. Seungmin's arm is twisted at an unnatural angle, and there's blood dripping from his left eyebrow. You can't bring yourself to answer Minho, the shock still clouding your mind.

As the rest of your senses start to come back to you, your focus remains on Seungmin as he huffs in pain. You feel a stinging sensation in your thigh, but as you slowly start to drop your head to look, you feel a shaky finger reach under your chin.

Seungmin's reached his hand out, gently pulling your chin until your eyes meet his again.

"Just keep looking at me, Yn," he whispers. You do as you're told, but the pain is worsening by the second, and your breathing starts to quicken.

All else is tuned out as your eyes remain on Seungmin's unwavering gaze.

Seconds feel like hours as you sit there in the car. Your eyelids start to become heavy, and you fuzzily catch Seungmin's eyes turn frantic as your blinks become slower and more frequent.

"Just keep your eyes open, don't fall asleep," he repeats. His word are gentle at first, but as your mind turns to mud, his voice becomes louder and urgent, almost screaming at you. You feel a rough hand grab your shoulder from behind, shaking you. Their attempts to keep you awake are futile, though, as everything becomes too much for you to handle.

"No, don't close your eyes! Stay with me!" and that's the last thing you hear before you drift off into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

You're awoken to the sound of quiet repetitive beeping.

Opening your eyes is a task all in itself, your eyelids feeling impossibly heavy.

After a moment of struggle, you're met with the bright light from a window to your right. You slowly turn your head to the side, and you see Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin all perched on the couch. It looks uncomfortable, the way all three of them are scrunched up on the little loveseat.

You let your gaze linger on them for a moment, their presence providing a calming sensation for your jumbled mind.

Suddenly, your surroundings overwhelm you. You become terribly aware of all the wires connected to you. The ECG stickers become your biggest enemy, and the IV sticking out of your hand makes you angry.

Really angry.

You groan when you try to lift your arm, a sharp, shooting pain radiating down from your shoulder. You push through the pain though, urgent to remove all these wires from your body. The bandages littering your body feel as if they're burning your skin, and you've never needed to get something off of you faster.

You begin to peel the bandages from your arms, the pain from the adhesive no match for the pain you had been feeling previous to their removal.

Your agonistic groans manage to wake Changbin, and he panics when he sees you frantically tearing at your ECG stickers.

He jumps up from the couch, earning a yelp from Hyunjin as he was using Changbin as a pillow.

You're too overwhelmed to care about their actions as you continue to tear at your skin, even the blankets covering your body feeling like burning coals on your skin.

"Woah, what are you doing? You can't take those off yet," Changbin tells you, rushing to your side to try and restrain your arms.

"They're hurting me," you mumble, wretching your arms out of Changbin's grip to continue to pull at everything that touches you.

"Yn," Hyunjin gasps, quickly standing to his feet, running over to help Changbin.

Chan awakens from the commotion, alarm bells immediately sounding in his head when he sees your panicked movements.

You become more frantic when Hyunjin grabs one of your arms from Changbin, rendering you immobile.

"Get off!" you screech, yanking on your arms as hard as you can. Chan quickly runs out of the room in search of any healthcare professional he can find.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," Hyunjin struggles against you, holding tightly onto your hand.

"Let me go!" you continue to scream like a banshee, "You're hurting me!"

Neither do as you say, fearing for what you'll do to yourself if they listen.

"You're ok," Changbin pleads, bringing one of his hands away from your arm to rest it gently on your forehead. "Please calm down, everything will be ok."

You're too panicked to notice Chan re-enter the room, a nurse trailing in behind him.

She has a shot in her hand, and she hurriedly comes up beside Changbin to administer the drug. She hastily inserts the needle into your upper arm, and it only takes seconds for your demeanor to soften. Your thrashing becomes weaker, and your shouts become quieter, turning into soft mumbles.

The guys let out a sigh upon seeing your eyes close, your stature finally relaxing into the hospital bed once again.

"What the hell was that?" Hyunjin huffs, slightly out of breath from the physical altercation.

"Sometimes patients can be violent when they wake up out of a coma. It can happen to anyone," the nurse explains, taking the chart off the wall beside the bed. "We'll get some soft restraints to put on her arms before she wakes up again. It's unlikely for her to panic again, but it's just a precaution."

The guys nod, all three of them staring at your now peaceful face.

~ ~ ~

The next time you wake up, you feel as if you're experiencing deja vu. Your eyes open slowly, and you wince at the feeling of them being crusted over from sleep.

You also become strikingly aware of the aching pain radiating from your thigh. Your leg remains immobile, and you feel the constricting cast running from your mid thigh down to your ankle.

You go to bring your hand up to rub your face, but your movements are restricted. Your attention is brought to your hands, now laying limply by your side. There are restraints covering your wrists. Your face contorts into an expression of confusion, and you glance at the couch to your right.

Seated there are Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin. Your deja vu hits you harder when you see them resting against one another, sleeping soundly.

"Chan," you call out to him, your voice surprisingly hoarse, your throat scratchy and raw.

He immediately jolts up, waking the other two in the process.

"Hey, you're awake," he says, getting up from the couch.

He's cautious as he walks over to you, taking slow steps to get to your bed. Changbin and Hyunjin watch from the couch, keeping their distance. Their expressions rival Chan's, somehow looking even more timid.

"Hi," you suddenly feel shy under their gazes, "Why are you looking at me like that? I can't even move; can we get these things off of me."

"Yea, sorry, the nurse said it was just precautionary. I'll go get someone to take them off of you," Hyunjin gets up from the couch, hurrying out into the hallway.

Realization dawns on you, and you bring your eyes to meet Chan's again. "Did I hurt someone? What happened?"

"You were trying to hurt yourself," a nurse enters the room, answering the question for Chan. "You were in a coma for a couple days. Sometimes, when patients wake, they can turn aggressive. Which you did, but nobody was hurt, the boys stopped you before you could do any damage."

You just nod, not entirely sure how to respond. She explains in more detail what had happened as she takes the restraints off your wrists.

"We had to sedate you, so you were out for an additional day. On the bright side, your coma allowed for your body to do some of the tough healing while you were unconscious. You had a surgery on your thigh the night you were brought in due to a compound fracture in your femur. The surgery was successful. It seems to be doing well for now, of course we'll have to bring you back in for some check-ups, but you should be good to go for now."

Your eyes widen as she goes on and on. Chan sits beside you, rubbing a hand up and down your back to help comfort you. The nurse continues about the paperwork, and leaves to gather it so you can leave.

"How are you feeling?" Changbin asks from the end of your bed.

"Overwhelmed," you answer curtly. The thought of not being able to perform for a while hurts your heart. Not only that, but you can't even walk!

Your suddenly hit with a wave of memories from the night of the accident, and your eyes water at the thought of the rest of your members who were in the car with you.

"Are the other guys alright? Where are they?" your voice is panicked as you ramble off questions.

"They're ok, we promise," Chan reassures you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "They went home a couple days ago to rest. None of them got hurt as badly as you did. They all got some stitches, Seungmin's got a broken arm, and Felix has a pretty nasty concussion, but they're ok."

You sigh in relief, allowing your head to rest on Chan's shoulder.

The nurse comes back in, a folder filled with paperwork in hand. "As soon as you fill these out, you'll be good to go! Your medications and dosages are in this little baggy. You had some lacerations on your side, but we just covered them with butterfly bandages. The stitches on your neck can be taken out at your next appointment. Just be weary of them as you go about your day, try not to turn your head too quickly," she instructs, handing over the paperwork.

Within a few minutes, everything is filled out and you've been put in a wheelchair. Chan stands behind you, wheeling you out towards the van. Hyunjin carries your crutches from beside you, and Changbin holds your medicine and the paperwork.

Getting in the car was a hassle all in itself, as your leg felt like a million pounds with the cast on it. Your hip was so sore from laying in bed for so long, so you opted to have Chan lift you into the car.

Once finally settled, you lean back against the seat and close your eyes. You don't want to admit it, but you know these next few months are going to be difficult.

~ ~ ~

It's been a few weeks now, and things have started to go back to how they were before the accident. This is the first regularly scheduled week since then, and you're grateful for the normalcy.

Your managers had put everything on hold for a while, allowing you and the rest of your members to recover some. They knew it was a difficult time for all of you, and you were thankful for their leniency.

You have been spending most of your time on the downstairs couch, lounging around in front of the T.V. Various members would join you throughout the day, helping you with whatever you needed. Chan has certainly been the most doting, running at your every beck and call.

Today was no different; Chan decided to stay home with you while the rest of the members went to dance practice. He knew it'd probably put him behind, but they weren't set to perform for a good while, so he'll just catch up a different day. Plus, he knows Minho can handle them all just fine without him there.

The two of you are lounging on the couch, watching one of your favorite T.V shows, when Chan gets up to use the bathroom.

You hear the door close, and realize now's your chance. Your stomach's been growling for the past hour, but you didn't want to make Chan make you something.

However, you are done being the world's longest lounging couch potato, so you rise to your feet, grabbing your crutches from beside you, and make your way into the kitchen.

You know you don't have long before Chan finds you, so you ravage through the fridge quickly to try and find something to eat. You see your leftovers from the other night neatly packed away, so you grab those.

You carefully set your crutches down, leaning them on the counter next to you before hopping, leftovers in hand, to the microwave.

Unfortunately, the rug in front of the sink slips beneath you, and you fall onto the ground, your leftovers opening and spilling out onto you.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you sigh. Thankfully, you're not hurt, your butt just a little sore, but some of the sauce now decorates your cast.

You hear the door fling open from down the hall, and a frantic Chan bursts into the kitchen a mere second later. "What are you doing?" he's panicked as he rushes over to you, his arms looping under yours to pull you up.

"I was just going to heat these up because I was hungry, but then I slipped. I'm fine," you lightly push Chan away from you, knowing fully well that you can stand on your own.

He looks slightly taken back by your attitude, but nevertheless moves towards you again. He wraps his arms around you in an attempt to pick you up, no doubt to carry you back into your permanent spot on the living room couch, but you give him a firmer shove this time. "Did I hurt you?" he worries, his eyebrows scrunching.

"No, I just want to walk to the bathroom myself and get cleaned up," you explain, doing your best to keep your composure.

"I can help, let me grab you a wash rag for your cast," he bends down next to you, rummaging through the cupboard.

"Chan, please," you sigh. As much as you loved being babied at first, enough is enough. "I need some time by myself. I love you guys, but I'm not sure I've had a moment alone since the accident." Your arms are crossed as he stands, a pout forming on his face.

"But we just want to help you," he says, puppy-dog eyes on full display.

"And I thank you for all you guys have done the past month, but I really need to start doing things for myself again," you reach past him, grabbing your crutches and head down the hall to your bathroom. "Now to get this sauce off me," you mumble as you push the door open with the end of your crutch.

~ ~ ~

You're laying on your bed later in the day, knee propped up on a plump pillow to help alleviate some of the pain from your aching leg, when you hear a knock on door.

You tell them to come in, and the door opens to reveal Chan. "Hi," he's timid as he walks in. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed, a guilty look on his face.

"What's up?" you ask, sliding your bookmark into the crease of your novel.

"I wanted to apologize on behalf of all of us. We've been really clingy since the accident, and we didn't realize we were overstepping."

"Chan," you sigh, adjusting yourself to sit next to him. "Please don't beat yourself up about this. Honestly, I was just a little frustrated earlier and took it out on you. You guys have helped me more than you know these last few weeks. I really don't mind all the doting."

His eyes light up at that. "Really?" his voice is giddy, and you regret that you were the cause of his sadness before.

While the overprotectiveness really did get on your nerves a bit, if it brings them that much happiness to take care of you, you suppose you can get past your grumpiness and let them do it.

"Really."

"Guys, she changed her mind!" he yells, and not even a second later, your door swings open, seven smiling faces staring back at you.

They hurry into your room, clumsily fighting each other to sit on your bed. They're still cautious of your leg, but they all manage to fit, even if a little squished.

"Don't make me regret this," you joke, ruffling Seungmin's hair from where he's laid out on your lap.

"You know you love us," Chan comments, smirking at you.

"I certainly do."

[writingforstraykids]

More than friends

Pairing: Minho x Chan x fem!reader / Minchan x fem!reader

Word Count: 5069

Summary: Having a crush on both Minho and Chan, you hate seeing them stupidly in love and happy. One day, you snap at Chan, hurting Minho in the process. Minho picks you up the next day since you two have a lot to talk about and sets some boundaries...

Tags/Warnings: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, jealousy, friends to lovers, first kiss, fight between reader and chan, minho calls reader kitten, jealous!reader, protective!chan, soft!minho

A/N: Have fun reading 😊~Moon🌙

PART TWO

I can't help but love you Even though I try not to I can't help but want you I know that I'd die without you War of Hearts ~ Ruelle

You've known Chan your whole life, your mothers being best friends and having you only a few months apart. He's been like an older brother to you growing up, and you knew there'd never be a better friend than him. You've been heartbroken when he had to move to Korea to work hard for his dreams but supported him nevertheless. Growing up, you had a crush on him, which only grew as he got older. About a year ago, you went to visit him and got to know his roommate Minho, who happened to be the main dancer of his group. Minho was very polite and fun to be around, and you became friends fast. Going back home, you realized you had also developed a small crush on him. When you visited two months later, Chan very nervously confessed that he was bi, which didn't seem like an issue to you at all until he told you that he had a boyfriend now. Minho. 

It broke your heart a little, realizing you wouldn't have a chance with either of them now, especially because you promised Chan to move in for good once you'd moved to Korea. You've spent days crying in your room, trying to be happy for your friends but pitying yourself at the same time. But of course, you moved in with them two months ago, knowing there was no chance you'd be able to afford your own apartment in the beginning. For a while, it went well until you started to get jealous of Minho. He had not only stolen your heart but also your first crush. 

-

Minho sits next to you on the sofa, helping you with your assignments for university since you sometimes still struggle with Korean a little. You like his way of explaining things to you, making sure always to sprinkle in a joke when things get too frustrating. Everything is fine until Chan comes back home from the company, plops down on the sofa, and wraps his arms around Minho, pulling him into a loving kiss. "Missed you," he tells him gently, and Minho smiles sweetly, squeezing his hand. 

"Of course you did," he teases lovingly. Chan hums softly, deepening the kiss and brushing back his hair lovingly. "Channie," Minho says softly since you're sitting right next to them. 

"Oh please, she's seen almost as much of me as you have," he snorts, kissing him again. You glance at them and feel quite lonely, seeing how soft and caring they are with each other. This is all you ever wanted, with someone like Chan. Or Minho. 

"There's dinner in the fridge, love," Minho tells him, pulling back. 

"Great, I'm starving," he nods, and Minho laughs. 

"Go take a shower, I'll warm it up for you," he says. 

Chan's face covers with a beautiful smile. "Aw, you're the best, baby," he smiles. "Isn't he the best, Y/N?" he asks, finally acknowledging your existence. 

"Chan," Minho says gently, getting up. 

"Sure thing," you shrug, focusing on your laptop. "He's your boyfriend, you kinda have to say that." 

Chan frowns at you. "Well, he wouldn't be mine if he wasn't," he tells you. 

Mine. Something you had longed for him to call you for years. "So you're saying you'd replace him as soon as something better comes along?" you ask, knowing you are being mean now. You don’t dare to look at Minho but notice how he has stopped moving in the kitchen. 

"That's not - Min, that's not what I said," Chan protests. 

"Don't pull me into this," Minho laughs halfheartedly, slowly stirring his food. 

"Yeah, don't, you can talk for yourself. You don't need your perfect boyfriend to do that for you as well, do you?" you ask, and Chan's jaw drops. 

Minho bites back a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. He knows what's going on; he knew from the moment he met you. The way you gazed at Chan wasn't how you looked at your best friend. He really likes you, he loves spending time with you…alone. As soon as Chan is there, you act all different, almost seeming jealous. "Chan, love, didn't you want to take a shower?" he asks gently, trying to deescalate the situation subtly.

Chan ignores him. "Why are you being such an ass?" he asks you. "You got enough sleep last night?" 

"That was a little hard with you fucking his brains out last night," you give back sourly. 

It grows very quiet in the room, and Chan stares at you, stunned. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Minho speaks up, and it's the first time you look at him. He looks embarrassed, uncomfortable even. "I told you the walls aren't that thick," he whispers to Chan. 

"I wouldn't care, it's your home, after all. You're just not exactly quiet," you say, mentally slapping yourself for that comment. Minho's eyes widen, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, and the spoon drops from his hand. "But you seemed to have a great time, so I guess that's fine." 

Chan takes a look at Minho, who suddenly looks very anxious. And that pisses him off immensely. "Y/N." 

"What, Chris?" you ask, switching to English. You know Minho has struggles keeping up with it. "You think I wanted this? You've always talked about us moving in together once I'm done with school." 

"Well, I have a boyfriend now, you said you liked him. You said you'd love getting to know him more and move in with us," Chan snaps right back at you, having enough. 

"I didn't say I'm okay with watching you make out with him on the sofa. Listening to you having sex next door. Hearing all that disgustingly cute stuff you tell him all day," you give back, and Chan's expression darkens. 

"He was here first, idiot. This is his home as much as it is mine, and he was the one telling me you could move in with us," he tells you angrily. "He did nothing but being kind to you, making sure you feel welcomed and have everything you need." 

"I seriously don't get it, Chris. You could've had everyone. You're warm and open to everyone. Why would you go for him? I know you think he's perfect, but he doesn't open up to you the way you do. How can you be with someone unable to express their emotions?" you ask, watching him grow pale. You know you're making up shit now, so pissed that Chan and Minho, the only two guys you ever fell in love with, had to fall for each other. 

Chan turns to Minho, who is staring at you in pure shock. "She's talking shit, baby," he says worriedly. 

Minho swallows hard, tears brimming his eyes, as he puts down the spoon and turns off the stove. "I-I think I'll let you two continue on your own," he says quietly, unable to meet your eyes. 

Your heart sinks, realizing he must've understood more than you thought. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," you say timidly. 

"Liar," Minho says, grabbing his phone from the sofa. Chan reaches out for him, but he gently shakes him off. "Please don't, this is a conversation I don't want to be part of anymore," he tells him. "Sorry for waking you up, it will probably happen again if you intend to stay here," Minho tells you before leaving without another word. 

Chan looks after him, and you two remain silent for a moment. "What the fuck was that?" he asks then. 

"I'm sorry," you tell him quietly. 

"Something is seriously wrong with you," he says sharply, making you flinch a little. "He's amazing, and if you're too blind to see that, that's your issue. Don't make it mine." 

You chew on your lower lip nervously. Yes, Minho is amazing. He is funny, he’s kind, he is incredibly beautiful and caring. That is exactly the issue. "Chan, come on." 

"You switched languages to exclude him, how bitchy was that? And you fucking knew he understands, he just struggles with speaking it," he tells you, clearly pissed off. "That's so messed up, I don't even know what to say. I don't want to hear another word from you today, you've crossed a line." 

"Fine," you huff and collect your things, quickly going to your room. You throw your things onto your desk and swallow hard. You've been really awful, Minho didn't deserve that. Sighing, you look around the room and groan, seeing all the things Minho had paid for when you came here. One time, Chan was working he had taken you on a shopping spree to make your room more comfortable. On the desk is a picture of the three of you and some of the day you met Minho's cats for the first time. You stare down at his small comments in your book so you won't forget them again when you study on your own. Now you feel like a complete bitch and only want to disappear. 

Minho sits at the edge of their bed, staring out of the window. He's nervously picking his skin and chewing his lower lip at the same time. He doesn't turn when Chan steps inside, being able to tell it is him by the way he moves. The mattress dips beneath Chan's weight as he sits down next to him. 

"Minho, baby?" he asks softly, and Minho takes his hand, still not looking at him. "You're okay?" 

"No," Minho answers quietly. "I know you told me not to believe in those things," he tells him and feels fresh tears brim his eyes. "But why do I keep hearing them as soon as someone wants to hurt me?" 

"Minnie," Chan says gently. 

"People always go for your weak spots then," he says. 

"Your weak spot is how insecure you get when someone talks shit about you, she knows that," he tells him. "It's not that you're cold or unable to open up." 

"I thought I was being more open," he says quietly. "Also with her, even though I usually don't when I don't know someone that well. Fuck, Chan, I made her her favorite meal from home because she said she missed it today. Now I feel fucking stupid for doing it," he admits. 

"She's being an asshole," he tells him, and Minho laughs weakly, shaking his head. 

"She's hurt," he says. "She can't blame you, so she blames me." 

"What? What did I do?" he asks confused. 

Minho turns to him, a big tear rolling down his cheek. "You fell in love with me, Channie." 

Chan stares at him before his eyes widen. "No way." 

Minho smiles sadly as Chan cups his face, wiping his tears away. "I know that look. She's heartbroken. I can't blame her for that." 

"Even if she is, which is ridiculous, it's not okay to hurt you," he says sourly. 

"Love makes us do weird things," he shrugs his shoulders. 

"You mean like me tripping down the stairs and landing on your flowers because I got so nervous?" he asks, and Minho laughs. 

"Yeah, like that," he smiles gently at that memory. 

"Oh, come here, baby," he says softly, pulling him into a tight hug. "No matter what others say, you'll be nothing less than perfect to me." 

Minho squeezes him tightly, burying his face in his chest. "She's been your best friend your whole life, I hoped she'd like me." Which wasn't the whole truth. Minho thought about you a lot and started to like you more and more. Sometimes, he even thinks he is starting to fall for you. 

Chan doesn't know what to say and kisses his head. "We'll figure this out, okay?" he asks after a moment, and Minho hums gently. 

-

When you finally dare to leave your room again and make your way downstairs, you spot them on the sofa. Minho's sitting on Chan's lap cuddled up in his arms with him. His reddish eyes meet yours as you grab yourself a drink, and you can tell you hurt him. "There's still some left for you," he says suddenly, nodding towards the stove. 

"Oh, thank you," you barely get out. 

"You need help warming it up?" he asks, knowing you are struggling with the stove still. 

You nod timidly, and Chan stares at you as if he wants to tell you that this is Minho's way of showing how much he cares about someone. Not words but actions. 

Minho gets up and steps next to you, testing the temperature first. The only sound that can be heard is the TV playing in the background for a moment. 

"Min, I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me today," you tell him quietly enough only for him to hear. 

Minho sighs softly and glances at you for a moment. "You know exactly what was going on."

"What?" you ask nervously. 

"I'm not blind, Y/N. I know you've been in his life much longer than I have, and you've probably cared for him the way I do for a longer time as well," he says gently and grabs a plate for you. "I can't change the fact he told me he loves me… what should I have done? Neglect my own feelings? Hurting him and myself instead by pretending I wasn't in love with him the moment I met him?" he asks and fills your plate for you. "We can't decide who we fall in love with, but we also can't decide who falls in love with us," he tells you, and you'd like to be mad at him, but you can tell he means well. "Don't ruin what you have by being jealous of me," he says with a passionate smile, handing you your plate. "Now stop sulking and sit down, our show's about to start." 

You stand still with your plate for a moment until he gently grabs your shoulders and pushes you forward. Chan watches the two of you quietly as his boyfriend makes sure his best friend feels comfortable. He can't believe how kind Minho's heart is sometimes as he also hands you a blanket. Minho climbs back into his lap, intertwining their hands, and relaxes into him. You quietly eat your dinner, paying attention to the screen and trying to ignore the fact that Chan hasn't said a word since you came. "It really tastes just like home," you tell him timidly. 

"That's good to hear, kitten," Minho smiles at you shortly, and you feel even more guilty. 

There was no way you could hate him. Minho was a literal angel, and you got why Chan fell that hard for him. Minho's naturally beautiful, he's funny, and he's the most caring person you know. The more time you spent together, the more you thought he even outdid your ever-caring Chan with that. You don't know why you chose to say exactly what he had told you his haters say about him. Because you knew he wasn't any of that. 

Once the episode ends, Minho gets up and gently ruffles Chan's hair. "Don't stay up too long, you have a busy day tomorrow." 

"I'll try," Chan nods and smiles as Minho leans down, cups his face, and kisses him sweetly. 

Minho grabs your plate as he passes you by, gently patting your shoulder. "You stay calm tomorrow during your exam, you'll do great." 

"Thank you," you say quietly. When you look over at Chan, he's giving you a look that screams "bitch are you serious?". You wait until Minho's upstairs and turn a little. "Can we talk about this?" 

"I'm not the one you should talk about that to," he shook his head. 

"I hurt you too," you try gently. 

"I don't know what was going on, and I don't think I want to," he tells you firmly. "You have to get one thing, Y/N. He's my boyfriend, he means everything to me, and he makes me so damn happy, which you wanted after that shitty training period. I know this might make you feel left out at times, and I'm sorry about that, I really am, but I won't start hiding in my own house." 

"I get that," you nod gently. 

"I love you, but if you ever talk shit about him like that, you'll get into serious trouble with me," Chan tells you. "Don't think I wouldn't tell him the same if it had been the other way around." 

"Okay," you whisper timidly. 

Chan searches your eyes for a moment. "Min cares about you so much more than you could even imagine," he tells you. "I wish you could see that." Something that Minho had told him in the beginning was that he was open to the idea of having more than one partner. Chan knew you were Minho's type, and how he cared for you showed him he was probably right about his suspicion of Min developing a crush on you. He couldn’t blame him for that because you were beautiful inside out.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“You’ve been hopelessly romantic for as long as I can remember, but you’re so blind when it’s right in front of your eyes,” he sighs softly and gets up. “I’m gonna get some sleep now, I suggest you fix this with him tomorrow. I’ll kick your ass if you didn’t when I’m back home.” 

“Relax,” you sigh softly. “I already tried to apologize.”

“You tried?” he asks, amused.

“Yeah, he… never mind,” you tell him, ignoring his confused expression. 

-

Minho gently blows a strand of hair from his eyes, leaning against his car. He adjusts his sunglasses as someone looks at him suspiciously. He knows the look; people wondering if it’s actually him and debating if they should walk up to him or not. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he crosses his legs casually and sighs softly, squinting his eyes as he looks up the facade of the university building. 

“What’s so interesting up there?” you ask, turning and looking up as well. 

Minho chuckles softly. “Doesn’t it look like rain later?” he asks, looking back at you as you turn, your hair falling down your shoulders as you do. He smiles a little to himself as he takes in the sight of you and eases your bag from your hands. “How was the exam, kitten?” he asks curiously. 

You search his eyes, wondering if he was fucking with you. But there’s no anger, no disgust, and not even the hurt that had filled his beautiful brown orbs only yesterday. He seems…genuinely happy to see you. “I think I did alright.”

“Great,” he nods, satisfied. 

“What-what are you- I didn’t expect to see you here today,” you finally get out, squinting your eyes at him. 

“Why?” he asks calmly. 

“I-uhm-I mean-,” you stammer and swallow as he reaches up, brushing back your hair for you. 

“This is me being open,” he tells you kindly. “I know I’m not great with words, but Channie always says my actions speak for me, and I started to like that thought. So no, even though you’ve been a complete dick yesterday, I won’t let you take the bus and risk getting soaked.”

“I…I hope you know I didn’t mean what I said yesterday,” you tell him.

“Why did you say it then?” he asks, making you nervous. He searches your eyes for a moment before nodding to himself. “You did want to hurt me. Maybe even get me so far that I'd pick a fight with Chan, saying what a shitty best friend he has, which would lead to him being pissed at me.”

You watch him put your bag in the back of his car and open the door for you. “Minho,” you try gently. 

“Get in,” he says firmly, and you comply immediately. He gets in himself, buckles up, and starts the car. "I may seem like it sometimes but believe me, I'm not that easily truly pissed off. So, that backfired," he says, driving onto the road. "What did you expect to happen? That we'd break up, and you'd be there comforting him, and he'd end up falling for you?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at you, almost amused. 

"Come on, I wouldn't think of something like that," you snort. 

He shrugs his shoulders and focuses back on the road. "I don't know what the fuck you thought. Do you know what two days ago meant for me and Chan?" 

"No," you shook your head. 

"Two days ago, the night we, unfortunately, kept you up, it's been one and a half years ago that he asked me to be his boyfriend," Minho tells you, and your face falls as you start calculating in your head. "When I got to know you about a year ago, I asked him not to tell you yet because I wanted to get to know you on a neutral basis. In your eyes, I was his roommate, and I think we clicked rather quickly."

You stare at him, tears brimming your eyes. Chan told you seven months into the relationship that Minho was his boyfriend. Seven months. "You're lying. He wouldn't keep that a secret for so long." 

Minho glances at you, and compassion laces his features. "He was scared you'd judge him for it at first. Then, after five months, we decided to move in together, and we weren't sure if it would work out once it was only the two of us. Around that time, you visited, and after I told him, he should tell you the next time you visit."

"Five months is a little rushed, don't you think?" you ask, wondering why that was the one thing that came to your mind. 

"Let me put it this way, your best friend is incredibly horny, and it got exhausting hiding from our friends all the time," Minho tells you and rolls his eyes to himself. "But yes, it was a little rushed." 

You nod slowly before staring at the road ahead stubbornly. "Does he know you're telling me this now? The relationship stuff?" 

"No," Minho shakes his head. "We trust each other, he'll be fine with it." 

"That's not your decision to make," you frown. 

"It's my relationship as much as it is his. You're acting weird towards me, not him, so I can tell you whatever I want, my dear," he says patiently. "You're in love with him?" he asks as he stops at a red light and looks at you. 

You swallow hard and close your eyes in defeat. "I've been in love with him for years," you whisper. 

"And you never told him?" he asks gently. 

"No," you shake your head. "I was too afraid he'd push me away, and I'd ruin our friendship." 

"God, you're just like him," Minho groans softly. "When I met him, he couldn't stop talking about that girl he knew back in Australia and how much she meant to him. It was obvious he had a crush on her." 

"What?" you ask quietly. 

"We got closer, and I fell for him more with every passing day. I tried to tell myself to stop it because I didn't think I'd stand a chance against you," Minho tells you, parking the car in front of the house. He turns the keys and leans back in his seat. "It felt awful having him right there but knowing he wasn't mine and he'd never be. I was starting to give up, but then, one night, he showed up and told me that he developed feelings for a guy to test my reaction. Y/N, when he kissed me, I felt whole again for the first time in ages," he says, and you can tell he's getting emotional. "I love him so much, and I can't imagine a life without him by my side anymore. He's everything I have, and I -," he cuts himself off as he feels tears brimming his eyes. "I know how you feel, okay? I don't want to feel threatened by you. I really don't because then I'll start getting nasty too," he says very quietly. “I’ll fuck you up if you try and destroy what we have, I mean it.”

You swallow hard, trying to process what he has just revealed. Chan had a crush on you when he came to Korea? "Minho, I had no idea," you say gently, placing your hand on his thigh. 

"I try not to think of it that way, but I wasn't his first choice, you know. It was you, and when I met you, I knew why," he tells you, blinking back tears. "Stop feeling jealous about that. I should be the one scared to lose Chan in case he decides you're better for him after all. I wouldn't even blame him because you're right. I have trouble opening up because I've been hurt before, but I'm learning because I trust him."

"Hey," you say gently. "Don't you ever believe you're something less than Chan's first choice. He loved you enough to be brave and offer his heart. You should've seen how protective he got yesterday." 

Minho presses his lips together tightly before looking at you again. Your breath stops as tears threaten to spill from his eyes, his hands trembling. "You didn't see the hope in his eyes when I told him you're in love with him." 

You hesitantly take his hand, and he lets you. "Minnie, I mean it. I've been an asshole and have no right to destroy what you two have. You're perfect for him, and maybe that's what pissed me off so much; I can't find any flaws," you tell him. 

"There are a lot," he shakes his head. 

"I highly doubt that," you say, and he laughs weakly. "I mean, look at you. You're funny, you're smart, you're so caring and kind. You're an incredible dancer and singer. You have very pretty eyes and-."

"You think I have pretty eyes?" he asks, blushing softly. 

"And very kissable-looking lips," you nod. "No wonder he keeps on harassing you with kisses no matter what you do," you say, pulling a genuine laugh from him. 

Minho hastily wipes away a single tear falling down his cheek and exhales shakily. "I'm sorry he wasn't brave enough to tell you." 

"Don't be," you shake your head. 

"You deserve to be loved just as much as he does," he tells you, squeezing your hand tightly. "I'm…I'm okay with sharing, Chan," he says, searching your eyes observantly. "But not with losing him." 

You need a moment to get what he means. "You mean you'd be okay if I had a relationship with Chan at the same time as you do?" 

Minho nods very slowly. "I have no idea if that's what he wants…but I'll tell him that I won't be in the way if that's something he wants." 

"What if that’s not all I want?" you ask, and insecurity flickers in his eyes, which makes you wonder if that's what Chan had meant yesterday. Did Minho care about you that way? 

"You mean…," he trails off, sinking into your curious eyes. Did you mean it the way he thinks you did?

"I do think you have very pretty eyes..and kissable lips. I've been thinking about that since the day we met," you admit, and his lips part in surprise. Minho leans in at the same time as you do, and you search each other's eyes for another moment before your lips meet. Fuck, Chan was right, he's an incredible kisser. Minho's hand shoots up, resting on your cheek and pulling you in closer. 

Suddenly, he pulls back and stares at you with wide eyes. "Fuck, I shouldn't have - oh god, I'm sorry," he stammers. "I should've talked to him first." 

"Minho, calm down," you tell him, but he's already pulling the keys and getting out. "Fuck," you whisper to yourself. 

-

When Chan comes home, Minho's sitting at the kitchen island, bracing his head on his hand. He looks deep in thought, anxious even. "Baby?" he asks worriedly, and Minho's eyes flicker up at him. "What's wrong?" 

"I fucked up," he whispers.

"What?" he asks confused, and puts down his bag before sitting down opposite him. 

"I love you, you know that, right?" Minho asks timidly. 

"Of course I do," he assures him and offers his hand. Minho takes it, and Chan frowns, noticing he is shaking. 

"I - uhm- remember when I told you that I'm open about having more than one partner?" he asks, and Chan nods gently. "And I also promised to tell you if that's ever the case before anything happens, right?"

Chan nods and straightens up a little. "Did something happen?" he asks gently. 

"I picked her up, and we talked about yesterday. I told her that I always thought I'd never have a chance because of your crush on her and how things developed then," Minho starts, and Chan watches him intently. "She seemed to get it and got really sweet. I told her that if you'd have no issue, I'm willing to share you and-," he looks up, almost a little panicked, as you walk down the stairs. 

Chan slowly turns his head, and meeting your eyes, he knows. He looks back at Minho, who looks incredibly guilty and swallows hard. "I kissed him," you say, bracing yourself for an outburst of Chan. 

"You kissed my boyfriend?" Chan asks, very slowly looking back at you. 

"Yes," you say quietly. "I know what you see in him, Chan, I'd be blind if I didn't."

"I told you to talk to him," he says before laughing. "I didn't think you'd take this a whole step further," he grins. 

"You're not mad?" Minho asks and tilts his head at him. 

"We've talked about this, baby. I could tell you like her more than a friend, and she's so desperate for love she doesn't pick up on a damn signal," he rolls his eyes at you. "I knew one day I'd come home, and you'd tell me you met someone. It's even better knowing it's my best friend." 

Minho's face softens, and he visibly relaxes. "And you're okay with that?" 

Chan smiles at him fondly. "I am very okay with that." 

“Great…because there’s more,” Minho nods gently, and Chan frowns at him.

“More?” he asks puzzled.

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@soullostinspaceandtime @brownieloved @rebecca-johnson-28 @euphoric-univers @hyunniebunni @mal-lunar-28 @malfoygalaxies

[daaawnnn]

not meant to be

skz reaction: request - hello, so I just read maybe I like you and was wondering if you could do them, finding out reader has a crush on them, but not liking reader back. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. or if you don’t have time, just ignore this, but yeah byeee 💞

pairing: bsf!skz x gn!reader

warnings: rejection

©daaawnnn

reblogs are appreciated!

[sunboki]

🛒 SKZ TEXTS — “what if i told you i was pregnant”

including. ot8<3

warnings. pregnancy mentions, suggestiveness, cursing

notes. baby fever month hitting hard right now.. somebody tell me where can i buy a channie :(

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[soobnny]

the unsent project — a collection of unsent text messages to you; their first love (angst edition)

CHAN — i wish i’d fought for us more, i’m sorry

LEE KNOW — i meant it when i proposed to you

CHANGBIN — you’re the best partner i’ve ever had. i still love you

HYUNJIN — there’s so much i didn’t get to tell you

JISUNG — i still look for you first in a room full of people

FELIX — i had so much planned for us. i was supposed to take you to meet my family next year

SEUNGMIN — i’m still here. i’m still waiting

JEONGIN — i’m scared that nothing else will ever feel like love again after you

[oddinarylani]

'i wish you'd just care about me' arranged marriage skz.

pt 1: chan, lee know, changbin, and hyunjin.

w: blood, violence in changbin's

pt 2 is ⇀ here

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

it wasn’t the best of circumstances. no. the day you were bathed in white, promised to a man, and walked down the aisle by your father to be given to the hands of your husband was one you spent in mourning, swallowed by grief. “i bet you’re so excited, yeah?” the makeup artist asked, brushing a pearly shade of pinkish red onto your lips. she had a soft genuine smile as she asked, surfacing you into reality from the fogginess in your head. you nod, once, “yes, i am.” you lie in an attempt to make conversation easy. most of the guests that day knew of the arrangement, but other’s hadn’t a clue - which made appearances dire to keep up with. part of you was pleased to move onto a new chapter in your life if it meant moving on from life with your parents. but the other part reminded you that you were going into a new marriage completely blind to the man you’d call your husband. you met him one singular time before changing your last name, the entirety of it was spent with your parents talking to his own - glances you cast in his direction, if only to study the face of the man you hoped to love one day. 

his jaw was set coldly, eyes focused on the conversation shared between your parents. he was handsome but just stone. was anything there? you would wonder. is there a man beneath that face? the bone beneath his skin rippled in tender structure, ears pierced, nose rounded, and a heart-like shape to his mouth. while there was no longer hope to hold out for, you scrounged up a bit more in the depths of your chest in desire to love him one day. truly love him. and to be loved in return. 

two months into your marriage and you still feel the brick wall dividing you from your husband. it wasn’t exhausting all the time, no. you saw him smile; a few times actually. sometimes you think of it when going to sleep. you hadn’t heard him truly laugh, but you still maintained that same hope from the first time you ever saw him that one day you’d be the reason for him to. your new routine as husband and wife took a minute to settle into; with chan slowly rising to ranks of his family’s company and your own growth in the business of your own. your days were spent at home in your office working from home, a lot of calls into business meetings that you kept your mic muted for, and phone calls to overseas clientele for holiday season. 

chan would wake in the morning and rise from your shared bed quick to get ready for work, leaving you to fix coffee and shrug on a robe in the cold of your home (winters weren’t kind in the mornings) when he’d leave, you’d have a cup ready for him, cream and a sugar cube. “thank you, have a good day.” he’d wish, already halfway out the door with a small tired smile on his face. “you’re welcome, you too,” you’d say, scrolling through your phone as the door would shut. 

he’d take little notice to your attempts at growing your relationship, and you hadn’t had the time to bring it up to him yet that you wanted to try to have a wonderful marriage. you’d step into the living room wearing a new dress for a banquet for the company, smile a bit wider and brighter than usual - he’d look up from the couch, phone still in hand and would give you a thin lipped smile. “you look nice.” you’d rent a movie, one he’d said he’d wanted to watch soon, and welcome him home with drinks by the couch and he’d brush it off, “ah, sorry. i have a company thing tonight. tomorrow maybe?” of course, he’d forget the next day anyway so it would all be for nothing. when he’d come home extra late and you’d be in bed, buddled in pjs in the comforter with a book and the lamp on next to you, you’d muster your best smile and set your book down. “hey, how was work?” he’d sigh, pulling the tie from his neck. “nothing new really.”

and then you’d beg yourself, beg yourself, to just answer the question of why were you in love with him? 

maybe it was for all the times you’d get to see him smile, the chuckles as you’d watch a movie, the thank you’s for cooking, and everything in between. maybe you loved him for the way he stumbled into the kitchen almost late for work, his hair a bit messy and his tie disoriented and you stopped him - “wait,” you put a hand up, walking up to him to fix his tie. it was the closest you’d ever been to him besides the day you’d gotten married, you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “sorry, my hands are cold.” your voice still laced with sleep as you straightened his tie and flattened his hair. “i-it’s okay.” he assured, clearing his throat. “eat some on your way to work, coffee’s on the counter. have a good day, okay?” you push a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin into his hands, pointing to his coffee before turning back to the stove. “r-right. thank you, have a good day.”

that was pretty cute. you even for a moment thought there’d be hope for you, as his cheeks flushed pink when you started working on his tie. sitting at your desk in your office you’d smile at the thought before catching yourself and smacking your own cheeks. 

but time was catching up with you, and the unbearable ache of loving him was almost too much for your heart to handle. you at least needed to know if he felt the same or if he ever could - but in the following days after your realization, you proved yourself right. there was no way. no way this could work out. a steady stream of emotion was constantly running through you; you couldn’t focus on work, you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat - and you wondered if he even noticed. you were growing increasingly frustrated with chan, and every passing day of limited conversation, barely any eye contact, and virtually no response from chan was wearing you down. one second you were smitten, and the other you were pissed. 

and it eventually all came to a halt. 

the front door of your house shut loudly, louder than usual. and you had a sneaking suspicion chan hadn’t the best day at work. well. that was a shame - you were still pissed, and to think he had the audacity to come home angry from work when he could barely prove to be a communicative partner was enough to leave your blood boiling. you’d let him have it if given the chance. 

“how was work.” it wasn’t so much a question as much as a routine statement. you sat on the couch, shuffling through your movies to find the one he’d been wanting to watch, which upon realization, you didn’t know why you did that when you were pissed at him. 

“fine.” he stomps into your shared bedroom, yanking the tie from his throat as he did so. you roll your eyes and keep shuffling with a much heavier hand this time. when he re-emerges from the bedroom, he’s shed his tie but still has on his button-down and suit jacket on, you furrow your brows and sit up from the couch. 

“what’s wrong? what happened?” you ask out of the goodness of your heart. he tosses open the fridge, sighing. “nothing. nothing happened.”

“you wanna watch that movie you said you wanted to see?” he runs his hands over his face, closing the fridge door. he looks for a moment as if he’s thinking, his hands on his hips as he swallows. “no. not tonight.” he finishes, beginning to walk out of the kitchen before you stand.

“i really really wish you just cared for me.”

it was quiet, quiet, when you said it. the words left your lips before you could realize that your vision was getting a bit glossy. he freezes in his tracks, whipping his vision towards you at the sound of your voice. there wasn’t venom to your words like you expected there would be, no. just defeat. chan hears it, he hears it in you and all of his frustration, his anger, his annoyance, just melts away. instead, his chest is swallowed with guilt. 

“i try,, i try so hard to make this work, chris. i really do.” you wipe your face even though tears haven’t fallen yet, and he thinks it’s to stop them from ever doing so, at least in front of him, and his chest aches. he’s turned to face you now, just six feet away or so, and his brow softens at the sight of you. 

“i cook for you and make you coffee every morning and try renting your favorite movie because you said you wanted to watch it and wear pretty things out to work events and when i go out with friends but,, you don’t,,,” you look at him when you speak, he sees that water building in your eyes and takes a step closer to you, almost wanting to reach out but stopping himself before he’s to do so. your head shakes, you sniff one more time. 

“because that’s what married people do.” this time he does walk closer, you don’t move, but you don’t look him in the eye either - it seems much to hard to do when you’re on the brink of crying. 

“i promised myself,,” you lift a clenched fist to his chest, tapping him once with it, your lips screwing together in frustration though your voice is still soft and tearful. “that as your wife i’d love you one day.” your hand drops from his chest, you wipe your eyes when a single tear spills over your waterline, ducking your head to do so out of his line of sight. “is it too much to ask the same from my husband.”

it’s quiet for a minute, in one way he knows everything to say. every sweet word to soothe over your aching heart, because that’s what he’s suppose to do as your husband, and there’s another part of him that has no clue what to say. 

because what kind of husband is he to leave you feeling as empty as this.

“i told myself on our wedding day that,, i never wanted to be the one to make you cry.” his palms come to cup your cheeks, though his large hands end up swallowing some of your jawline and neck as well. your eyes widen a bit at the feeling, “look at me?” he asks, voice quiet. you do so with guidance from his own hands. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.” even he has some water building on his waterline, you notice. you frown, feeling his thumbs dry your under eyes. 

“i never wanted to make you feel uncared for or unheard. i appreciate everything you do for me. and i’m sorry i’ve made you question if i care for you.” he wipes his thumbs under your eyes once more before his hands lower a bit. “you’re my wife. i care about you so much. and i’ll show you that, i promise.” 

you talk for a little longer, but disregard the movie for the night, instead, you settle on curling up beside chris who wraps an arm around you, his cheeks a bit pink as you adjust yourself in his hold. he feels the burn of your own cheeks against his arm. “is this okay?” he asks, his opposite hand settling on your hip. you smile, “of course. i’m your wife, you can touch me. can i touch you?” he hums, scooting closer, giving you the okay to lay your arm across his midsection. you close your eyes for a moment, if only to enjoy the feeling of holding your husband for the first time. the warmth that always seems to naturally radiate off of him, the closeness of his breath, the feeling of being the only woman who gets to see him like this. 

“i didn’t know you were so cuddly, mr. bang.” you smile to yourself, his hand stroking soft over your hip. “only when given the chance, mrs. bang.” he replies. “ooh,, too smooth.” you admire. 

when silence encircles the both of you, and you feel sleepiness begin to creep up on you, he speaks again, “did you mean it when you said you’d learn to love me one day?” his voice is quiet, so tender - it licks at the wounds of your heart and seals them shut. your heart pounds behind your ribcage and you breathe deep to settle the rage of affection steadily brewing in you. “of course.” you reply, your face beginning to bury in his neck. 

“well, that’s a shame.” you furrow your brows, opening your eyes to look up at him. before you can reply he speaks again. “because i love you now.”

 𝓵𝓮𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.↴

“the summer berries on the bushels in the forest are getting ripe now, i brought you some.” you lift your basket, both hands wrapped around it’s weak woven handle, showcasing your proud supply of freshly picked goods. you set the basket down a moment later, your husband batting a quick eye to the basket before he looks back to his spread of books a second later. “mm.” is his only reply. 

lee minho was the protector and guide of the largest castle in the northern part of your land. he was a renowned alchemist and practitioner of magic, known for being aid to a handful of people in the village you were raised in, and most notably - a fierce god of night. a vampire. 

it was true the stories of bloodlust and killings that tainted centuries of vampire lore; but lee minho set out to do something different. he hadn’t a care of the human experience, which he shared with that of his ancestors, but he had no need to kill them either. animal blood tasted just as delicious as a human’s. and when befriending a human, their loyalty was like no other. so he didn’t kill them, no, he made pacts and promises, and if anything used them more like pawns but they’d die soon before he did. 

and then there was you. his wife. promised to his hand by your family - a pact of sorts, one of which you both hadn’t necessarily agreed to if it wasn’t for both of your families stepping in to further push along the marriage. in a quiet candlelight scenery you were married to your now husband, and your seal of a kiss was shared. which, honestly, you didn’t regret. he was very handsome - and kissing handsome men was always a joyous occasion (well, mostly anyway) 

he was rageful. not at you, maybe more to existence itself. he was never angry towards you, he never showed it, but you could see deep within the brown wash of his eyes that he was indeed an angry man. he had a hate you’d only seen a few times, and every time you looked a little too hard you felt yourself look away - to anywhere else in the room. afraid of what it meant, afraid of his own distaste. 

“you’re wearing the dress.” he notes. his vision still wondering over the pages in his book. your slightly fallen expression gleams a little at his comment. “yes, of course. you bought it for me.” your hands smooth over your torso, he still doesn’t look up. your lips twist at the sight of your husband’s disinterest, but you turn to wash the berries and leave the room. 

most of your marriage to minho felt like a huge disinterest on his side. he’d lived many years, this much was true. but in your short time to live, you longed for a husband who loved you; and part of you thought minho was largely incapable of this. he never showed it. he never showed anything for that matter; he was always so far away. life not only was nonexistent to him as a man, but in his very eyes. he showed not a shred of emotion, and even in your good memories with him, he showed very little. part of you blamed it on his years of living, but yet the other part of you reminded you it was all the more reason to care. every day felt like a slow drag, you weren’t really living, not really. survival maybe. but being bound to this castle with a man who rarely payed you mind left an ache worse than death. were you not to his standards? maybe that was it. 

you’d shed too many tears over the situation, now every time you cry you try to pull yourself together in the face of your grief. upon talking to your family, a few members reminded you that your voice was powerful, and you should very much share your opinions to him on the matter if your marriage was to work - but that was the thing. a few months in with the man you were to learn to love, and you felt even now it was helpless. it was a sting that brought you to your knees, god how you wanted to just tell him. tell him you loved him - and hear it from his own mouth. 

upon your ravage of feelings and your family’s request, you resorted to writing a letter to your husband. you surely wouldn’t have the guts to face this powerful man in person, not like this. so you took to beginning your note in scribbles in the isolated space of your bedroom. 

your lips twitch in thought as you think over the contents of your letter, your hand stilling still quipped with a quill. you’re swallowed with silence in the stillness of your bedroom, word after word is brought to the front of your brain. there’s a number of things you could say, but not enough words in the world to describe how you felt. 

“lee minho, i’m unhappy.” you speak aloud as you write, taking a moment to look back at your writing, quickly scribbling the line out before starting again. 

“dear husband, i have a few things to bring to your attention.” you nod along as you write, happier with this line. 

“i believe if we’re to work as husband and wife, we should talk more.”

“i try time and time again to gain your attention, to bring you happiness in a way i know how.”

“but,, it seems to never be enough.”

“if you don’t want me,” you pause, your fingers fumble with the quill in your hand as your palms begin to warm against the hardwood. your lips twitch again.

against all things in your brain reminding you a married couple should speak of their issues and this was a must in your relationship if either of you wish to continue - an overwhelming feeling of pure grief washes over you and your hand as you still to keep from writing. 

every bright moment in your relationship flashes before your eyes like matches starting a fire. it’s so overwhelming that your voice dies, and a tight tug at the back of your throat halts you to a shred of reality you hadn’t dwelled on. you sit further back in your chair, eyes glossing over into thought - lost entirely to the contents of your brain. realization has hit you like a truck in the face of your confrontation. 

because what about all of the wonderful times you’ve spent together.

what about the dancing of your wedding day, the golden burn of his watchful gaze, the presents, the meals shared, the wishes of good morning or good night? what about all of the times that kept you so closely tethered to him? what about the times that kept you in love with the man who barely spoke to you. 

you take a breath - and as quiet as it would be, it’s blaringly loud in the silence of your bedroom. 

“i want to love you. i do. and,, i think i do.” clarity has left your quill, and instead, you write from your heart. what you truly feel. 

“i hate that you don’t notice when i try to do kind things for you.”

“i want to work in matrimony of us.”

“i know our marriage is against our wishes, but i want to make it work.”

“i just.. i just wish you cared about me.”

a hand sharply grabs your chin, pulling your gaze to meet that of your husband's golden gaze. 

“not care?” he asks, his face screwed into a sort of confused expression. “not care?” he asks again as his expression contorts again, further - until his hand is tender. 

you’re so sharply pulled from your own head that you’re left with whiplash. he’s heard you? where was he? did you leave the door open? your eyes are blown wide as you face him in the realization he’s heard everything.

your mouth dries as you look at him, his gaze cuts into your very being and you feel utterly frozen. “no-! i didn’t mean it-” “you do though. i’ve made you feel this way.” his gentle grip on your chin leaves you, and he shuffles away, sitting firmly on your bed. his gaze seems lost, as if he couldn’t keep up with the words you’d admitted. 

“minho..” “i do care.” he cuts in. you swallow, your brows melding together as you do so. “i don’t… want you to feel this way. and i’m sorry for doing so.”

in the face of confrontation he seems genuinely distressed, not that any part of you doubted it - but it was comforting to hear the words leaving his mouth. 

“if we’re to be married, i want you happy. comfortable. i don’t want you to feel bad because of me.” he explains. 

“i just,, i want to work this out. i want us to talk more; tell me what makes you happy and what hurts you.” you reassure, holding onto the back of your chair as minho’s head hangs low. “i’m your wife, i want to hear all of that.” a small smile stretches across your mouth; it’s lopsided and a bit sad, but it’s there nonetheless, and the sound of your voice lets minho’s head rise as he meets your gaze once more. 

he sees in you the beauty he sees across the room even as you just sit a few feet away from him. it’s overwhelming, suffocating; and part of him hates it a little bit for suffocating his heart in one swift swallow. you’re all encompassing and human - he’s learned self-control few could achieve, and yet even a few months into a marriage he didn’t agree to and he’s smitten. he wants to reach deep inside his chest and pull his heart out by it’s tethers, and apart of him wants to feel your love to the highest degree he could if just to be surrounded in heaven once more. 

“were you lying then?” he pauses, hands wrung together. “when you said you loved me?” a small quirk in the corner of his mouth leaves your face and chest hot. 

“i wasn’t lying.”

minho’s made home on your bed, lulled to his side as his pretty eyes wash over your face. you aren’t connected, in fact, you’re a little afraid to touch him - regardless of this fact, your wrist lifts to reach nimble fingers to his face, but you pause, your soft fingers retracting into your palm. 

“touch me.” he needs. his hand cupping your own to bring to his face tenderly.

your face is flushed with a dusty pink, the feeling of his face beneath your touch lights the nerve endings in your palm alight. your brow quirks in thought, but not for a moment do you part with his sun-washed eyes. 

“how did you become a vampire?” you ask quietly, your thumb strokes the soft skin beneath his eye, his hand stroking the back of your own. 

“i was born into it. my family comes from a long blood-line of vampires.” you hum in response, taking a moment to study the wash of sun-like gold that overtakes your husband’s eyes. fractals of evening sun beam through the curtains in your bedroom, creating a soft sleepy haze in your room. dust is seen floating in the room in the portions of sun that reach into the room. 

“you’re beautiful.” he beats you to it, realizing he too has been looking at you the entire time. you retract your hand nervously, a smile stretching across your face in sweet embarrassment. “thank you.”

“do you want to be one one day? or do you value your life?” he’s half joking, a floppy smirk on his lips as he sighs a laugh. you hum once more, looking to his mouth to see the slight glimpse of fangs visible to you. 

“maybe. if it meant i got to spend more time with you, than yes.”

minho’s smirk widens, his eyes washing from your face to the curve of your jaw, to the drop of your neck. his mouth parts, his hand coming to the curve of your ribcage over your waist, his warm hand freezes you in place. he lowers his lips to the column of your neck, a lowly drunken gaze filtering over his face. “that could be arranged.” his breath meets the tender flesh of your neck before he presses your waist closer to your body, his soft lips meeting your neck in a single kiss. 

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓷.↴

“be careful on the job today.” you crane your neck out of the doorway of the kitchen to look at your husband as he tightens a holster around his thigh. he looks up for a moment, face momentarily stricken with something similar to surprise at your well wishes. he looks down a moment later, checks the clip of his pistol, and then shoves it into the holster. “i will. i’ll be back tonight.” the door closes sharply behind him and you’re left in the silence of your home yet again. 

there’s a pool of melted ice on top of your coffee, you take a sip anyway, the palm of your hand now wet from the sweat off the glass. in truth, you were trying. very sternly trying to make your marriage work. but with circumstances of said marriage coupled with the dangerous reality of your lifestyles, it felt like your assumed fate was dwindling before your eyes - a thin bow ready to snap under pressure. 

being born into crime wasn’t all good fellas or the godfather all the time - no. it was nasty business, some of which you came to regret but again this was the only life either of you knew, leaving the business would be impossible without a gun to your head. you persevered in the face of guilt anyway, not knowing fully how your husband felt about the situation. the sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your head for a moment, leaving you rolling your eyes at the sight of your mother’s name across the vibrating screen. 

“yes?’’ your coffee tastes bitter now, too much water - you pour the contents into the sink as she begins talking. 

“hey hun, there’s a job tomorrow that’s opened up. one of the boys got canned, we’ll pay his bail through an anonymous source but we have to wait a few days so the cops don’t catch on. you in?” your fingers tug a coffee filter out of it’s wooden box, stuffing it into the machine as you press a button on your grinder. 

“mom,” your hand comes to your eyes, rubbing them tiredly. “i told you i was out of the dirty work. i’m doing that shit anymore. and i’m severely out of practice of doing anything hefty.” you explain, the grinder stops, you pour the grounds into the coffee machine. she sighs on the other end, her voice coming through more heated now - pressure started weighing on your shoulders. she says your name with a deadly tone, it leaves you feeling as though there’s a cold metal rod stiff in your back. 

“why don’t you ever look out for this family? you think you can just leave and do the bare minimum when your father and i have slaved over making a good childhood for you?” and then you’d argue back and forth until you felt like ripping your hair out and you’d finally cave and you mom would end the call sharply and once again leave you in the silence of your home that was beginning to feel more like a prison. 

when you heard the beep that ended the call, you tossed your phone to the couch and let your mind wander yet again - what else was there to do in your seemingly failing marriage and rocky relationship with your parents? you hadn’t many friends unless they were in the business, and that only counted for a few really close ones. you track around your kitchen with your fingers pushed into your hairline, and your mind wanders back to something she’d said on the phone a few weeks ago. 

“we found you your husband, is that not good enough for you?”

you hadn’t even the energy to put up with audacity of that claim. so you ended the call and showered, but it still ate at you greatly - because no. no it wasn’t enough. changbin, as dedicated to the lifestyle as he was, and you respected him for his commitment, was terrible at showing you what he truly felt. most conversations were barely that, mostly exchanges if anything - and the few good times you’ve had together were truly the only thing keeping you around if it wasn’t for the godforsaken hope you managed to hold onto. 

you saw the good in him - the good he was capable of, and every time you’d suffocate yourself in thought about being three months in and still not working together as a married couple should, you reminded yourself of this fact. it’s what kept you in, what drew you closer to him. because what could you both be? it’s already bad enough you have feelings for the guy and he clearly didn’t feel the same way. 

“fuck,, what am i gonna do.” to clear your head you showered again, tying back your wet hair and slumming around the house until changbin arrived back home when you’d be drifting off to sleep. at least you had an opportunity to clean; and when the house was clean, you felt a bit better. you were correct about changbin returning late - you heard a long sigh as he entered your bedroom, the plop of a duffel bag could be heard. when you look at the time on your phone you see it’s just past three in the morning. 

“how’d it go?” you ask tiredly from the bed, the bathroom light flickers on and he raises his head a bit. “oh i’m sorry i didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“it’s okay. you okay?” 

“yeah. yeah, everything went fine. what’d you do today?” you see the rings of exhaustion circling his eyes as he strips off his shirt and hides the smallest of winces.

you sigh heavily, rubbing your eyes as the sink begins to run. “i talked to my mom on the phone. doing a job tomorrow night. cleaned the house though.”

“what kind of job?” he asks as he starts the shower. you talk a bit louder so he can hear you over the sound of the spray. oh he wasn’t going to like the sound of this - these kinds of jobs were everyone’s least favorite in the business. 

“there’s a warehouse on fifth, when you’re leaving the downtown area. apparently some guys are trafficking there. gotta take them out.” 

“shit.. be careful. small time guys have been trying to make names of themselves.” 

“i know, i will be.”

careful you were, but careful was not enough. those guys holed up in that warehouse with every corner covered, not only that, but with automatic weapons with full mags, dressed in black to blend with the shadows. the job was done, the victims released into promised care and with you aid in the following days, be returned to their families or brought to homes, but not without some wounds of your own. the guys dropped you off at the back of your house, granted it was past midnight but you couldn’t be too careful. your home was secluded - but what the law knew was unbeknownst to the organization in regards to this mission in particular. 

you left your weapons in the van with the promise of getting them back the next day. “c-clean the blood off it for me, would you?” you grinned, shuffling from the van with your arm slung over your partner. you lean nearly fully into his weight as he aids you in finding your back door. you bang on the big sliding window before unlocking it, letting changbin know you were home. 

“we gotta get the fuck outta here. you be careful yeah? call me tomorrow morning.” the driver calls before peeling away from your home. you nod, using the wall to stumble inside your house as the living room is suddenly flooded with light, and your husband walks out of your bedroom with his phone in hand and his brows furrowed. 

“changbin,,” you push the door closed, leaving bloody handprints everywhere you touched. 

“fuck- okay, okay, okay- it’s alright. come here.” his outstretched hands come to wrap your arm around his shoulders and stabilize on your waist as he helps you walk to your bathroom. 

hot spots of pain blossom on your waist, ribs, and leg. it’s throbbing, all encompassing, and leaves your eyes watering when changbin’s palm presses a little harshly into your side. throughout the house your gasps and groans of pain are heard, changbin is working as diligently and carefully as he can to help you to the bathroom, only imagining how much you must be hurting. 

“okay, okay- i’m gonna lay you on the floor okay?” he helps you rest along the floor after he’s put some towels down, and kneels by your side before grabbing the extensive first aid kit you kept in your bathroom. you nod, closing your eyes to focus on breathing, but every breath in hurts, and every exhale throbs your wounds. 

“where are you hit?” he asks, you now notice his hands are tainted with your blood in just a few splotches. he rummages through the kit, reaching for the hem of your shirt as he cuts through your gear and clothing. “m-my sides, and,, one in my left leg.” 

“alright. it’s gonna be okay - let’s get you sewn up. what happened?” he asks as a way of distracting you from how bad this was about to hurt. he pours some alcohol in his hands before barring your torso to his eyes, now seeing the festering wounds. 

“t-they-” you laugh because it’s hurting so bad and your eyes are getting glossy as adrenaline leaves your body. “they had automatics… every one of them was geared the fuck up. and not only that but there must’ve been twenty,, twenty five of them and five of us.” 

changbin’s head slowly shakes in disappointment that you were set up that badly for failure, his haw is tight - but he remains focused on the task at hand, cleaning you up. he lifts you up with one arm and helps you shred your arms of your sleeves completely, focusing now on the wound near your ribs. “why’d they send you in with only five people? did they want you to die? fuck.” 

“seems like it.” you chuckle, his hand stabilizes before he reaches into your wound with medical pliers to grab the bullet still embedded in you. your grip tightens on the towels beneath you, eyes now swimming with tears as you groan at the feeling of the tug of the pliers. 

“i know, i know. you’re doing good though, talk about something. tell me about the job or- your favorite music or something.” his hands dip into a bowl of water, returning to your wound to clean you from blood and put some pressure on the wound. 

“the job was shit, but,, the guys are gone. all the victims are safe and i’ll work on paper work to get them home tomorrow.” he hums, nodding. he puts a bit of topical numbing around the wound before grabbing sutures to close the open wound. “as far as music,” you laugh to yourself again, your gaze focused on the ceiling. “you trying to get to know me? didn’t think you cared so much for that.” 

his hands pause. then lower. he looks at you with a kind of genuinity you didn’t expect from the man you called your husband. “of course i care. you’re my wife.” 

“you’re always so focused on the work, on your job. you’re gone a lot. i can tell you care about the organization i just,, i don’t know. i always hoped you’d care for us too.”

he frowns a bit, his gaze is focused back to his hands as he threads the string more diligently through the needle. he’s paused, he has a focused expression and you can tell when you look at him he’s thinking - part of you hopes you haven’t stumped him, or made him uncomfortable - maybe you did hold out too much hope. 

“i do care about us. about you. i always figured since we were arranged to be married that you wouldn’t want much to do with me.” when he returns to working on your wound you wince, eyes closing tight. he apologizes quietly, but it’s over quicker than you expected. 

“i want everything to do with you, silly. you’re my husband. i want this to work between us if we’re going to be married.” your eyes are still watery and the throbbing hasn’t subsided - you wonder if part of this is delusion since your filter has seemingly disappeared in the face of pain. 

he smiles, softly. “i’m sorry that i’ve made you feel that way, and hey-” his hand reaches for yours, the one that bears the ring he gifted you on the day you were married. your eyes meet his as your head lulls to the side, you grasp onto his hand as if he’d stabilize you - and he does. “i do care about you. genuinely.”

you squeeze his hand, the wash of tears that drowned your eyes from pain spill finally. “i care about you too.” 

“don’t cry, silly. i’m almost done, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” 

after changbin coaches you through treating your wounds, he runs you a quick bath and helps you wash the dirt and sweat from your hair. it felt strange to say you felt an overwhelming trust to him - but maybe that was just the energy he exuded. he helps you to bed, and quickly showers off himself before laying next to you. 

his arm wraps around you, and the pain in your side has dulled from the medicine he made you take after closing up your wounds and cleaning them. your head rests on his chest comfortably. “you never answered my question about music.” he says suddenly. 

“i’ll play you all my faves tomorrow morning when you cook me breakfast because i got shot.” you grin cheekily against him. 

“deal.”

𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓳𝓲𝓷.↴

“i am to be his wife.” there was no expression in the gaze you cast your parents, hands folded neatly in front of you, ever obedient in the face of nobility. before your eyes, in the face of your youth your life of freedom ever awaiting your embrace is taken from you and shackled. your life is to be given to a man you didn’t know, and when shoved his own in your hands you feel the pulse of forgotten life in your palms. there was more to say other than you didn’t want this, there was more words you could sputter in anger at your parents, other screams and cries for this to not happen, yet you swallow, let your eyes gloss over, and prepare a wedding in the following year to a man you’d meet only once before promising forever to him. 

across from you at the altar he stood jaw tight, eyes glassy yet lifeless. when the wedding guests settled and your father handed you off to the prince’s hands, you breathed deep in an attempt to conceal the building tears that sparkled in your eyes. officiant you didn’t know, in the sea of people commending your marriage you knew few faces, and he spoke vows because of remembrance not because of promise. when he lifted the veil from your eyes to look at you, he for a moment faltered and his lips flattened. 

you kissed him because you had to. and you slept beside him that night because you had to. 

in marriage, you always imagined that life would blossom with a spark of light. as a seal to two people’s testament of their love it would grow into something truly beautiful - it would drink in the sun, bathe in the rain, paint its colors on pages and tell its story on lips through decades. as a young girl, the idea of one day marrying someone that loved you was thrilling to say the least. it was pure; and good. and every notion, every dream, every promise to your life you’d made, was stripped from you in a single evening. 

you’d rise from bed when the maids would wake you to dress. you’d be dressed beside your husband, wearing the rings that testified your union, and would watch over the kingdom that would be given to your hands one day. 

there was no use in trying, not even from the start. 

but you wanted to love him. oh you terribly wanted to love him. 

beside him you’d sleep - watching the curvature of his heart shaped lips, the breathing his body exuded - existence. how you were his without him even knowing. only in this state could you see him, really see him. the sprawl of his hair on the pillow before it was to be tied back that morning upon your wake. beautiful he was. when his eyes fluttered open, he wet his lips and you heard him speak - for the first time it felt as though it was to you. 

“i’m sorry.” 

for the entire rest of the day you spent in a haze in your own head. 

two months have gone by, and you were achingly in love with him. but you couldn’t say the same for him; his headspace was unknown. you shared a great castle together, a smaller one just outside the village as your parents lived inside the city walls in the palace, but home felt like a restraint on you. nothing was sacred.

when you spoke, it was matters of business and a shred of the time was talk of personal matters. the only truth you spoke to hyunjin was in the hours before he’d wake when sleep would leave you too early. you tuck your folded hands together under your pillow, your eyes washing over his face as he slept. upon your movement, he turned to his side, his broad shoulders creating lines of his body beneath his sleep shirt. part of you wanted to reach out, to wrap your arms around him and tell him you believed in the both of you, but your thoughts still to silence. 

“i wish you cared for me, in the way i care for you.” you mumble quietly. 

“but i cannot say it yet. you’re a shadow; yet you’re sorry. i’m so confused in my love for you.” 

that’s when he turned over, his eyes open. the maids walk in a second later and your wide eyes glance to them. they pause in their steps, looking between the both of you. had he heard you? surely not. you push yourself onto your elbows as he speaks to the maids, his own hands planted firmly in the mattress. 

“i can dress her.” 

they quickly excuse themselves after, mumbling as they leave the room hurriedly. the room stills, you’re left in the wake of his words with confusion bubbling through your head and your face suddenly flushed. he stands without another word as they’ve left the room, moving to the closet to fetch your under clothes, corset, and gown for the day. 

“hyunjin,” you speak softly. 

“i care greatly for you. i do, but-” 

you swallow, still sitting on the bed with your legs curled beneath the covers. “you cannot dress me.” you hold a hand to pause him in his movements as he approaches with your day clothes in hand. he swallows, “you’re my wife. i can dress you. if you’d let me.” 

hwang hyunjin was one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, and this he knew as well - yet the cool confidence he usually carried on his shoulders, in his handshakes, and in his voice, had dissipated. he looked at you with darting eyes that searched your own for the answers he needed, his hands gripped your dress tight. 

his hand stretches out to you, offerance of aid. you look to his palm, the gentle length of his fingers, and find his exuding energy welcoming - so you take his hand. it’s warm as your skin washes over his own, his hands were smooth and embracing, and you stand before him with a sharp intake of breath. 

“i’ve made you feel this way,” he begins, beginning to untie the laces that hang from the neck of your night dress. there’s a great deal of nerve vibrating through your body at the prospect of him dressing you, but regardless you let him in the wake of his tenderness. and if it meant a moment you could share closer to him - you’d take it. 

“you only speak your feelings to me when you think i’m asleep.” at that your breath stills, panic settles in quietly to your bones. 

“i-i’m sorry i-” “you have no need to apologize, it’s me. i’ve made you feel this way. and i’m sorry.” when your dress is removed, he kneels at your feet to gather it before letting you step into your under dress. you rest your hand on his shoulder for balance to do so. 

“in truth, i can’t tell you why i love you.” he says, his hands working to tie your second layer skirt around your waist, once it’s firm and not uncomfortable, you turn your head to look at him with glossy eyes. “you cannot say such things to me and not mean it. you can’t.” 

“i know i haven’t shown it, but it’s true, that i promise you.” with that, he gently guides your arms through the holes of your corset, and begins lacing it, leaving your eyes drowning in tears as your lips tremble. 

“you-you haven’t shown it. how am i to know you love me or that i love you when we hardly have a relationship. you’re my husband, i want to love you as one.” you gasp as he pulls the strings to tighten it, his palm laying flat on your back as he tugs once more. 

“it’s a promise i make now, to show you i do indeed love you. i want you to tell me when you’re hurting, i want to help, i want to grow with you.” his hands lay along your waist as your corset is tightened. when he rounds you, seeing your eyes fogged over, his heart pangs with guilt. 

“i’m sorry, truly. that i have made you feel this way. but please, know my promise is true.” his hands come to gather yours in his grip. 

you nod, wiping your face for a moment as you lift your gaze to look at him. “then i’ll tell you. i’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. i want to work to make this kingdom a happy place for our people, we must work together in that regard.” 

hyunjin listens, strokes his thumbs across the backs of your hands and you speak for a while longer on your marriage, how you’re both willing to work to make your love make sense, how you wish to be a unit in making the kingdom a place of happiness for your people. he prepares for the day, wearing an outfit the same shade of off-white as your own with his long dark hair tied back into a bun. 

he offers his arm to you before you both leave your bedroom, smiling softly. “thank you for talking to me.” he says, opening the door for you. “thank you for listening and talking as well. it feels nice to have this weight lifted.” 

“i agree.”

sorry if hyunjin's is written weird i was listening to cornfield chase by hans zimmer and got lost in the sauce.