writingforstraykids

[writingforstraykids]

Let me offer you a hug and some tissues🤧🫂🖤🖤

You'll Be Alright, Kid

Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader

Word Count: 922

Summary: When a small change in Chan’s usual routine reveals that something isn’t quite right, you choose to stay close. In the days that follow, you remind him that he’s still enough, and that it’s okay to need time to feel okay again.

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt! comfort, guilt, fear of failing

A/N: So, this is a little something based on Channie's/Seungmin's song Goodbye and after hearing this today, Alex Warren's You'll be Alright, Kid. I hope you enjoy it🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The light in the bathroom is dim.

You notice it first because he always turns it off when he's done. Always. It's one of those quiet habits of his - tiny, meticulous, almost sacred in how reliable it is. Like brushing his teeth twice before bed. Like setting his phone screen face-down when he's with you. Like organizing his things by color, size and little systems you've tried learning to understand. Like pretending he's okay so well and so often that people forget to ask if he's not.

So when you pass the bathroom on your way to get a glass of water and see the light still glowing behind the cracked door, something in your chest knots.

“Channie?” You step closer, your socked feet silent against the hardwood floor, and gently push the door open with your fingertips.

He's sitting on the cold tile floor. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, knees drawn up like they're the only solid thing he has to lean on. His head is tilted back against the bathroom cabinet, eyes open but unfocused, staring at nothing.

He isn't crying. He's just sitting there, unmoving. Hollow in a way that feels loud.

You don't say anything. You just sink down beside him, knees bent, shoulder brushing his. You don’t crowd him, don’t demand an explanation or reach for his face. You offer presence before anything else. "You don’t have to talk," you whisper after a while, your voice like static in the stillness. "Just let me sit with you."

It takes him a moment, but his hand shifts from where it's buried in his sleeve, twitching slightly, like it forgot how to move. You reach out, gently wrapping your fingers around his. He doesn’t pull away.

And that’s enough for now. He will tell you more whenever he's ready.

-

You fell asleep on the couch that night, blanket tangled around your legs, the soft hum of the TV left on to keep the dark from being too quiet. You don't remember how you've eventually ended up there.

What you do remember is the next night.

You wake to the sound of sheets shifting restlessly. You’d hoped he was sleeping, that the exhaustion finally won. But when you roll over, he’s awake. Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands curled tight around the blanket like it might disappear if he lets go.

"Can’t sleep?" you ask quietly.

He blinks, then glances your way. His eyes are puffy at the edges, rimmed red. He shakes his head. "No."

You inch closer, slow enough not to startle him, and press your forehead against his shoulder. "Want to talk?"

He lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh. "What if this version of me never goes away? The one who feels so guilty for leaving home this young it's choking me. The one who will never feel like he's enough? The one who doesn't believe this will ever get better?"

The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Then we learn to live with him," you say softly. "And love him anyway."

He swallows hard, and something in his expression shifts. Not a fix. Not a miracle. But something loosens. A breath finally let go. “Do you really think so?” he asks timidly.

“Yes, I do, Channie,” you assure him softly, caressing his cheek lovingly, your heart hurting at how desperately he leans into it.

-

You spend the next day quietly together. Not in a romantic montage kind of way, no spontaneous laughter or silly flour fights in the kitchen. Just existing. You read on the couch while he scrolls on his phone next to you. Occasionally, you glance up and find him watching you like he's trying to remember something. Or maybe like he's trying to forget.

In the evening, you make tea. You bring him a mug, honey and lavender, his favorite, even if he won't admit that out loud. He's curled up in his usual corner of the couch, sleeves long past his wrists, legs folded up like a fortress.

He takes the mug with both hands, fingers wrapping around it like it's the only thing keeping him warm. He stares into it for a long time. "What if I'm not enough anymore?"

The question is so quiet it might have been imagined. But you feel the weight of it like a stone.

You set your own mug down, then take his from his hands and place it carefully on the table. You move slowly as you ease onto your knees in front of him. Your hands rest lightly on his, guiding them to your chest. "You are," you say, voice steady. "You always have been. Even when you're not okay."

His lips part, just barely. You think he might cry. But instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. It's a fragile, wordless surrender. You close your eyes and let the silence be the answer.

You stay like that for a long time. “Remember what you used to tell me? How you'd love to call up your younger self and tell him that everything will turn out so much better than he'd ever imagine? What you'd tell him?”

Chan swallows roughly, pulling back and searching your eyes. “You’ll be alright, kid,” he echoes his past words quietly.

You smile, gently cupping his face. “I hate to be the one to tell you this…but you'll be alright, Chan,” you whisper, watching his gaze soften.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

Yeah, he truly deserves it🥺🖤

You'll Be Alright, Kid

Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader

Word Count: 922

Summary: When a small change in Chan’s usual routine reveals that something isn’t quite right, you choose to stay close. In the days that follow, you remind him that he’s still enough, and that it’s okay to need time to feel okay again.

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt! comfort, guilt, fear of failing

A/N: So, this is a little something based on Channie's/Seungmin's song Goodbye and after hearing this today, Alex Warren's You'll be Alright, Kid. I hope you enjoy it🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The light in the bathroom is dim.

You notice it first because he always turns it off when he's done. Always. It's one of those quiet habits of his - tiny, meticulous, almost sacred in how reliable it is. Like brushing his teeth twice before bed. Like setting his phone screen face-down when he's with you. Like organizing his things by color, size and little systems you've tried learning to understand. Like pretending he's okay so well and so often that people forget to ask if he's not.

So when you pass the bathroom on your way to get a glass of water and see the light still glowing behind the cracked door, something in your chest knots.

“Channie?” You step closer, your socked feet silent against the hardwood floor, and gently push the door open with your fingertips.

He's sitting on the cold tile floor. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, knees drawn up like they're the only solid thing he has to lean on. His head is tilted back against the bathroom cabinet, eyes open but unfocused, staring at nothing.

He isn't crying. He's just sitting there, unmoving. Hollow in a way that feels loud.

You don't say anything. You just sink down beside him, knees bent, shoulder brushing his. You don’t crowd him, don’t demand an explanation or reach for his face. You offer presence before anything else. "You don’t have to talk," you whisper after a while, your voice like static in the stillness. "Just let me sit with you."

It takes him a moment, but his hand shifts from where it's buried in his sleeve, twitching slightly, like it forgot how to move. You reach out, gently wrapping your fingers around his. He doesn’t pull away.

And that’s enough for now. He will tell you more whenever he's ready.

-

You fell asleep on the couch that night, blanket tangled around your legs, the soft hum of the TV left on to keep the dark from being too quiet. You don't remember how you've eventually ended up there.

What you do remember is the next night.

You wake to the sound of sheets shifting restlessly. You’d hoped he was sleeping, that the exhaustion finally won. But when you roll over, he’s awake. Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands curled tight around the blanket like it might disappear if he lets go.

"Can’t sleep?" you ask quietly.

He blinks, then glances your way. His eyes are puffy at the edges, rimmed red. He shakes his head. "No."

You inch closer, slow enough not to startle him, and press your forehead against his shoulder. "Want to talk?"

He lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh. "What if this version of me never goes away? The one who feels so guilty for leaving home this young it's choking me. The one who will never feel like he's enough? The one who doesn't believe this will ever get better?"

The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Then we learn to live with him," you say softly. "And love him anyway."

He swallows hard, and something in his expression shifts. Not a fix. Not a miracle. But something loosens. A breath finally let go. “Do you really think so?” he asks timidly.

“Yes, I do, Channie,” you assure him softly, caressing his cheek lovingly, your heart hurting at how desperately he leans into it.

-

You spend the next day quietly together. Not in a romantic montage kind of way, no spontaneous laughter or silly flour fights in the kitchen. Just existing. You read on the couch while he scrolls on his phone next to you. Occasionally, you glance up and find him watching you like he's trying to remember something. Or maybe like he's trying to forget.

In the evening, you make tea. You bring him a mug, honey and lavender, his favorite, even if he won't admit that out loud. He's curled up in his usual corner of the couch, sleeves long past his wrists, legs folded up like a fortress.

He takes the mug with both hands, fingers wrapping around it like it's the only thing keeping him warm. He stares into it for a long time. "What if I'm not enough anymore?"

The question is so quiet it might have been imagined. But you feel the weight of it like a stone.

You set your own mug down, then take his from his hands and place it carefully on the table. You move slowly as you ease onto your knees in front of him. Your hands rest lightly on his, guiding them to your chest. "You are," you say, voice steady. "You always have been. Even when you're not okay."

His lips part, just barely. You think he might cry. But instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. It's a fragile, wordless surrender. You close your eyes and let the silence be the answer.

You stay like that for a long time. “Remember what you used to tell me? How you'd love to call up your younger self and tell him that everything will turn out so much better than he'd ever imagine? What you'd tell him?”

Chan swallows roughly, pulling back and searching your eyes. “You’ll be alright, kid,” he echoes his past words quietly.

You smile, gently cupping his face. “I hate to be the one to tell you this…but you'll be alright, Chan,” you whisper, watching his gaze soften.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

You'll Be Alright, Kid

Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader

Word Count: 922

Summary: When a small change in Chan’s usual routine reveals that something isn’t quite right, you choose to stay close. In the days that follow, you remind him that he’s still enough, and that it’s okay to need time to feel okay again.

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt! comfort, guilt, fear of failing

A/N: So, this is a little something based on Channie's/Seungmin's song Goodbye and after hearing this today, Alex Warren's You'll be Alright, Kid. I hope you enjoy it🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The light in the bathroom is dim.

You notice it first because he always turns it off when he's done. Always. It's one of those quiet habits of his - tiny, meticulous, almost sacred in how reliable it is. Like brushing his teeth twice before bed. Like setting his phone screen face-down when he's with you. Like organizing his things by color, size and little systems you've tried learning to understand. Like pretending he's okay so well and so often that people forget to ask if he's not.

So when you pass the bathroom on your way to get a glass of water and see the light still glowing behind the cracked door, something in your chest knots.

“Channie?” You step closer, your socked feet silent against the hardwood floor, and gently push the door open with your fingertips.

He's sitting on the cold tile floor. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, knees drawn up like they're the only solid thing he has to lean on. His head is tilted back against the bathroom cabinet, eyes open but unfocused, staring at nothing.

He isn't crying. He's just sitting there, unmoving. Hollow in a way that feels loud.

You don't say anything. You just sink down beside him, knees bent, shoulder brushing his. You don’t crowd him, don’t demand an explanation or reach for his face. You offer presence before anything else. "You don’t have to talk," you whisper after a while, your voice like static in the stillness. "Just let me sit with you."

It takes him a moment, but his hand shifts from where it's buried in his sleeve, twitching slightly, like it forgot how to move. You reach out, gently wrapping your fingers around his. He doesn’t pull away.

And that’s enough for now. He will tell you more whenever he's ready.

-

You fell asleep on the couch that night, blanket tangled around your legs, the soft hum of the TV left on to keep the dark from being too quiet. You don't remember how you've eventually ended up there.

What you do remember is the next night.

You wake to the sound of sheets shifting restlessly. You’d hoped he was sleeping, that the exhaustion finally won. But when you roll over, he’s awake. Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands curled tight around the blanket like it might disappear if he lets go.

"Can’t sleep?" you ask quietly.

He blinks, then glances your way. His eyes are puffy at the edges, rimmed red. He shakes his head. "No."

You inch closer, slow enough not to startle him, and press your forehead against his shoulder. "Want to talk?"

He lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh. "What if this version of me never goes away? The one who feels so guilty for leaving home this young it's choking me. The one who will never feel like he's enough? The one who doesn't believe this will ever get better?"

The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Then we learn to live with him," you say softly. "And love him anyway."

He swallows hard, and something in his expression shifts. Not a fix. Not a miracle. But something loosens. A breath finally let go. “Do you really think so?” he asks timidly.

“Yes, I do, Channie,” you assure him softly, caressing his cheek lovingly, your heart hurting at how desperately he leans into it.

-

You spend the next day quietly together. Not in a romantic montage kind of way, no spontaneous laughter or silly flour fights in the kitchen. Just existing. You read on the couch while he scrolls on his phone next to you. Occasionally, you glance up and find him watching you like he's trying to remember something. Or maybe like he's trying to forget.

In the evening, you make tea. You bring him a mug, honey and lavender, his favorite, even if he won't admit that out loud. He's curled up in his usual corner of the couch, sleeves long past his wrists, legs folded up like a fortress.

He takes the mug with both hands, fingers wrapping around it like it's the only thing keeping him warm. He stares into it for a long time. "What if I'm not enough anymore?"

The question is so quiet it might have been imagined. But you feel the weight of it like a stone.

You set your own mug down, then take his from his hands and place it carefully on the table. You move slowly as you ease onto your knees in front of him. Your hands rest lightly on his, guiding them to your chest. "You are," you say, voice steady. "You always have been. Even when you're not okay."

His lips part, just barely. You think he might cry. But instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. It's a fragile, wordless surrender. You close your eyes and let the silence be the answer.

You stay like that for a long time. “Remember what you used to tell me? How you'd love to call up your younger self and tell him that everything will turn out so much better than he'd ever imagine? What you'd tell him?”

Chan swallows roughly, pulling back and searching your eyes. “You’ll be alright, kid,” he echoes his past words quietly.

You smile, gently cupping his face. “I hate to be the one to tell you this…but you'll be alright, Chan,” you whisper, watching his gaze soften.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

You'll Be Alright, Kid

Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader

Word Count: 922

Summary: When a small change in Chan’s usual routine reveals that something isn’t quite right, you choose to stay close. In the days that follow, you remind him that he’s still enough, and that it’s okay to need time to feel okay again.

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt! comfort, guilt, fear of failing

A/N: So, this is a little something based on Channie's/Seungmin's song Goodbye and after hearing this today, Alex Warren's You'll be Alright, Kid. I hope you enjoy it🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The light in the bathroom is dim.

You notice it first because he always turns it off when he's done. Always. It's one of those quiet habits of his - tiny, meticulous, almost sacred in how reliable it is. Like brushing his teeth twice before bed. Like setting his phone screen face-down when he's with you. Like organizing his things by color, size and little systems you've tried learning to understand. Like pretending he's okay so well and so often that people forget to ask if he's not.

So when you pass the bathroom on your way to get a glass of water and see the light still glowing behind the cracked door, something in your chest knots.

“Channie?” You step closer, your socked feet silent against the hardwood floor, and gently push the door open with your fingertips.

He's sitting on the cold tile floor. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, knees drawn up like they're the only solid thing he has to lean on. His head is tilted back against the bathroom cabinet, eyes open but unfocused, staring at nothing.

He isn't crying. He's just sitting there, unmoving. Hollow in a way that feels loud.

You don't say anything. You just sink down beside him, knees bent, shoulder brushing his. You don’t crowd him, don’t demand an explanation or reach for his face. You offer presence before anything else. "You don’t have to talk," you whisper after a while, your voice like static in the stillness. "Just let me sit with you."

It takes him a moment, but his hand shifts from where it's buried in his sleeve, twitching slightly, like it forgot how to move. You reach out, gently wrapping your fingers around his. He doesn’t pull away.

And that’s enough for now. He will tell you more whenever he's ready.

-

You fell asleep on the couch that night, blanket tangled around your legs, the soft hum of the TV left on to keep the dark from being too quiet. You don't remember how you've eventually ended up there.

What you do remember is the next night.

You wake to the sound of sheets shifting restlessly. You’d hoped he was sleeping, that the exhaustion finally won. But when you roll over, he’s awake. Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands curled tight around the blanket like it might disappear if he lets go.

"Can’t sleep?" you ask quietly.

He blinks, then glances your way. His eyes are puffy at the edges, rimmed red. He shakes his head. "No."

You inch closer, slow enough not to startle him, and press your forehead against his shoulder. "Want to talk?"

He lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh. "What if this version of me never goes away? The one who feels so guilty for leaving home this young it's choking me. The one who will never feel like he's enough? The one who doesn't believe this will ever get better?"

The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Then we learn to live with him," you say softly. "And love him anyway."

He swallows hard, and something in his expression shifts. Not a fix. Not a miracle. But something loosens. A breath finally let go. “Do you really think so?” he asks timidly.

“Yes, I do, Channie,” you assure him softly, caressing his cheek lovingly, your heart hurting at how desperately he leans into it.

-

You spend the next day quietly together. Not in a romantic montage kind of way, no spontaneous laughter or silly flour fights in the kitchen. Just existing. You read on the couch while he scrolls on his phone next to you. Occasionally, you glance up and find him watching you like he's trying to remember something. Or maybe like he's trying to forget.

In the evening, you make tea. You bring him a mug, honey and lavender, his favorite, even if he won't admit that out loud. He's curled up in his usual corner of the couch, sleeves long past his wrists, legs folded up like a fortress.

He takes the mug with both hands, fingers wrapping around it like it's the only thing keeping him warm. He stares into it for a long time. "What if I'm not enough anymore?"

The question is so quiet it might have been imagined. But you feel the weight of it like a stone.

You set your own mug down, then take his from his hands and place it carefully on the table. You move slowly as you ease onto your knees in front of him. Your hands rest lightly on his, guiding them to your chest. "You are," you say, voice steady. "You always have been. Even when you're not okay."

His lips part, just barely. You think he might cry. But instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. It's a fragile, wordless surrender. You close your eyes and let the silence be the answer.

You stay like that for a long time. “Remember what you used to tell me? How you'd love to call up your younger self and tell him that everything will turn out so much better than he'd ever imagine? What you'd tell him?”

Chan swallows roughly, pulling back and searching your eyes. “You’ll be alright, kid,” he echoes his past words quietly.

You smile, gently cupping his face. “I hate to be the one to tell you this…but you'll be alright, Chan,” you whisper, watching his gaze soften.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

👀👀🖤

Not me thinking I could finish some requests now that I have some time off only to find my inbox empty. Your asks got eaten🥲 So please, feel free to send in new stuff or remind me of what series I forgot finishing that you'd like to read😂😭

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @james-is-not-here @queer-possum @lost-in-avoidance @miuracha

[writingforstraykids]

Thank you. It does help, and my sister did go to college in person but it’s just like I have absolutely no clue about this and of course I need to call my advisor because a couple times, one of my classes ends 10 minutes before the other starts and I have like a 20 minute walk and it’s like 🙃-🐶

I'm sure they'll try and help you out, or let's say I hope so. I had loads of professors who were pretty chill about me having to leave 10 minutes early at times or get there a little late. Usually if you have a reason for it there's not really anything they can say against it. So, I'll hope for the best for you🖤

[writingforstraykids]

Currently I’m laying in bed, making a list of what I need for college. This is scary, uhhhh idk what I need-🐶

Ohhh, but it's exciting in a sense, no? I still remember starting uni and trying to prepare for something I had no clue about😂 But I'm sure you'll do great and trust me, you'll figure things out on the way, don't worry too much. And if you ever need someone to talk you can send in asks or text me, yeah?🖤

[writingforstraykids]

HOW ARE YOUUUUU-🐶

Currently on vacation, so I'm doing good ☺️ how are you, dear?🖤

[writingforstraykids]

I'd be too shy to do so...or feel like I'd bother them😂🖤

Missing Piece

Pairing: BinChan x female!reader

Word Count: 1567

Summary: While visiting Arlington before a concert, you unexpectedly meet Chan and Changbin from Stray Kids and take a photo with them. A spark is lit when Chan secretly gives you his number during the show, leading to daily conversations, coffee meetups, and a deepening connection. As feelings grow, both Chan and Changbin realize they want something more.

Warnings/Tags: Strangers to lovers (sort of?), poly!stray kids, fluff, love at first sight (for them)

A/N: Requested by @staytinyarmy I hope I did your idea justice and you like it. Thanks for requesting☺️🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The sun blazes warm over Arlington, casting golden halos across the sidewalk as you hurry down the street. You weren’t planning to be here today - just a last-minute decision, the kind you chalk up to fate later. The plan was simple: grab coffee, walk a bit, and maybe do some shopping before heading back to your hotel to get ready for the concert tomorrow. A little pre-show excitement, nothing more.

But fate doesn’t believe in simplicity.

You don’t see them right away, not at first. Not until you glance up from your phone and spot two very familiar figures crossing the street.

Bang Chan and Seo Changbin.

Your heart stutters. They're dressed casually, hoods up, sunglasses on, but you'd know those silhouettes anywhere. You blink, half-expecting it to be some weird illusion, but then Changbin laughs at something Chan says, and it's unmistakable.

They’re right there.

You don’t want to bother them, you really don’t. But you’ve admired them for so long, and you’ve promised yourself that if you ever got the chance, you’d at least say hi.

So you take a breath, gather every ounce of courage you have, and jog forward a few steps. "Um… excuse me?" you say, tentative. "Are you…? Sorry, I-are you Chan and Changbin?"

They pause mid-step. Chan turns to look at you first, smile already blooming, and Changbin lowers his sunglasses a touch, curious. “Yeah,” Chan says, voice warm and low. “That’s us.”

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” you add quickly. “I just-could I take a quick photo with you? I’m going to your concert tomorrow and…yeah.”

“Of course!” Changbin says without hesitation, stepping closer. “That’s awesome, you’re coming!”

Chan nods. “Let’s do it.”

You snap a selfie, and they’re both smiling, close enough to feel real, close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne and summer air. You say a quick thank you, and they both say something kind - Chan’s “Enjoy the concert, okay?” and Changbin’s “You’ve got great taste,” making your face heat.

And then you’re gone, pulse pounding, barely believing it happened.

When you disappear down the street, Chan exhales a laugh and nudges Changbin with his elbow. “She was cute, huh?”

Changbin watches your retreating figure, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah… really cute.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Chan says it- quiet, half-serious. “Think she’s our missing piece?”

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “You mean…?”

Chan just shrugs, grinning. “Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous babe, we'll never see her again,” Changbin laughs.

-

The next night, the stadium pulses with energy. The crowd is electric, every scream and chant wrapping the members of Stray Kids in a living, breathing wave of love. You’re in the first row, your eyes wide and heart full, when it happens.

During a break between songs, Chan glances out into the crowd. His gaze scans, skimming faces and signs, until it lands on you.

His smile flickers, then brightens. He leans in close to whisper something to Changbin, who follows his line of sight. When he spots you, his eyes widen slightly.

“No way,” he murmurs.

Chan grins. “Told you.”

They don’t have time to say more before the lights dim and the next song starts, but a spark has already been lit.

Later in the show, when they’re working the front of the stage, Chan passes by your section. You’re dancing, cheering, unaware that he’s approaching until you feel something brush your wrist: A small, folded piece of paper pressed gently into your hand.

You freeze, stunned. The paper feels like it burns against your skin. You don’t even dare to open it until the song ends. When you finally do, your heart nearly explodes.

It’s a phone number. And a note in neat handwriting that reads:

If you ever want to talk, text me - Chan

-

You text him that night, after showering off the sweat and adrenaline. Just a short message:

Hi… It’s me. The picture girl from Arlington. Thank you. 😊

He replies instantly.

I was hoping you’d text.

And from there, the conversations unfold like summer rain, warm and unrelenting. You text every day, sometimes for hours. The texts soon turn into videocalls. You learn he’s as thoughtful as he is goofy, that he gets excited about small things and takes care of others even when he’s running on empty. You hear Changbin in the background sometimes, yelling about video games or singing off-key on purpose, and eventually, he joins in the chats too.

One night, Chan asks if you’d be up for meeting again, just for coffee, something casual. You agree.

When you arrive, both Chan and Changbin are already there, waiting at a quiet corner table. You’re nervous, but their smiles, bright and familiar, melt the tension from your shoulders.

"Hey," Changbin says, his voice softer in person. "We were worried you wouldn’t come."

"As if I’d miss this," you laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The three of you spend hours talking. You hadn’t expected it to feel so easy, so natural. But there’s a rhythm to the three of you. Jokes bounce effortlessly, silence never lingers too long, and the conversations shift from music to movies to late-night fears without hesitation.

-

Months pass.

You meet up again, first separately, then together. One evening at their shared apartment, you find yourself curled up between them on the couch, half-watching a movie while your legs tangle with theirs. You’re not sure how it started-how the touches grew softer, more intimate. But now you’re here, and your heart is screaming.

It’s Changbin who says it first. “I like you,” he says simply, looking right at you. “I think we both do.”

You turn to Chan, who gives you that shy, slightly crooked smile you’ve come to recognize as vulnerable Chan. “We’ve been talking,” he murmurs. “About you. About us. We don’t want to put pressure on you, but… we both feel something.”

You swallow hard. “You mean… like…together?”

Chan nods. “If that’s something you’d be open to. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“I mean, it might be,” Changbin laughs. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you reach out, one hand to each of theirs, and squeeze.

“Let me think this through,” you whisper.

-

The first kiss doesn’t happen the way you thought it would.

You imagined something dramatic, maybe a night skyline, a breathless confession, fireworks behind your ribs. But instead, it’s quiet. Familiar. The kind of moment that sneaks up on you while your guard is down and your heart is wide open.

You’re at their place again, sprawled across the couch with Changbin beside you and Chan on the floor, leaning back against the cushions with his arms stretched behind his head. The movie ended long ago, but no one moved. There’s a half-empty bowl of popcorn between you and Changbin, and your toes are brushing Chan’s thigh where they dangle off the edge of the couch.

It’s been like this for a while now, comfortable, unspoken tension simmering under soft smiles and lingering touches. None of you have pushed for more. You’ve been floating in that golden middle-space where everything is possible, but nothing’s been said out loud.

Until now.

“So,” Chan says softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I ask you something?”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Have you thought about it? Us? What we talked about?”

You nod slowly. “Every day.”

“Good,” Changbin murmurs. He shifts slightly, leaning closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Because we’ve been thinking about it too.”

Your heart kicks. You’re not sure who moves first, maybe it’s you, maybe it’s them, but somehow the space between you shrinks.

Chan rises from the floor and sits beside your legs, caging one between his knees as he looks at you. Changbin is already close enough for you to feel his breath when he speaks again.

“Can we kiss you?” he asks. “Only if you want that too.”

You don’t even hesitate. “I do,” you whisper.

Chan’s smile is slow, soft like sunlight cresting over morning rooftops. “Okay.”

Changbin is the one who leans in first. His fingers trail along your jaw, gentle but grounding, as his eyes search yours one final time. Then his lips are on yours, warm, sure, slightly parted as they move against yours with practiced ease. He tastes faintly of cinnamon gum and something sweeter, something distinctly him. He kisses you like he’s wanted to for weeks but didn’t want to rush it.

When he pulls back, your chest is already heaving. Before the loss of contact can settle, you feel Chan’s hand brushing your knee, his touch featherlight as he shifts forward. “My turn?”

You nod, dazed.

Chan kisses you with patience. His lips linger, molding slowly to yours like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. There’s a hum in his chest, like contentment made audible. He pulls back just enough to nudge his nose against yours.

Changbin tugs you gently against him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders while Chan leans in on your other side, his forehead brushing yours.

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just breathe - held between two hearts that somehow, impossibly, beat in time with yours. And it’s then you realize it. This wasn’t just fate. This was meant to be.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

hehe, fair😂😭

Missing Piece

Pairing: BinChan x female!reader

Word Count: 1567

Summary: While visiting Arlington before a concert, you unexpectedly meet Chan and Changbin from Stray Kids and take a photo with them. A spark is lit when Chan secretly gives you his number during the show, leading to daily conversations, coffee meetups, and a deepening connection. As feelings grow, both Chan and Changbin realize they want something more.

Warnings/Tags: Strangers to lovers (sort of?), poly!stray kids, fluff, love at first sight (for them)

A/N: Requested by @staytinyarmy I hope I did your idea justice and you like it. Thanks for requesting☺️🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The sun blazes warm over Arlington, casting golden halos across the sidewalk as you hurry down the street. You weren’t planning to be here today - just a last-minute decision, the kind you chalk up to fate later. The plan was simple: grab coffee, walk a bit, and maybe do some shopping before heading back to your hotel to get ready for the concert tomorrow. A little pre-show excitement, nothing more.

But fate doesn’t believe in simplicity.

You don’t see them right away, not at first. Not until you glance up from your phone and spot two very familiar figures crossing the street.

Bang Chan and Seo Changbin.

Your heart stutters. They're dressed casually, hoods up, sunglasses on, but you'd know those silhouettes anywhere. You blink, half-expecting it to be some weird illusion, but then Changbin laughs at something Chan says, and it's unmistakable.

They’re right there.

You don’t want to bother them, you really don’t. But you’ve admired them for so long, and you’ve promised yourself that if you ever got the chance, you’d at least say hi.

So you take a breath, gather every ounce of courage you have, and jog forward a few steps. "Um… excuse me?" you say, tentative. "Are you…? Sorry, I-are you Chan and Changbin?"

They pause mid-step. Chan turns to look at you first, smile already blooming, and Changbin lowers his sunglasses a touch, curious. “Yeah,” Chan says, voice warm and low. “That’s us.”

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” you add quickly. “I just-could I take a quick photo with you? I’m going to your concert tomorrow and…yeah.”

“Of course!” Changbin says without hesitation, stepping closer. “That’s awesome, you’re coming!”

Chan nods. “Let’s do it.”

You snap a selfie, and they’re both smiling, close enough to feel real, close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne and summer air. You say a quick thank you, and they both say something kind - Chan’s “Enjoy the concert, okay?” and Changbin’s “You’ve got great taste,” making your face heat.

And then you’re gone, pulse pounding, barely believing it happened.

When you disappear down the street, Chan exhales a laugh and nudges Changbin with his elbow. “She was cute, huh?”

Changbin watches your retreating figure, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah… really cute.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Chan says it- quiet, half-serious. “Think she’s our missing piece?”

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “You mean…?”

Chan just shrugs, grinning. “Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous babe, we'll never see her again,” Changbin laughs.

-

The next night, the stadium pulses with energy. The crowd is electric, every scream and chant wrapping the members of Stray Kids in a living, breathing wave of love. You’re in the first row, your eyes wide and heart full, when it happens.

During a break between songs, Chan glances out into the crowd. His gaze scans, skimming faces and signs, until it lands on you.

His smile flickers, then brightens. He leans in close to whisper something to Changbin, who follows his line of sight. When he spots you, his eyes widen slightly.

“No way,” he murmurs.

Chan grins. “Told you.”

They don’t have time to say more before the lights dim and the next song starts, but a spark has already been lit.

Later in the show, when they’re working the front of the stage, Chan passes by your section. You’re dancing, cheering, unaware that he’s approaching until you feel something brush your wrist: A small, folded piece of paper pressed gently into your hand.

You freeze, stunned. The paper feels like it burns against your skin. You don’t even dare to open it until the song ends. When you finally do, your heart nearly explodes.

It’s a phone number. And a note in neat handwriting that reads:

If you ever want to talk, text me - Chan

-

You text him that night, after showering off the sweat and adrenaline. Just a short message:

Hi… It’s me. The picture girl from Arlington. Thank you. 😊

He replies instantly.

I was hoping you’d text.

And from there, the conversations unfold like summer rain, warm and unrelenting. You text every day, sometimes for hours. The texts soon turn into videocalls. You learn he’s as thoughtful as he is goofy, that he gets excited about small things and takes care of others even when he’s running on empty. You hear Changbin in the background sometimes, yelling about video games or singing off-key on purpose, and eventually, he joins in the chats too.

One night, Chan asks if you’d be up for meeting again, just for coffee, something casual. You agree.

When you arrive, both Chan and Changbin are already there, waiting at a quiet corner table. You’re nervous, but their smiles, bright and familiar, melt the tension from your shoulders.

"Hey," Changbin says, his voice softer in person. "We were worried you wouldn’t come."

"As if I’d miss this," you laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The three of you spend hours talking. You hadn’t expected it to feel so easy, so natural. But there’s a rhythm to the three of you. Jokes bounce effortlessly, silence never lingers too long, and the conversations shift from music to movies to late-night fears without hesitation.

-

Months pass.

You meet up again, first separately, then together. One evening at their shared apartment, you find yourself curled up between them on the couch, half-watching a movie while your legs tangle with theirs. You’re not sure how it started-how the touches grew softer, more intimate. But now you’re here, and your heart is screaming.

It’s Changbin who says it first. “I like you,” he says simply, looking right at you. “I think we both do.”

You turn to Chan, who gives you that shy, slightly crooked smile you’ve come to recognize as vulnerable Chan. “We’ve been talking,” he murmurs. “About you. About us. We don’t want to put pressure on you, but… we both feel something.”

You swallow hard. “You mean… like…together?”

Chan nods. “If that’s something you’d be open to. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“I mean, it might be,” Changbin laughs. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you reach out, one hand to each of theirs, and squeeze.

“Let me think this through,” you whisper.

-

The first kiss doesn’t happen the way you thought it would.

You imagined something dramatic, maybe a night skyline, a breathless confession, fireworks behind your ribs. But instead, it’s quiet. Familiar. The kind of moment that sneaks up on you while your guard is down and your heart is wide open.

You’re at their place again, sprawled across the couch with Changbin beside you and Chan on the floor, leaning back against the cushions with his arms stretched behind his head. The movie ended long ago, but no one moved. There’s a half-empty bowl of popcorn between you and Changbin, and your toes are brushing Chan’s thigh where they dangle off the edge of the couch.

It’s been like this for a while now, comfortable, unspoken tension simmering under soft smiles and lingering touches. None of you have pushed for more. You’ve been floating in that golden middle-space where everything is possible, but nothing’s been said out loud.

Until now.

“So,” Chan says softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I ask you something?”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Have you thought about it? Us? What we talked about?”

You nod slowly. “Every day.”

“Good,” Changbin murmurs. He shifts slightly, leaning closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Because we’ve been thinking about it too.”

Your heart kicks. You’re not sure who moves first, maybe it’s you, maybe it’s them, but somehow the space between you shrinks.

Chan rises from the floor and sits beside your legs, caging one between his knees as he looks at you. Changbin is already close enough for you to feel his breath when he speaks again.

“Can we kiss you?” he asks. “Only if you want that too.”

You don’t even hesitate. “I do,” you whisper.

Chan’s smile is slow, soft like sunlight cresting over morning rooftops. “Okay.”

Changbin is the one who leans in first. His fingers trail along your jaw, gentle but grounding, as his eyes search yours one final time. Then his lips are on yours, warm, sure, slightly parted as they move against yours with practiced ease. He tastes faintly of cinnamon gum and something sweeter, something distinctly him. He kisses you like he’s wanted to for weeks but didn’t want to rush it.

When he pulls back, your chest is already heaving. Before the loss of contact can settle, you feel Chan’s hand brushing your knee, his touch featherlight as he shifts forward. “My turn?”

You nod, dazed.

Chan kisses you with patience. His lips linger, molding slowly to yours like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. There’s a hum in his chest, like contentment made audible. He pulls back just enough to nudge his nose against yours.

Changbin tugs you gently against him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders while Chan leans in on your other side, his forehead brushing yours.

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just breathe - held between two hearts that somehow, impossibly, beat in time with yours. And it’s then you realize it. This wasn’t just fate. This was meant to be.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

Missing Piece

Pairing: BinChan x female!reader

Word Count: 1567

Summary: While visiting Arlington before a concert, you unexpectedly meet Chan and Changbin from Stray Kids and take a photo with them. A spark is lit when Chan secretly gives you his number during the show, leading to daily conversations, coffee meetups, and a deepening connection. As feelings grow, both Chan and Changbin realize they want something more.

Warnings/Tags: Strangers to lovers (sort of?), poly!stray kids, fluff, love at first sight (for them)

A/N: Requested by @staytinyarmy I hope I did your idea justice and you like it. Thanks for requesting☺️🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The sun blazes warm over Arlington, casting golden halos across the sidewalk as you hurry down the street. You weren’t planning to be here today - just a last-minute decision, the kind you chalk up to fate later. The plan was simple: grab coffee, walk a bit, and maybe do some shopping before heading back to your hotel to get ready for the concert tomorrow. A little pre-show excitement, nothing more.

But fate doesn’t believe in simplicity.

You don’t see them right away, not at first. Not until you glance up from your phone and spot two very familiar figures crossing the street.

Bang Chan and Seo Changbin.

Your heart stutters. They're dressed casually, hoods up, sunglasses on, but you'd know those silhouettes anywhere. You blink, half-expecting it to be some weird illusion, but then Changbin laughs at something Chan says, and it's unmistakable.

They’re right there.

You don’t want to bother them, you really don’t. But you’ve admired them for so long, and you’ve promised yourself that if you ever got the chance, you’d at least say hi.

So you take a breath, gather every ounce of courage you have, and jog forward a few steps. "Um… excuse me?" you say, tentative. "Are you…? Sorry, I-are you Chan and Changbin?"

They pause mid-step. Chan turns to look at you first, smile already blooming, and Changbin lowers his sunglasses a touch, curious. “Yeah,” Chan says, voice warm and low. “That’s us.”

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” you add quickly. “I just-could I take a quick photo with you? I’m going to your concert tomorrow and…yeah.”

“Of course!” Changbin says without hesitation, stepping closer. “That’s awesome, you’re coming!”

Chan nods. “Let’s do it.”

You snap a selfie, and they’re both smiling, close enough to feel real, close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne and summer air. You say a quick thank you, and they both say something kind - Chan’s “Enjoy the concert, okay?” and Changbin’s “You’ve got great taste,” making your face heat.

And then you’re gone, pulse pounding, barely believing it happened.

When you disappear down the street, Chan exhales a laugh and nudges Changbin with his elbow. “She was cute, huh?”

Changbin watches your retreating figure, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah… really cute.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Chan says it- quiet, half-serious. “Think she’s our missing piece?”

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “You mean…?”

Chan just shrugs, grinning. “Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous babe, we'll never see her again,” Changbin laughs.

-

The next night, the stadium pulses with energy. The crowd is electric, every scream and chant wrapping the members of Stray Kids in a living, breathing wave of love. You’re in the first row, your eyes wide and heart full, when it happens.

During a break between songs, Chan glances out into the crowd. His gaze scans, skimming faces and signs, until it lands on you.

His smile flickers, then brightens. He leans in close to whisper something to Changbin, who follows his line of sight. When he spots you, his eyes widen slightly.

“No way,” he murmurs.

Chan grins. “Told you.”

They don’t have time to say more before the lights dim and the next song starts, but a spark has already been lit.

Later in the show, when they’re working the front of the stage, Chan passes by your section. You’re dancing, cheering, unaware that he’s approaching until you feel something brush your wrist: A small, folded piece of paper pressed gently into your hand.

You freeze, stunned. The paper feels like it burns against your skin. You don’t even dare to open it until the song ends. When you finally do, your heart nearly explodes.

It’s a phone number. And a note in neat handwriting that reads:

If you ever want to talk, text me - Chan

-

You text him that night, after showering off the sweat and adrenaline. Just a short message:

Hi… It’s me. The picture girl from Arlington. Thank you. 😊

He replies instantly.

I was hoping you’d text.

And from there, the conversations unfold like summer rain, warm and unrelenting. You text every day, sometimes for hours. The texts soon turn into videocalls. You learn he’s as thoughtful as he is goofy, that he gets excited about small things and takes care of others even when he’s running on empty. You hear Changbin in the background sometimes, yelling about video games or singing off-key on purpose, and eventually, he joins in the chats too.

One night, Chan asks if you’d be up for meeting again, just for coffee, something casual. You agree.

When you arrive, both Chan and Changbin are already there, waiting at a quiet corner table. You’re nervous, but their smiles, bright and familiar, melt the tension from your shoulders.

"Hey," Changbin says, his voice softer in person. "We were worried you wouldn’t come."

"As if I’d miss this," you laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The three of you spend hours talking. You hadn’t expected it to feel so easy, so natural. But there’s a rhythm to the three of you. Jokes bounce effortlessly, silence never lingers too long, and the conversations shift from music to movies to late-night fears without hesitation.

-

Months pass.

You meet up again, first separately, then together. One evening at their shared apartment, you find yourself curled up between them on the couch, half-watching a movie while your legs tangle with theirs. You’re not sure how it started-how the touches grew softer, more intimate. But now you’re here, and your heart is screaming.

It’s Changbin who says it first. “I like you,” he says simply, looking right at you. “I think we both do.”

You turn to Chan, who gives you that shy, slightly crooked smile you’ve come to recognize as vulnerable Chan. “We’ve been talking,” he murmurs. “About you. About us. We don’t want to put pressure on you, but… we both feel something.”

You swallow hard. “You mean… like…together?”

Chan nods. “If that’s something you’d be open to. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“I mean, it might be,” Changbin laughs. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you reach out, one hand to each of theirs, and squeeze.

“Let me think this through,” you whisper.

-

The first kiss doesn’t happen the way you thought it would.

You imagined something dramatic, maybe a night skyline, a breathless confession, fireworks behind your ribs. But instead, it’s quiet. Familiar. The kind of moment that sneaks up on you while your guard is down and your heart is wide open.

You’re at their place again, sprawled across the couch with Changbin beside you and Chan on the floor, leaning back against the cushions with his arms stretched behind his head. The movie ended long ago, but no one moved. There’s a half-empty bowl of popcorn between you and Changbin, and your toes are brushing Chan’s thigh where they dangle off the edge of the couch.

It’s been like this for a while now, comfortable, unspoken tension simmering under soft smiles and lingering touches. None of you have pushed for more. You’ve been floating in that golden middle-space where everything is possible, but nothing’s been said out loud.

Until now.

“So,” Chan says softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I ask you something?”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Have you thought about it? Us? What we talked about?”

You nod slowly. “Every day.”

“Good,” Changbin murmurs. He shifts slightly, leaning closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Because we’ve been thinking about it too.”

Your heart kicks. You’re not sure who moves first, maybe it’s you, maybe it’s them, but somehow the space between you shrinks.

Chan rises from the floor and sits beside your legs, caging one between his knees as he looks at you. Changbin is already close enough for you to feel his breath when he speaks again.

“Can we kiss you?” he asks. “Only if you want that too.”

You don’t even hesitate. “I do,” you whisper.

Chan’s smile is slow, soft like sunlight cresting over morning rooftops. “Okay.”

Changbin is the one who leans in first. His fingers trail along your jaw, gentle but grounding, as his eyes search yours one final time. Then his lips are on yours, warm, sure, slightly parted as they move against yours with practiced ease. He tastes faintly of cinnamon gum and something sweeter, something distinctly him. He kisses you like he’s wanted to for weeks but didn’t want to rush it.

When he pulls back, your chest is already heaving. Before the loss of contact can settle, you feel Chan’s hand brushing your knee, his touch featherlight as he shifts forward. “My turn?”

You nod, dazed.

Chan kisses you with patience. His lips linger, molding slowly to yours like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. There’s a hum in his chest, like contentment made audible. He pulls back just enough to nudge his nose against yours.

Changbin tugs you gently against him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders while Chan leans in on your other side, his forehead brushing yours.

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just breathe - held between two hearts that somehow, impossibly, beat in time with yours. And it’s then you realize it. This wasn’t just fate. This was meant to be.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120

[writingforstraykids]

HIIIIIIIIIII-🐶

hehe hi🖤

[writingforstraykids]

Haiii I just saw your post from like an hour ago (7/08) anddd if you don’t get any asks, just saying you should enjoy your free time and rest ❤️

I will do my best🖤🖤

[writingforstraykids]

hehe

NOBODY TOUCH ME

[writingforstraykids]

If I only knew 😂

Not me thinking I could finish some requests now that I have some time off only to find my inbox empty. Your asks got eaten🥲 So please, feel free to send in new stuff or remind me of what series I forgot finishing that you'd like to read😂😭

[writingforstraykids]

Not me thinking I could finish some requests now that I have some time off only to find my inbox empty. Your asks got eaten🥲 So please, feel free to send in new stuff or remind me of what series I forgot finishing that you'd like to read😂😭

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @mi-raeee @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @james-is-not-here @queer-possum @lost-in-avoidance @miuracha

[writingforstraykids]

...You know I love him hehe🖤🖤

Blood-soaked acceptance

word count: ~3k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, blood, MinChan

summary: A heavy loss takes a sudden turns years later after its tragedy, wrapped into fangs and blood-driven hunger.

a/n: This is dedicated to my dear @writingforstraykids, who deserves the entire Earth for all I know. I’d offer it up to her on a plate if I could, but alas, these silly little words will have to do it in my stead. Happy birthday, my dear. Hopefully you won’t mind that I put my son into the story, although you know plenty why the theme of this fic is what it is.

Back to the masterlist

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

The dirt beneath his knees felt damp and old, as if the skies themselves had wept in silent mourning. He knew they did, as always, every single year spent the same way. Here he knelt, for minutes and for hours, unwilling to go and leave this place behind. To leave him behind to rest in the cold ground all alone.

He couldn’t do it, and he never would.

Heart aching and eyes weeping, his gaze kept looking down at his own hands. They shook within his lap, as always, not letting him rest in the peace he would never be granted. Nobody else remained within the forest of stone slabs as long as he did, people coming and going without truly sparing him a glance.

They were all mourning, thus there was no need for such.

At some point, as he wallowed in his own misery from a heart that ached with vivid memories, steps could be heard from behind. They were quiet, gentle, as if walking alone was an act of granting salvation for the dead.

He knew who it belonged to, grateful for the company even if he hadn’t expected it.

There were no words uttered as the figure knelt next to him, a small bouquet of tiny flowers –forget me nots–, were laid upon the clean surface of the stone. Their tiny blue and purple petals swayed in the wind that whispered of storms and monsoons, all in memory of who they’d lost. He watched them rest under the letters he despised seeing, their colour favoured by their receiver even if it had always been an unstated fact.

Another tear rolled down his cheek, slow in its descent, as if memorising every little curve and dip of his face. As if it wanted to know what new lines of worry and misery had been carved into his tired skin, the loss they’d experienced so severe it had permanently left its mark on him.

His laughter sounded off ever since.

The nights had turned rigid cold.

And the rain he once loved seeing, all because of his smile, now felt acrid and burning upon his skin.

“We should go soon. If not for yourself, then for the others. They’re worried sick about you.” – the voice of his partner murmured, as gentle as the hand that had been placed upon his shoulder.

He nodded, numb, aware that he had his duties as the eldest but unable to fill up those shoes right now. Not when the one they’d lost meant so much to him, although such a thought would undermine everyone else’s feelings. Thus, he threw it aside, burying it along with the one he kept visiting every single year.

The sky roared and angry clouds parted, only for lightning to strike. It touched the earth with an angry force, nature raging but for what, he didn’t know. All he did know was that his limbs felt like lead, chained to the bottom of the ocean he’d drowned in long years ago. The same body of water he tried to hide as best as he could, not wishing to worry the others, no matter how they saw right through his desperate tries.

Especially Minho, who kept visiting him at this accursed location without missing a single occasion.

A sharp inhale caught his attention, but not enough for his head to rise. He was still too caught in the wave of memories, of the time when they were all together and laughing. Back when the simple act of smiling didn’t feel like a burden—one everyone shared, especially their younger members.

Oh, how his heart ached for them.

Chained together by fate itself, bonded in a way rarely could be experienced by others, a loss like this was tremendous. The ink upon their skin didn’t fade yet, not even after so many years, but the weeping wound within their hearts bled until it had nothing else to lose. Infection took its place instead, festering until it took over everything.

The hand upon his shoulder tightened its hold, alarming him even in the depths of his misery.

“Chan. Chan, look up and tell me I haven’t lost it yet. Please.”

The plea in his lover’s voice wasn’t lost on him, a drive force strong enough for his muscles to move and finally, finally look at what Minho had wanted him to see.

His entire world turned on its axis.

Stomach rolled and tears halted, vertigo holding him by the neck. His body moved on instinct, nearly crawling away from the impossible sight before him.

Because right before them stood someone who was supposed to be dead.

Skin pale, sickly so, and eyes a deep crimson, they smiled at them. The same, gentle smile that had been a blessing to see, and something within him clicked back into place violently. It shook his body with its force and he choked on thin air, his emotions shared with the raging sky for a brief second. Rain started pouring as if it wanted to wash everyone’s sins away, feral yet warm in the summer night.

There was no movement for long seconds seconds, or even for minutes, as they remained kneeling before a grave that felt useless now, stunned into silence and paralysis. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed as they stared at each other, wide, utterly confused eyes staring into changed ones. They resembled something different now, wrong, like coagulated blood of a self-inflicted wound that a child observed in a twisted kind of awe.

But they weren’t dangerous.

Never that.

The longer he stared the more he could see what laid beneath those strikingly different eyes. There was sadness, he could tell, and Minho must have reached the same conclusion. It tore at something within his chest, the newly formed bond so frail it was nearly shredded into pieces right then and there.

Their bodies rose like two newborn fawns, trying to find their footing and reach him. Arms wrapped around a body unmoving, truly unmoving, the gentle rise of each inhale and exhale now gone. Only a biting chill was left in its wake, but he took it, he took it, because it meant he could have the boy he’d missed back in his arms again.

“You stupid idiot, don’t you dare do something like this again. Or I’m putting you in the air fryer next to Hyunjin.” – he heard Minho say, voice wavering in a stubborn way that was oh so familiar to them both.

A deep chuckle reverberated beneath him, arms finally closing around them in the gentlest of embraces. He pressed closer, if possible, and he could feel his lover do the same.

The ink upon their skin singed in a pleasant way, redrawn and redesigned to form a stronger connection.

“I won’t, I promise.” – came the answer, and he nearly buckled from the low timbre of that familiar voice.

Fresh tears sprung into his eyes without fail, rapidly filling his throat until he choked on them. A sob tore itself free from his chest, raw and unfiltered in a way he rarely allowed himself to be heard. Yet the arms around him, around them, only tightened like the ones within his memories.

“Let’s go home, hyungs.” – the voice whispered, sounding like the one from the depths of his fleeting dreams and he nodded.

They were whisked away without a second missed, too caught up in relief to realise anything. To think why the wind howled within their ears in its muffled anger, or how such a feat was even possible. Two people carried by one without showing a single sign of strain, that chill of exposed skin providing comfort instead of fear.

Neither of them wondered about that.

Not now.

The warmth of the house felt like a slap to the face. He nearly didn’t separate from that unmoving cold they’d been given, the sound of the others behind the closed door tearing him away. His eyes met with Minho’s, both pairs surrounded by red and splotchy skin. One of his hands found his lovers, fingers intertwined while the other looked for something all too pale. Frigid to the touch, but still the same shape despite the sharper nails.

He squeezed them once before he let go, opening the door and bracing for chaos.

It took the others a while to stumble into the hallway that led to the rest of the house, having no doubt fooled around in the living room. He wasn’t mad about that at all, quite the opposite, in fact. Every joyous moment was a win for them, as loss had taken too much from their hearts.

But now, it had given the piece back, even if changed and malformed for eternity to come.

He watched realisation hit everyone in the gut, the house as if frozen in time itself. He couldn’t blame them, as he still reeled from the reality they were now living.

Still, it was as true as the bond that chained them all together, inexplicable ink proudly displayed on their skin as proof.

Felix was the first to break.

Loud crocodile tears streamed down the younger’s cheeks, a strangled little sound dying in the boy’s throat. There was a single, weak step taken before there was movement, the one they’d lost moving through the space like a silent shadow. It swallowed Felix’s tiny, trembling body whole, just like how the night devoured the light itself.

After that, it was a collective heartbreak and reformation.

Tears were spilled along with his own, everyone shuffling closer to at least touch who had once been taken from them. Nobody cared that things had changed, irregularly so, overjoyed from the gentle buzzing beneath their skin. It came from the complete bond that had been left broken for years, having nearly tore them apart with its miserable state.

But now, it was comforting, soothing, much like how it used to be within their vivid memories.

His hand found Minho’s again, placing a gentle kiss onto the surface before going to join the group.

–.–.–.–

Things were… different, after that meeting.

Their moods had improved, to the point where it was pointed out by everyone, but they had to keep its source a secret. Nobody within their group understood how their missing member could come back from the dead, the person himself included.

Dal had said he was a vampire, suddenly waking in the cold ground all alone.

He nodded, as if he truly understood what that meant.

By whom or for what reason? Nobody knew. They hadn’t even known such mythical creatures existed, although it wasn’t as far-fetched when magical ink marked their skin.

Some accepted it easily, while others had a harder time. Nobody rejected their returned member, god forbid, but he could see how they ever so slightly recoiled when their hands met cold skin, or when sharp fangs flashed in a rare smile.

He saw it all, and it was painful to witness.

Then, there were the others. Those who were intrigued by their reborn member, capturing that moonlit beauty in every possible way. Hyunjin painted and drew endlessly, enamoured by Dal’s blood-red eyes. Jisung wrote song after song, several he himself helped with and released. Felix kept messing with the tall boy’s hair, styling its now silvery strands into every braid that existed.

Amidst those there was him and his lover, having grown overprotective of Dal. They constantly worried within their own ways about the younger, who now had to exist within the realms of the night like a creature out of tales and fiction. He knew enough that such a change must have been terribly hard on the boy, to have survived through it all alone and be left without any answers.

To have hidden from the world until hunger could be bested, seeing loved ones not as a source of food but as family again.

His heart ached at the knowledge. To imagine his poor Dal, terrified and confused, left all alone in a world much too different.

It was on a calm night as any when he sat next to the younger. He’d noticed how Dal had drawn away ever since a few days ago, keeping a certain distance no matter what. It pained everyone, that much he could see, their bond straining as they reached out—only to be met with closed doors and spilled ink.

His eyes silently swept over the swirls and jagged lines that peeked out of the silky fabric Dal had draped over pale skin, a gift from Hyunjin that the younger swore highlighted the vampire’s moon-bitten complexion and hair. The dark inks –blacks and blues and purples– matched the ones on his own body, except for one pair.

The one that represented him and Dal himself.

Then, for a while, there was only silence.

He simply sat there on their balcony, lending quiet comfort to the one he adored no matter what body that soul belonged to. It remained just as gentle and beautiful as ever, and he wasn’t afraid to give voice to that.

Everyone knew that.

Even someone as stubborn and oblivious as Dal.

“How do you always notice that something’s wrong? You make it seem effortless.” – came the soft question eventually, crimson gaze watching the waning Moon as if yearning for it. “I care about you, just like the others. It is effortless to me.” – that was his simple answer, one that he could feel shook the male down to his core.

Gaze finally dropping onto his own, he watched conflict swirl those ruby and scarlet waves. They swirled in a war he couldn’t possibly understand, as he was mere human, while Dal wasn’t.

He was reminded of that heart-wrecking fact every single day.

“I’m hungry, Hyung. And I don’t want any of you to see what that turns me into.”

His entire body tensed at that, but not in fear for himself or for the others.

No.

It was fear for Dal.

“We’re not afraid of you.” “That’s because you haven’t seen the monster inside me yet.”

He couldn’t say anything to that.

Familiar steps made their way towards them, the glass door opening and closing with a soft click. He already knew who they belonged without having super-sensitive hearing, Dal not even needing to look back to know it was the second eldest of the group.

Something was pushed into the vampire’s hands, caring in that stubborn way that screamed Minho.

“Drink.”

He couldn’t truly see what the object was until Dal nearly threw it away, flinching so hard he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around those cold shoulders.

Disbelief.

It unravelled their younger member to a degree they rarely witnessed, jaw agape and eyes so wide they nearly swallowed everything else. Long ears drooped before perking up, teeth clicking shut loudly.

“Minho—” “You need to eat too. Also don’t worry, I obtained it through legal ways and no, it’s not ours either.” “That doesn’t mean—” “I said eat. I am not asking twice.”

That shut Dal up, granting him the chance to see what had riled their little otter, or rather, bat, up.

It was a blood bag.

Straight from the hospital, the donor’s name written clearly on its label. Dal stared at it as if it would bite the boy rather than the opposite being true, and he couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face.

“Or, shit, do you prefer a different blood type? I can grab it real quick.” “What? You have more?!” “Yeah. I’m usually the one who cooks for us, so I know what everyone likes and dislikes. Isn’t it obvious?”

He couldn’t help it.

Laughter bubbled from the depths of his belly, vibrating through his chest until the sound settled within his marrow itself. Dal didn’t even spare him a glance as the younger kept staring up at Minho with a gobsmacked expression, reminding him of the past they had now regained. At the tiny blinks his lover gave Dal back, genuinely confused why this was a big deal as if they weren’t talking about the essence of life as a snack, he reached out.

“Love, baby, give him some time to process. We’re not talking about some afternoon snack here after all.” – he chuckled out while he tugged at Minho, trapping the feline-like male within his arms. “What? But this is what he needs to survive now.” – came the reply along with a huff, his arms half-heartedly pushed at before any further attempts ceased. “I know, and trust me I’m on your side. But let him process, okay? That’s all I ask for.”

Then, his request was sealed with a gentle kiss, one that ultimately shut Minho up.

“Fine.”

His smile softened at that, cuddling his lover closer before glancing at Dal again.

It was as if the boy had frozen in time. Not a single blink could be seen, tremors eliminated through the binding magic that kept the younger’s soul within that dead body. Shining ruby eyes stared at the IV bag as if it held the answer to the universe itself, and he swore he could hear that still heart pulse just once.

The bond bloomed into life, pleasant and warm and so thankful beneath their skin he nearly buckled under its overwhelming strength.

Silver strands shifted while long ears dropped, gaze averted yet they knew.

They could practically taste the silent gratitude within Dal’s cold body, even if those glossy eyes were hidden from their sights.

Under the soft moonlight and the covered up stars, they sat there, relishing in a peace they hadn’t been given in long years. Something old finally unwound within his chest, and he could feel it within Minho’s as well; the way his lover’s heart had calmed in an entirely new way, protective and stubborn but he loved it just like that. Bodies pressed close while a hand reached out to hold onto their once missing piece, accepting in a way no words could convey.

And under the watchful gaze of the world they didn’t truly know about just yet, unaware of the hurdles life would throw at them still, they sat in each other’s company. Silent and perhaps unique in their own little ways, but it was theirs.

Bag empty and teeth painted red, he felt the most peaceful than he had in a long, long while.

And he wouldn’t give it up for anything.