I hope you find glimmers of joy in July: a beautiful sunset that takes your breath away, kind words from a stranger, moments that remind you to slow down, soft rain after a sunny day, connections that make you feel seen and known, little nods from the universe telling you you're on the right path, hope for all that's waiting ahead for you.
NEVER HAVE I EVER… FUCKED MY PROFESSOR FOR AN A+ 、 bc
──── ❛ you might be failing professor bang’s class, but you’re about to ace his extra-credit assignment
❪ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ❫ ﹒﹒ bc x f!reader 𝟯｡𝟳𝗸 smut prof!chan x student reader age gap semi-public sex desk sex cunnilingus p in v creampie
reblog4kiss ・・・ ❤︎
a massive, bright red F stared back at you from the top corner of your midterm paper.
it wasn’t just a regular failing grade. it was circled so hard that the red ink had bled through to the next page, practically mocking you. below it, in a neat, perfectly legible cursive script, was a note: please see me during office hours to discuss your standing in this course. – professor bang.
“oof. that is brutal,” your friend lena whispered, leaning over your shoulder to look at the paper. “I thought you at least got a C on that essay”
“i thought so too,” you groaned, dropping your forehead onto the wooden desk with a dull thud. the lecture hall was slowly emptying around you as students packed up their laptops and notebooks, laughing and talking about their plans for the weekend. you, on the other hand, felt like your chest was collapsing. “i’m literally on the brink of failing. if i don't pass this class, i lose my financial aid. i’m dead, lena. actually dead”
“well,” lena said, zipping up her backpack and giving you a look that immediately made you suspicious. “you know there’s an easy way out of this, right? kill two birds with one stone”
you lifted your head, squinting at her. “what are you talking about?”
“come on. everyone in this department knows professor bang is the hottest guy on campus. and everyone also knows you have a massive, pathetic crush on him. you literally turn red every time he calls on you in class”
“he’s my professor," you hissed, looking around quickly to make sure no one was listening. “and he’s older than me. it’s just a harmless crush. he’s brilliant, okay? it’s intellectual appreciation”
“sure, let’s call it that,” lena smirked, leaning closer. “look, i dare you. seduce him. go to his office hours, look cute, cry a little bit if you have to, and get him to raise your grade. you finally get to make a move on the man of your dreams, and you don’t lose your college funding. it’s a win-win”
“are you insane?” you shoved your failing paper into your bag, your heart doing a nervous flip just at the mention of it. “that’s academic misconduct. if i get caught, i’ll get expelled. plus, he would never. he’s incredibly professional. he doesn't even look at students that way”
“you don't know until you try,” lena said, patting your shoulder as she stood up. “think about it. unless you want to retake advanced sociological theory over the summer”
you watched her walk away, your stomach twisting into tight knots. the idea was terrifying. professor bang—chan, as you secretly called him in your head—was thirty-two, incredibly sharp, and carried himself with a quiet, polite confidence that made half the student body swoon. he wore well-fitted sweaters, glasses that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, and he always treated everyone with a kindness that felt entirely too genuine for a university professor.
you had spent the last seven months sitting in the third row, completely mesmerized by the way his hands moved when he lectured, or the deep, rumbling quality of his voice. but actually trying to get into his bed just for a passing grade? it was cheap. it was desperate. you couldn't do it.
the universe, however, seemed to have other plans.
over the next few days, it felt like you couldn't escape him. it started on thursday morning when you rushed into the campus coffee shop, completely drenched from a sudden downpour. you were shivering, your hair plastered to your face, trying to wipe the water off your phone screen.
“here, use this”
a clean, white napkin appeared in your field of vision. you looked up, blinking back the rainwater, and your heart stopped.
chan was standing right next to you, holding a steaming travel mug. he wasn't wearing his usual structured blazer today—just a soft, dark gray hoodie that made him look incredibly approachable, almost ordinary, if he wasn't so strikingly handsome. his hair was slightly damp, curling up at the ends.
“professor bang,” you stammered, taking the napkin. “uh, thank you”
“rough morning?” he offered you a small, warm smile. the crinkles around his eyes appeared, the ones you usually only saw from thirty feet away in the lecture hall. “the weather forecast completely lied to us today”
“yeah,” you muttered, frantically dabbing at your wet shirt, acutely aware of how messy you looked. “i forgot my umbrella. and my laptop is in my bag, so i’m just praying it didn't get ruined”
“if it did, let me know,” he said, his tone softening. “i can give you an extension on the weekly reading response if your tech is fried. i know you've been having a stressful semester”
you froze, looking into his dark eyes. he sounded so genuinely concerned that a wave of guilt hit you. he was being nice, and your best friend was currently text-nagging you to sleep with him for a B+.
“thank you,” you whispered. “i appreciate it”
“of course. get a warm drink,” he said, giving you a polite nod before turning to walk out into the rain. you watched his broad shoulders disappear through the glass doors, your chest aching with a strange mix of panic and longing.
the second accidental meeting happened on friday night. you had stayed late at the campus library, desperately trying to rewrite an assignment, but by 9:00 PM, your brain was completely fried. you packed up your things and walked down the quiet, dimly lit stairs of the social sciences building to head home.
as you pushed the heavy exit doors open, you ran straight into a solid chest.
books and loose papers went flying across the concrete stairs. you gasped, stumbling backward, but a strong hand instantly caught your forearm, steadying you before you could fall.
“whoa, careful,” a familiar voice said.
you looked up. it was him. again. he was holding a stack of graded essays, a few of which had scattered onto the floor. he looked tired, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose, his tie loosened at his collar.
“i am so sorry!” you cried, immediately dropping to your knees to help him gather the papers. “i wasn't looking where i was going, i’m so clumsy-”
“hey, it's fine. don't worry about it,” chan said, kneeling down right across from you. as you both reached for a fallen syllabus, your fingers brushed against his. a jolt of pure electricity shot up your arm. you pulled your hand back quickly, your cheeks instantly burning hot.
chan paused, his eyes dropping to your hand, then moving up to your face. in the dim light of the streetlamp, his gaze felt incredibly intense, much heavier than it ever did during class.
“you're working late,” he noted softly, stacking the papers neatly.
“just trying to save my grade,” you said, a bitter, nervous laugh escaping your lips. “i’m not doing very well in your class, professor”
chan stood up, offering you a hand to help you up. you hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing your hand in his. his grip was warm, firm, and completely steady. he didn't let go immediately after you stood up; his eyes searched yours for a long moment, scanning the dark circles under your eyes.
“you're smart,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding deeply personal in the quiet night air. “i read your admission essay from last year. you have a lot of potential. you just seem... distracted lately”
because i spend the entire lecture staring at your mouth, you thought, a wave of sheer panic washing over you.
“i’ll try harder,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.
“come to my office hours on monday,” chan said, finally releasing your hand, though his fingers lingered against your skin for a split second. “we'll figure something out. i don't want to see you fail”
by the time monday afternoon rolled around, you were a complete nervous wreck.
you had spent the entire weekend staring at your ceiling, lena’s voice ringing in your ears. seduce him. raise your grade. kill two birds with one stone. you had dismissed it as a joke initially, but after the library stairs—after the way he had looked at you, the way his hand had felt—a reckless, dangerous curiosity had taken root in your mind. what if he was interested? what if he was just as frustrated by the professional boundary as you were?
you stood outside his office door, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. you had taken a little extra time on your appearance today and you left your hair down. it wasn't overt, but it was deliberate.
you took a deep breath and knocked.
“come in,” his voice called out from inside.
you pushed the door open. chan’s office was small, crammed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, stacks of research journals, and a large mahogany desk in the center. he was sitting behind it, typing away on his laptop. he looked up, and the moment his eyes landed on you, he closed his computer.
“ah. come on in,” he said, leaning back in his chair. he took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking back up at you with a welcoming smile. “sit down”
you walked in, the heavy door clicking shut behind you. you sat in the low leather chair across from his desk, clutching your notebook like a shield.
“so,” chan started, reaching for your midterm paper, which was sitting on a stack to his left. “let’s talk about this midterm. i was surprised by the result. your thesis statement was completely unfocused.”
“i know,” you said quietly, looking down at your lap. “i had a really hard time organizing my thoughts for this one”
“it’s not just this paper,” chan said gently, his tone firm but entirely devoid of malice. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, bringing himself closer to you. “your quiz grades have been dropping, and you haven't been participating in class discussions. if this keeps up, you’re looking at a D or an F for the semester. i can’t curve a grade that low, no matter how much I want to”
no matter how much I want to.
the phrase hung in the air, fueling the tiny, reckless spark inside your chest. you looked up from your lap, meeting his eyes. he looked so professional, so completely out of reach, but you were desperate. you needed this grade, and more than that, you wanted him.
“is there... anything i can do to fix it?” you asked, your voice dropping into a softer, quieter tone. you leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on his desk, mimicking his posture. “any extra credit? anything at all, professor?”
chan’s eyes narrowed slightly. he didn't move, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted, the air becoming thick, heavy, and charged with an undeniable tension.
“extra credit?” he repeated, his voice low.
“yeah,” you murmured, your heart beating so hard you were certain he could hear it. you reached out, your hand moving slowly across the smooth dark wood of his desk until your fingertips were just an inch away from his forearm. you looked at him through your eyelashes, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. “i’m willing to do whatever it takes to pass this class. truly. i really need your help, chan”
the slip of his actual name cut through the professional quiet of the room like a physical shock.
chan looked down at your hand on his desk. for a long, agonizing three seconds, he didn't move. you held your breath, a sudden wave of sheer terror washing over you. i messed up, you thought, your stomach dropping. he’s going to report me. i’m going to get expelled.
but then, chan moved.
he didn’t pull away. instead, he reached out, his large, warm hand completely covering yours, pinning your fingers to the desk. he stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. he walked around the perimeter of the desk, his movements calm and entirely deliberate, until he was standing right beside your chair.
“close the blinds,” he said, his voice incredibly deep, rougher than you had ever heard it.
you blinked, your brain scrambling to catch up. “what?”
“the blinds,” chan repeated, turning his head to look at the large glass window that faced the inner courtyard of the building. “if you’re going to talk about extra credit, i suggest we have some privacy”
your trembling legs barely carried you as you stood up. you walked over to the window, your fingers shaking as you pulled the cord, the plastic slats tilting shut and plunging the office into a dim, shadow-filled seclusion. when you turned back around, chan was leaning against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an intensity that made your knees feel weak.
“you’ve been staring at me during lectures for three months,” chan said, his tone entirely blunt, stripping away the professor persona completely. “did you really think i didn’t notice?”
you swallowed hard, stepping back toward him. “i... i didn’t think you cared”
“i shouldn’t care,” he said, a quiet, frustrated breath escaping his lips. he reached up, loosening his tie with one hand and pulling it over his head, tossing it onto his desk. “it’s against university policy. it’s unethical. i could lose my tenure”
“then why are you closing the blinds?” you whispered, stopping just inches from him. the scent of his expensive cologne and warm skin was dizzying.
chan reached out, his hands wrapping securely around your waist. his grip was firm, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sweater as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of his mahogany desk. notebooks and papers scattered to the floor, but neither of you cared.
“because i’m tired of watching you look at me like that from the third row,” chan muttered, stepping into the space between your thighs. he leaned down, his face halting inches from yours, his dark eyes burning with a hunger that had clearly been restrained for a very long time. “if you’re going to try and play this game to fix your grade, you better be ready for the consequences”
“i am,” you breathed, your hands reaching up to grip his broad shoulders.
chan didn’t hesitate. he leaned in, his mouth crashing against yours in a deep, heavy kiss that completely stole the air from your lungs. it wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t polite. it was the release of months of pent-up frustration. his tongue slid into your mouth, tasting you hungrily, his hands sliding up your back to pull you flush against his chest. you moaned into the kiss, your fingers tangling into his soft hair, pulling him closer as the sheer thrill of it consumed you.
he pulled back just an inch, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps against your lips. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice thick.
before you could answer, chan slid down to his knees on the floor between your parted legs.
your breath caught sharply in your throat, your hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk for balance. chan looked up at you from the floor, his expression entirely dark and focused. he reached out, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your skirt up until it was bunched around your waist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion and tossing them aside.
“chan, wait-” you gasped, the reality of where you were hitting you all at once. “in your office? what if someone knocks?”
“the door locks automatically,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “be quiet”
he leaned forward, his hands gripping your thighs tightly, spreading you wide on the edge of the desk. he dipped his head, his warm breath fanning across your bare skin before his tongue made direct contact with your pussy.
a loud, broken gasp escaped your lips. you immediately clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes widening in pure shock. the sensation was incredible. chan was ruthless, his tongue sweeping upward in long, wet, heavy strokes that hit your clit with perfect accuracy. he knew exactly what he was doing. he used his fingers to stretch you open, his thumb rubbing small circles right against your folds while his mouth created a deep, wet suction on your clit.
the sound of his tongue against your slick skin echoed softly in the quiet office. you threw your head back, your chest heaving as the pleasure began to coil tightly in your stomach. he picked up the pace, his mouth becoming hungrier, drinking you in as your body began to tremble.
“chan... please,” you whimpered against your palm, your hips helplessly rolling against his face, trying to chase the friction.
he didn’t slow down. he kept his two fingers plunged deep inside your wet warmth, mimicking a fast, driving rhythm while his tongue continued to assault your clit. the double stimulation was completely overwhelming. your mind went entirely blank, your muscles locking up as a massive, shuddering orgasm crashed over you. you moaned loudly against your hand, your thighs shaking violently against his shoulders as your body released everything.
chan didn't let you recover.
he kept his fingers inside you, feeling the tight, rhythmic contractions of your climax. as your breathing began to slow, he pulled his mouth back just enough to look up at you, his lips and chin slick with your moisture. a slow, dark smirk touched his lips.
“we’re not done,” he murmured, his voice incredibly deep. “that was just for me. now let’s fix that grade”
he stood up while unbuttoning his shirt, though he left it hanging on by the shoulders, unbuckled his belt and shedded his trousers in one fluid motion. his boxers followed, revealing his heavy, fully hardened cock pulsing in the dim light of the office. he looked entirely magnificent, his broad chest and tensed abs glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
he stepped back into the space between your legs, his hands gripping your waist to pull you right to the absolute edge of the desk. he guided his tip against your completely drenched entrance, tapping it twice against your sensitive clit, making you let out a needy whimper.
“look at me,” chan commanded softly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.
you looked up at him, your fingernails digging into the wood of his desk for support. in one smooth, heavy motion, chan drove himself entirely inside you.
a strangled moan escaped your throat, your head falling back as he filled you to the absolute brim. the sheer fullness of him after being eaten out was an unbelievable, overwhelming sensation. you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move, his hips slamming forward in a steady, heavy rhythm.
the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly in the office, mixing with your breathless cries. chan was relentless, his pace fast and heavy, his jaw clenched tightly as he looked down at your flushed face.
“f-fuck, you're so tight,” he gasped, his hands moving to grip your thighs, lifting your legs higher to angle his thrusts deeper. every single push hit your sweet spot with an accuracy that made your toes curl.
“chan... faster... please,” you whimpered, completely lost in the sensation of him filling you, your previous anxiety entirely forgotten.
he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and completely relentless. you were dancing on the edge of another orgasm, your stomach tightening for the second time that afternoon. chan let out a broken moan, his breathing completely ragged as he delivered five final, heavy thrusts, burying himself as deeply as possible inside you before his body locked up completely.
he came inside you with a shuddering sigh, his chest heaving as he collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. your own release triggered right along with his, a final, lingering wave of intense pleasure that left both of you completely spent, trembling against the mahogany desk.
the room fell completely silent, save for the frantic, heavy panting of your lungs.
after a few long minutes, chan slowly shifted his weight, pulling out of you with a soft sigh. he reached around, grabbing a tissue from his desk to gently wipe you down before helping you slide off the desk. your legs were shaking so badly you almost collapsed, but his strong arms caught you immediately, holding you steady against his chest.
he reached down, picked up your underwear from the floor, and handed them to you with a quiet, gentle smile—the familiar, polite professor persona slowly returning, though his eyes still carried a lingering heat.
you quickly pulled your clothes back into place, smoothing down your sweater, your face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction.
chan walked back around his desk, pulling his trousers back on and buckling his belt. he picked up his tie, folding it neatly and putting it in his pocket, before opening his laptop once more. his fingers flew across the keyboard for a brief five seconds.
“there,” chan said softly, turning the screen around so you could see it.
you looked at the university grading portal. next to your midterm assignment, the bright red F was gone. in its place was a solid, perfect A-.
“you’ll still need to study for the final exam,” chan said, his tone returning to that professional, calm cadence, though a wicked, teasing glint danced in his eyes. “but i think we can arrange a few more extra credit sessions in my office before the semester ends to make sure you stay on track”
you let out a breathless, happy laugh, walking over to the door. “thank you, professor bang”
“happy to help,” chan murmured, watching you with a warm smile as you unlocked the door and stepped back out into the hallway, your heart light and your financial aid completely secure.
bro i put my whole heart, soul and coochie into this so PLEASE for the love of everything don’t leave empty likes and actually interact with me i beg😭🙏🙏
taglist 🏷️ @kloversung @yngjgn @stryscribbles @cherryblogger2003 @quokkaine @g0matchi @hyvnesangel @scoeng @gyuzies @hyunjinswife4ever @sturnsxbitvh @hanjisungs-favorite @miunicornfluff @viisstrayy @mvkas @twiddlehee @strawberristhings @lovecase @galaxygurlll @beablythie @fizzy0719・・・ click here to be added !
pairing: william eklund x reader | fluff, slight angst, a bit suggestive at the end | friends to lovers | wc: 3k+ | warnings: one of the main characters got cheated on in the past | namu's notes: i was WILLING to write a smut for this one but i'm struggling to do it, so i'll post it before ella reads the open ending (she might actually k*ll me). yeah, byeee!!
i'm going under
storm, lightning, thunder
i'm drowning in the deepest of truths
fuck, i think i'm falling for you
— tsunami, by niki zefanya
it happened during a gathering with your friends. well, they weren’t around at the time, some of them lost the game you played to decide who would run to the grocery store before the second period started. you and william were left alone in the living room, your legs over his lap on the couch, which he was mindless tracing his fingers on your skin. the commercial playing on tv was something about taking your lover to one of the most beautiful places on earth — valentine’s day was close by. the invitation got lost on the tip of your tongue, that’s when you realized.
"oh gosh."
"what?" he looked at you.
"i like you!"
"you what?"
"i think i'm falling in love with you!"
you were terrifyingly excited over something so sensitive, that’s why william kept his eyes on you, waiting for the laugh telling him it was a joke. but what he got was a shy giggle as you jumped off the couch, covering your face.
he knew you were aware of his issues with romantic feelings, he knew you were aware of his past relationship. what just happened?
"y/n..."
“goodness, this is so fun! i know you're emotionally unavailable, don't worry,” you pointed.
"it’s not that— listen, you just confessed out of nowhere and it looks like i just proposed to you!"
"yes! i finally know how it feels! isn't it great?!"
william frowned, utterly confused by your reaction. he couldn’t get why you were so happy when you knew he didn’t feel the same. his first girlfriend was his first love back in sweden, but things got messy when he got drafted to the nhl. that was when her behavior started to make sense; how she kept on shaming him for being romantic, that he didn’t have to be so performative about his love — even in private. “that’s not the aura of a professional athlete, okay? you’re so charming, try being more cooler towards me, that’ll keep me interested,” she used to say. he was so blinded by his feelings for her that he didn’t realize how alarming that was. he molded his behavior to please her, just to be cheated on with a guy that was cooler than him, the ideal man to just have fun and enjoy popularity. william didn’t know he was molding himself to become a ladder. then when other women looking for fun started showing up in his life, he came to terms with the environment he would live in from that moment on.
“y/n, i’m not ready for this. we talked about it before."
"listen," you paused to look at the door, lowering your voice so you wouldn’t get caught by your friends. "it’s like an experiment."
"what the hell? what's that supposed to mean? you're scaring me." william put a hand over his chest.
you sat by his side once again, as ready as you would be for a business presentation.
"i want to experience this. i want to give you my feelings and enjoy this while i can. since you won't feel the same, i can easily get over you later."
"that's not how it works, dear."
"i will make it work."
william covered his face and groaned. damn, she’s adorable, he thought.
"please, please, please!" you begged. "this is such a big moment for me, you know i’ve never been in love before."
"and why would you like me?" he stared, making you gulp.
"i have a lot of nice things to tell you, but only if you agree. i'd never do something to make you uncomfortable."
the longest william pondered, the longest you scanned his face — and the need to kiss him all over was strong. he noticed when you got lost in your own thoughts and squinted, holding a smile to himself.
“alright, let’s do this.”
the touch of his hand on your cheek brought you back, making a radiant grin flash on your lips. you went to hug him, but stopped mid action, silently asking for permission. when he crossed his arms around your waist, everything made sense. the scent of his cologne was usually the one that got stuck on your clothes because not only you were always together, but william used to be the last one to hug you goodbye after taking you home. the warmth of his body was also responsible for everything you were feeling in that moment, which kind of hurt to think that you wouldn’t be able to be this close anymore without making it weird for him.
later, you got home and did your night routine, excited about your team’s win and for the realization about your feelings. william wasn’t allowed to take you home that night, “i might not be able to hold myself from kissing you, so let me get my uber in peace.” you didn’t realize how he had to turn around so you wouldn’t see him blush.
you: permission to be corny
eky: sighs- permission granted
you: i hope you show up in my dreams tonight, hopefully it won’t be weird
i won’t tell you if it is
eky: and if it’s sexy?
you: do not flirt with a woman in love if you’re not willing to give her what she wants
eky: my lips are sealed.
you: i like them, btw
eky: my lips?
you: yeah, love when you smirk trying to pretend i’m not the funniest person you know
and i love when you laugh out loud, even when i can hear from a distance
i love how it makes your nose wrinkle, it’s adorable
eky: i’m not adorable, but thank you
you: you are to me
i’m so excited to be cheeky when i notice all the things that made me feel like this
eky: glad you’re having a good time
you: sorry you don’t feel good about romance anymore, thank you for not being weird about me
eky: it’s okay, you deserve to know how it feels
i’ll try to be a great first love for you
you: oh
my heartbeat is speeding up right now, gotta blast
eky: cute
sweet dreams
you: goodnight, eky
you took a long time to sleep, your racing thoughts didn’t give you a break. your mind kept replaying the events and planning everything for the next day. one of them was telling one of your closest friends, so she would prevent you from going crazy when necessary. the following days, you worked with a silly smile on your face, dismissing your colleagues that teased you about it. you spent some of your breaks writing love letters, giggling like a high school girl because of how exciting everything was. the butterflies on your stomach, the scenarios playing in your brain, the chills every time you thought about william’s touch. you allowed yourself to be delusional, to enjoy every sensation of pure joy that love delivered.
“how will he talk about other girls if he knows you like him? it’s not like he can keep acting normal,” lena said after you spilled what was going on.
“he already didn’t before, so.” you shrugged. “have you seen him with someone lately?”
“no, but that’s not the point. you want to enjoy the feeling of being in love, but you need to be realistic that it will hurt because it’s unrequited.”
“yeah, he’ll keep on living his life…”
“i love it for you, it’s such a beautiful feeling.” she held your hand. “i need you to be careful, don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“i get it, thank you for helping me back down a little,” you said, a tight smile on your lips. “i’ll be seeing him tonight, i’ll give him the love letters i wrote.”
“love letters?” she gasped and started laughing. “girl, you’re down bad!”
“i am!” you admitted, covering your face. “i’m wondering if this is considered some kind of love bombing because i’ll have to get into a lockdown at work for the next week.”
“well, depending on his reaction to your actions, he might show up at your door just to spend time with you,” she suggested. “you know eky is a romantic, he’s just been through a lot.”
“yeah, don’t want to scare him off,” you worried. “well, once last month i wasn’t responding enough so he showed up with groceries and nagged at me until i took a break.”
your friend squinted her eyes, suspicious.
“have you ever considered how comfortable eky is with you in comparison with the rest of us?”
“i didn’t, it’s just that i’m more of a touchy person, but he has other love languages with everybody.”
“i agree, i love my quality time with him, but i sense it’s so different from what i see between you two.”
“okay, don’t do this. i’m already struggling not to jump on him, i don’t want to think of the possibility of any truth in his flirting.”
“he flirts with you?!”
“yeah, well, he has these witty responses to my confessions. you know how cocky he can be.”
“y/n, my love, i need you to be so serious right now.”
“it’s enough that he’s letting me enjoy this first love thing, i won’t go further than that. period.”
“okay, okay. once again, be careful, but pay a little more attention. i might not be overreacting here.”
you arrived at william’s place with your heart in your sleeve. that could be a metaphor or simply all the words you wrote in those journal pages, mixed with cute doodles and printed pictures of you two. you were focusing on not being embarrassed when he opened the door. william looked like the cuddliest human being on earth, his soft cologne taking up your senses when he immediately hugged you.
“hey, dear. craving sushi tonight? it might be here at any moment.”
“sushi is nice,” you agreed, throwing yourself on his couch.
“how was work today?”
“pretty calm right now, to be honest. but we’ll be locking down for the next week to step up in the research of this new found element.”
“oh, are we talking about nasa classified shit?”
“no!” you burst out laughing. “it’s just that we need to have a lot ready for the seminar at the end of the month, so i’ll be working even at home.”
“got it. so i won’t be seeing you for a whole week?”
your eyes softened instantly.
“i think so. i don’t know how i can make it work, lena already said she’ll be texting every three hours to check if i’m taking care of myself.”
“well, i can do that in person. did that before, no?”
“yes, indeed. but what about the games?”
“i can’t accept that you won’t watch them, so i gotta show up and talk about each of them. i’ll be resting as well, so don’t worry about me.”
“okay, you know where the key is.” you smiled. “now tell me how you’re expecting the next matches.”
couple hours later, after you and william devoured the japanese food, he put on the highlights of a game you missed recently. he ended up as one of the top stars, skating around and scoring like he owned the opponent’s ice. at some point, though, your focus changed from the tv to his face, expressions immersed in every aspect of his story.
“y/n.”
“i can’t stop looking at you, what the hell,” you muttered, regretting as soon as it came out.
“kinda creepy,” he teased.
“i know!” you admitted, averting your gaze. “i just like seeing you happy, that’s all.”
his eyebrows raised, william couldn’t hold back the grin hearing you be so forward with your words. he liked watching you be in love, although he still didn’t know how to deal with the fact that he was the one you were in love with.
the silence didn’t go unnoticed by you, which suddenly made you self conscious.
“too far?”
“hm?” william was brought back. “no, don’t worry.”
“now i’m thinking back on giving you the love letters i wrote.”
william gulped, turning his whole body towards you.
“you wrote me love letters?”
“you don’t have to read them, to be honest. it was good for me to reflect on what made me like you romantically when i already loved you as a friend.” unable to hold his gaze, you looked back to the tv now paused in a random player. “and it’s been kind of hard not to touch you like usual or feeling all the time that i’m making you uncomfortable or how you can’t talk to me about other women because you don’t want to hurt me.”
william held your hand, stopping your ramble.
“dear, look at me.” he touched your cheek. “i love you, alright? nothing’s changing that. i feel honored to be your first love, i don’t feel uncomfortable at all. and there’s no other women to talk about.”
you tilted your head and chuckled, making his hand drop from holding your cheek.
“thank you for reassuring me, eky.”
“well, there’s actually a woman that’s been writing me love letters and i still haven't had the chance to read them. i’ll update you when i do, though.”
you laughed, biting your lower lip to hold a gasp when you noticed he was closer than before, his other hand still holding yours. his warm touch was making you dizzy.
“i saw you sighing and licking your lips, dear. you’re not subtle at all,” he said, finding hilarious how he could watch you be a mess in front of him. he was loving every second of it.
“i wasn’t trying to be. i’m more focused on thinking of something else.”
“yeah? like what?”
“like how i’ll hide my spare key so you won’t actually see me for a week,” you whispered. “i need time away from your touch, ‘cause right now it feels like we both want the same thing.”
you noticed when his eyes quickly dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“and what do you want right now?” he whispered back, a haze starting to grow in his eyes.
“i want to go home and hopefully not dream of you tonight,” you said, standing up mid sentence. it confused you to see william seemingly disappointed with your reaction. “this week will be good for us, i mean, i can’t wait to go back to normal.”
william hummed quietly, his body defeated against the couch’s backrest. he was exactly the opposite of you, his eyes wouldn’t leave you for a second.
“i’ll be counting the days ‘till i see you.”
“william!”
his eyes went wide when your tone raised.
“the past week has been fun, but i’m starting to feel sorry for myself.” you bit the inside of your cheek. “i’m in love with you, that’s nice, now it’s time to start getting over it so i can be you dear friend again.”
william frowned, but no words came out of his mouth.
“i think i exposed myself enough, so i won’t give you the letters. i’ll take them as memories of a good time,” you decided, a smile tinged with sadness. “in the future, when it happens again, i’ll recognize it easily enough to do something about it sooner.”
“dear, i’m really sorry.”
“no, it’s my fault. i know what you went through, i know your reasons, that’s why it needs to stop now.” you nodded. “i don’t feel bad about liking you, though, it’s not that. i’m glad my heart made the right choice, it was just not the right timing.”
you got your purse and headed for the door. you heard a frustrated sound coming from him, but you didn’t look back.
“förbaskat, this is not fair,” he muttered, standing up to catch you before you opened the door. “y/n, wait.”
“yeah?”
“i can’t stop myself from living a real love story just because someone else hurt me. i don’t know why my mind got so blurred when i know i’m happy with you, it’s freaking dumb to let you go when i feel the same.”
you didn’t dare to interrupt his train of thought — too shocked to do that, honestly.
“i want to read all your letters, to hear all your confessions, i want to write you my own as well, to tell you beautiful words even though they won’t be as poetic as yours. being loved by you is amazing, loving you is amazing. i don’t know how different it can be from what i already feel. i want you emotionally and physically, i want to be the one you're still in love in the future. so please don’t give up on me yet, let me try to be the boyfriend you deserve.”
william waited, almost out of breath. you just stared back at him, thoughts going crazy around your head.
“eky,” you whispered.
“yes, dear.”
“i have this need right now to kiss the hell out of you. all the touches i held the past week are tingling my skin for having you so close.”
“i can take you, baby. just say the word.”
your purse dropped to the floor, you took a step closer to him.
shake my earth, suck the air out, burn me down
it's like you've known me through all my past lives
what an evil thought
wreck my plans, stop me dead, kiss me now
“your love, give it to me. don’t hold back.”
his hands were all over you in a second. it seemed like william was doing his best to be delicate with the first kiss, but your enthusiasm matched his, which turned everything too intense. your hands went down his sweatshirt, the warmness of his skin against your hands gripped a moan out of the both of you. he reached the back of your thighs and picked you up without warning, ripping a small scream from you, which made you both laugh.
“that was freaking sexy, but don’t scare me like that.”
“sorry,” he pampered you with kisses all over your face. “promise to be more vocal from now on.”
summary: stays always talk about how chan is secretly their oomf on twitter, but they never stop to think that a member’s secret girlfriend could also be their oomf
status: ongoing
ʚɞ part 1
ʚɞ part 2
ʚɞ part 3
ʚɞ bonus: chan gf oomf companion fic by @astrayapple
ʚɞ part 4
ʚɞ april fools special
ʚɞ poly skz special
ʚɞ bonus: lee know oomf series by @starlostjisung
ʚɞ bonus: han oomf fic by @chanslaptopbattery
ʚɞ bonus: hyunjin oomf fic by @gyuzies
ʚɞ bonus: jeongin oomf series by @miniseungkimcami
ʚɞ bonus: felix oomf series by @mikashisus
── 爱𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ͟♥︎ . . 📞 this was inspired by a convo my bby @eyisy and i had yesterday so all the credits go to her !!!!!!!!! i feel like i heavily rushed this towards the end bc cramps were killing me so if this flops #forgiveme #iloveu plsdontflopplsdontflop
◟✪𓈒 67⎯ @its-stayville-forever @box-troll @woozarts @katsukis1wife @nctly @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbae @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @tricky-ritz @mangojellyyy @coquettecookiestay143 @hwangjoanna @jjuniebinnie @queenofdumbfuckery @wheresangel @warped-rabbithole @amarecerasus @straykiisses @hyunnerism @alisonyus @bangingchanxx @simpqueen2025 @pillbaby-main @chuahuahua @wheresangel @firstclassjaylee @shinwonderful @lolawritesforlove @hyunjinniemylove @babrieeee @midnite-fiction @eyisy @itsraininghyunebuckets @satan-223 @mikachux3 @itsraininghyunebuckets @lovelyjinirets @written-by-music
ⓘ pssst . . . ✉️ ( ´͈ ᵕ `͈) get added to the taglist.
ⓘ strikethrough = @ not working! please update it in the same form.
thank you so much reading! comments, likes, asks & reblogs are always appreciated! ❤︎
summary: stays always talk about how chan is secretly their oomf on twitter, but they never stop to think that their oomf could be dating a member of stray kids, or that she could be dating all of them
a/n: happy 8 years to our boys!! i’ve been a stay for 8 months, 8 is fate ugh, and it has been the best 8 months ever! i love them so much and am so proud of them. they led me to meet such amazing friends and other stays i am so grateful <3 also please tell me your thoughts on the new song they released for us! i have been crying about it ever since it came out
*this is a oneshot poly skz spin off of my seungmin his gf is oomf series! there will not be another part for this poly skz version. i just wanted to make something fun and silly for the boy’s anniversary with my oomf concept! also please ignore that i reused the twitter profiles this does not take place in the same universe i was just too lazy to make new ones lol*
After Bang Chan gets discharged from the hospital, he tries to outrun the hollow spaces in his memory. You linger like something important he can’t reach—familiar, painful, unfinished. Drawn back to you despite the distance, he begins to unravel, caught between what he’s forgotten and what he can’t seem to let go.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪🐺❫･━━━━━━ ❜
The next few days blurred into a painful routine of hope and heartbreak.
You stayed by Chan’s side as much as the hospital allowed, bringing him small comforts—his favorite hoodie, playlists you’d made together, and quiet stories about the missing year. The members gave you both space when they could, but they were never far, hovering protectively while the group quietly announced a temporary hiatus until Chan was fully healed and ready.
Every afternoon, Chan would look at you with that careful, searching gaze and ask questions like he was piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
“Tell me about our first date,” he said one evening, voice soft as he sat up in the hospital bed, the cast on his arm resting awkwardly in his lap.
You hesitate.
“I want to understand it,” he continues.
“Because the way I look at you in those videos… I’ve never looked at anyone like that.”
Your throat tightens.
“You don’t have to force anything, Chan.”
“I’m not forcing it,” he says quickly.
“I just… I don’t want to lose something that mattered that much. Even if I don’t remember it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled faintly.
“It was nothing fancy. You snuck me into the practice room after midnight because you said you wanted to show me the choreography for a song that hadn’t been released yet. We ended up ordering tteokbokki and eating it on the floor. You kept messing up the steps on purpose just to make me laugh. Then you played the demo on your phone and asked me if it felt like ‘us.’”
Chan listened intently, brow slightly furrowed, nodding along like it was a beautiful story someone else had lived.
Not his. Never his.
“Sounds… nice,” he murmured. “I wish I could remember laughing like that with you.”
He kept asking.
About how you met, about the silly arguments you had over who got the last bite of ice cream, about the way he used to call you at 4 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep just to hear your voice.
Each time, he listened with genuine curiosity, but his eyes stayed distant—polite, appreciative, but empty of recognition.
Still, small things began to surface in him unconsciously.
He noticed how you always took your coffee with oat milk and two sugars, sliding the cup toward you exactly the way you liked before you even asked. He noticed how you grew quiet when sadness crept in, your shoulders curling inward, and he’d gently bump his knee against yours without thinking. He noticed you always sat on his left side, close enough that your arm brushed his when you leaned in.
One rainy afternoon, while you were sharing a small meal in his hospital room, a bit of sauce clung to the corner of your lip. Without hesitation, Chan reached over and wiped it away with his thumb, the gesture so natural, so familiar, that time seemed to stop.
Both of you froze.
His thumb lingered for half a second against your skin, warm and gentle—the exact motion he used to do a hundred times before. Your breath caught. Chan’s eyes widened, confusion and something deeper flickering across his face before he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.
“I… sorry,” he whispered, voice rough. “I don’t know why I did that.”
You couldn’t speak. That single touch felt like a crack in the wall between you, but it wasn’t enough to bring the memories flooding back.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Weeks passed.
Chan was discharged from the hospital, and the members insisted on taking a full break—no schedules, no recordings, no pressure—until he felt like himself again. You continued visiting him at the dorm, bringing food, sitting with him on the couch while he tried to catch up on the music he’d missed, helping him relearn the new choreography through videos.
He was kind. Always kind.
He smiled at your stories, thanked you for being there, even held your hand once when you looked particularly tired.
But the distance remained.
He still looked at you like a cherished stranger, not like the person he once loved with his whole guarded heart.
The ache inside you grew heavier with every passing day.
Until one quiet evening, when the dorm was empty except for the two of you, you finally couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You sat on the couch, hands twisted in your lap, voice barely above a whisper.
“Chan… I think you should just move on.”
He looked up sharply from the notebook he’d been scribbling half-remembered melodies in.
“I don’t want to be someone you feel obligated to love,” you continued, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “You’re trying so hard, and I can see it. But every time you look at me, it’s like you’re forcing yourself to feel something that isn’t there. I can’t keep watching you struggle like this. It’s killing me. So… maybe it’s better if I step back. Let you heal without the weight of a relationship you don’t remember.”
The silence that followed was devastating.
His mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His eyes—those beautiful, tired eyes—filled with a pain he couldn’t name.
That night, after you left with a quiet goodbye and a soft kiss on his cheek that felt like farewell, Chan couldn’t sleep.
He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the dorm unusually quiet without the usual chaos of the members. His chest felt tight, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with his lingering bruises.
The thought of you leaving—of never seeing your quiet smiles again, of never hearing the way you said his name like it mattered—hurt.
Not because of memories.
But because of feeling.
A deep, inexplicable ache bloomed behind his ribs, raw and unfamiliar yet impossibly real. It wasn’t recollection. It was something newer, something born in the present: the terrifying realization that even without the past, the idea of losing you carved a hole in him he didn’t know how to fill.
He pressed a hand over his heart, breathing shallow.
“…Don’t go,” he whispered into the empty room, voice breaking in the dark.
But you were already gone.
And for the first time since the accident, Christopher Bang felt something terrifyingly close to love… and the fear of losing it all over again.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Chan drowned himself in work.
Even though the members had agreed on a break, he couldn’t sit still. He watched every performance video from the past year on repeat, mouthing lyrics he didn’t remember writing, learning choreography his body had already mastered once.
The small flashes of recognition — a familiar beat here, a harmony he instinctively knew — pumped adrenaline through his veins like nothing else.
“Hyung, you should rest,” Jisung said gently one night, watching Chan replay the same bridge for the twentieth time.
“I can’t,” Chan muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I lost a whole year. I need to catch up. The fans are waiting. The group… we can’t stay behind.”
Every tiny success lit a fire in him.
When he perfectly recreated a rap flow he’d forgotten, when he instinctively fixed a melody that felt “off” even though he didn’t remember composing it — those moments made his chest swell with purpose.
For the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, he felt like he was moving forward instead of drowning in everything he’d missed.
But the memories of you started slipping in at the worst times.
It began small.
One afternoon in his kitchen, he opened the cupboard and saw the oat milk carton.
His hand paused mid-reach.
“YN used to like these, right?” he said quietly, almost to himself.
The words hung in the air before he even realized he’d spoken them. He froze, staring at the carton like it had burned him.
A few days later, while scrolling through old photos on his phone for reference, he landed on a candid shot from a late-night convenience store run.
A pack of strawberry candies sat in the corner of the frame.
“She liked these too… the sour ones,” he murmured, thumb hovering over the screen. His heart stuttered.
Why did he know that?
He didn’t remember buying them. He didn’t remember handing them to you. But the knowledge was there, soft and insistent, like muscle memory.
Each time it happened, he stopped cold.
The momentum he’d built in the studio shattered for a few painful seconds. He’d rub his chest unconsciously, feeling that same unfamiliar ache from the night you’d told him to move on.
The small recognitions kept coming, uninvited.
He caught himself humming a soft melody one evening on the balcony — the exact tune he used to play for you when you couldn’t sleep. He stopped singing the moment he realized.
Another time, while helping Hyunjin pick out a new hoodie online, a soft gray one popped up.
“I think YN would’ve liked that color on me,” he said without thinking, then immediately closed the tab, jaw tight.
The fragments were torture.
They weren’t full memories — just echoes, feelings, habits.
Enough to remind him that something important had lived in the space he couldn’t reach, but not enough to bring you back.
After three weeks of this, Chan couldn’t take it anymore.
He showed up at your apartment building unannounced one night with hoodie pulled low over his eyes. His heart was hammering harder than it had during any comeback stage.
He didn’t even know what he was going to say.
He just knew he needed to see you.
You opened the door after the third knock, eyes widening in surprise. You looked tired — the kind of tired that came from forcing yourself to move on.
The promise ring was no longer on your finger.
“Chan?” Your voice was soft, guarded. “What are you doing here?”
He stood there in the hallway, searching your face like he always did — hoping something would click. It didn’t. Not fully. But the ache in his chest sharpened into something unbearable the moment he saw you.
“I…” He swallowed hard, voice rough from disuse and emotion. “I keep remembering things. Not big things. Just… little pieces. The oat milk. The strawberry candies. The way you always sat on my left. How you go quiet when you’re sad.” He let out a shaky breath, stepping closer.
“Every time it happens, I stop. Everything stops. Because it feels like my body remembers you even when my head doesn’t.”
You stayed silent, arms wrapped around yourself.
“I’ve been drowning in work, trying to get back on track with everything Stray Kids missed,” he continued, eyes glistening. “And it helps. It really does. But then these fragments of you keep cutting through, and I… I don’t know what to do with them. They hurt, but they also feel like the only real thing in all this mess.”
He lifted his hand like he wanted to reach for you, but let it fall.
“I know you told me to move on. I know I’m not the person who loved you before. But tonight, when I was in the studio alone, I caught myself reaching for my phone to send you a voice note. And it hit me… even without the memories, the thought of you walking away completely is tearing me apart in a way I can’t explain.”
His voice cracked, raw and desperate.
“I’m not asking you to wait forever. I’m not even asking you to love me again right now. I just… I need you to know that these little pieces of you keep finding me. And every time they do, I stop and wonder what kind of idiot I must’ve been to have someone like you and not be able to remember it.”
He looked at you, eyes pleading, the rain still clinging to his lashes.
“So I came here. Because I’m scared that if I keep drowning in work and ignoring these feelings, I’ll lose the only parts of you that are still trying to come back to me.”
The hallway light flickered above you both. Chan stood there, vulnerable, no longer the confident leader who had thrown himself into schedules to forget the emptiness.
Just a man chasing fragments of a love he couldn’t fully recall — but was starting to feel all over again.
You didn’t speak right away.
The words you’d said weeks ago still hung between you — I think you should just move on. You had meant them. You still did, in a way.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help him remember you.
God, you wanted that more than anything.
But you refused to force something he didn’t truly feel. You wouldn’t become an obligation, a task he tackled out of guilt or responsibility.
“I…” Your voice came out small. “I don’t want to push you into this, Chan. If we try, it has to be because you want it. Not because you feel like you owe me the past. Not because the members are watching or because it’s the ‘right’ thing to do. If the feelings aren’t there… if they never come back… I can’t survive watching you pretend.”
Chan’s breath hitched. He stepped closer.
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m scared too. But these fragments… they keep pulling me toward you. And the thought of you walking away for good — it hurts in a place I don’t even have memories for. So yeah… I want to try. Please. Let me try.”
You searched his face for any sign of doubt. There was none — only raw, uncertain hope.
Slowly, you nodded.
The moment you did, Chan closed the distance and pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest. His uninjured arm wrapped around your back with surprising strength, his face buried in your hair. For the first time since the accident, he held you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The following weeks became a careful, exhausting blur.
Stray Kids eased back into light activities now that Chan was healing well — short dance practices, vocal sessions, and group meetings where they revisited old concepts without pressure.
Chan threw himself into it with renewed fire, the small sparks of recognition coming faster now.
A familiar chord progression. The way his body instinctively knew the new choreography. Late-night studio sessions where melodies he’d half-forgotten started flowing again.
Each tiny victory lit him up, pumping him with the drive to keep going.
But every evening, he came back to you.
You helped him relearn your relationship in the gentlest, most painful way possible — piece by fragile piece.
You sat together on the couch late at night and went through old photos on your phone.
“This was the night you cooked for me,” you’d say softly, showing him a blurry selfie of burnt pancakes and both of you laughing.
He’d stare at the image, brow furrowed, then quietly ask, “Did I make you laugh like that a lot?”
You told him stories about your first real fight, how he’d shown up at your door the next day with flowers and apologies. How he used to trace little stars on your wrist when he was anxious. He listened to every word, sometimes reaching out to touch your wrist absentmindedly, as if his fingers remembered what his mind didn’t.
Small memories kept surfacing — triggered by scents, sounds, touches.
One night, while you were cooking together, he unconsciously started singing the exact silly song he used to make up for you when you were stressed. He stopped mid-verse, eyes wide, and whispered, “That was for you, wasn’t it?”
You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah… it was.”
But it wasn’t all gentle progress.
There were nights when nothing came back. Nights when he looked at you with that lingering distance, frustration and guilt etched across his face.
“I’m trying,” he’d say, voice cracking as he held your hands. “I swear I’m trying so hard. But sometimes it still feels like I’m reaching for someone else’s life. And I hate that I’m hurting you while I do it.”
You’d pull him close then, letting him bury his face in your shoulder. “I know. I’m not asking for perfect. Just… don’t force it if it’s not there.”
Yet every time he held you tight — like he had that first night at your door — something in him seemed to settle. His arms remembered the shape of you even when his mind was still catching up.
The members watched quietly, supportive but worried. Changbin would text you encouraging messages. Minho would leave snacks for both of you with a small note: Take it slow.
Chan was getting better every day — stronger, sharper, more like the leader they all knew.
The memories of Stray Kids’ recent year were slowly knitting back together.
But the memories of you came slower, softer, like fragile threads he was terrified of snapping.
Still, he kept reaching for them.
And every night, when the apartmenr grew quiet, he’d pull you into his arms again, holding you like you were the one thing anchoring him to the missing pieces of himself.
“I don’t remember all of it yet,” he whispered one night, lips brushing your temple as rain tapped against the window. “But the parts that are coming back… they feel like they belong to you. And that scares me. Because what if I remember everything… and it still doesn’t feel enough? What if I remember how much I loved you… and I can’t love you the same way again?”
You closed your eyes, heart breaking and mending at the same time in his tight embrace.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” you whispered back.
Because loving Chan had always hurt a little.
And forgetting him — even for him — hurt even more.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
In the quiet dark of his apartment room at 3 a.m.
Chan had fallen asleep exhausted after another long night of catching up on Stray Kids’ schedules.
The members were giving him space, the apartment unusually still.
He’d been replaying old voice notes on his phone — ones he didn’t remember recording — trying to force the pieces together.
His body gave out before his mind did.
In sleep, the dam finally broke.
It started as fragments, the same small ones that had been teasing him for weeks: the taste of strawberry candy on your tongue, the way you always took your coffee, the soft sound of your laugh in the empty practice room.
Then the flood came without mercy.
He saw everything.
The nervous way he’d asked you out that first time, heart pounding louder than any stage.
The rainy balcony where he’d kissed you so hard he forgot how to breathe.
The nights he’d crawl into your arms and whisper “I love you” like it was the only truth that mattered.
The promise ring, the way your fingers trembled when he slipped it on.
The way you looked at him like he was more than Stray Kids’ leader — like he was just Chan, your Chan.
Every memory slammed into him at once, vivid and merciless.
The love.
The laughter.
The fear of losing you to his idol life.
The way he’d promised you he’d always fight for “us.”
Chan woke up gasping, tears already streaming down his face before he was fully conscious. His chest heaved like he’d been drowning and finally broke the surface.
The room spun.
His heart hurt so badly he clutched at it, nails digging into his hoodie.
He remembered.
He remembered everything.
And you weren’t here.
The realization hit harder than the accident itself — you were ten minutes away in your own apartment, probably trying to sleep after another day of quietly helping him while protecting your own breaking heart.
He had left you alone with the weight of his amnesia for weeks. He had looked at you like a stranger. He had made you say the words “maybe you should move on.”
Chan didn’t think. He didn’t change clothes. He didn’t even grab an umbrella.
He ran.
The streets were slick with rain, neon lights blurring through his tears as he sprinted the short distance between the his and your building.
His lungs burned. His legs ached from the healing bruises. But none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the desperate need to reach you — to hold you before the guilt swallowed him whole.
He reached your door, soaked to the bone, chest heaving, knuckles slamming against the wood with shaking hands.
You opened it after the third frantic knock, eyes wide with worry, still in your pajamas, hair messy from sleep.
“Chan? What’s wrong? Are you okay—”
The moment he saw your face, the face he now remembered loving with every fiber of his being, something inside him shattered.
He lunged forward without a word.
His arms wrapped around you so tightly it lifted you slightly off the ground. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, body trembling violently as broken sobs tore from his throat. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto your shoulder, mixing with his tears.
“I remember,” he choked out, voice raw and cracking. “I remember everything. Oh God, baby… I remember.”
His hold tightened, almost desperate, like he was afraid if he let go even an inch you would disappear the way his memories had. His fingers dug into your back, clutching the fabric of your shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the present.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, the words muffled against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry I forgot you. I forgot us. I forgot how you sound when you laugh, how you feel in my arms at 4 a.m., how you made the whole world quiet for me. I looked at you like you were nothing and you stayed. You stayed even when I didn’t deserve it.”
He pressed his wet cheek harder against yours, lips brushing your ear as more tears fell.
“I remember the roof. The ring. The way I promised you I’d never let you feel alone. I remember loving you so much it terrified me because I thought being an idol would take it away… and then it did. It took me away from you.”
His voice broke completely, shoulders shaking with the force of his cries.
“Don’t let me go,” he begged, holding you even tighter, rocking you both gently in the doorway. “Please. I know I hurt you. I know I made you think you were forgettable when you were the best thing that ever happened to me. But I’m here now. I’m me again. And I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face with both cold, trembling hands, thumbs desperately wiping at your tears even as his own kept falling.
His eyes — red, swollen, but finally, achingly familiar — locked onto yours with devastating clarity.
“I’m home,” he whispered, voice hoarse and shattered. “I came home to you.”
Chan looked at you — really look at you — his hands still cupping your face like you were something fragile and irreplaceable. His eyes, red and swollen from crying, searched yours with a depth that hadn’t been there for weeks.
No more polite distance. No more careful stranger.
Just raw, devastating recognition.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was desperate — the kind of kiss that tasted like relief and regret and eight months of love he’d lost and suddenly found again. His lips pressed to yours with trembling intensity, salty from the tears still streaming down his cheeks.
More tears fell as he kissed you, hot and endless, mixing with the rainwater on his skin.
He made a broken sound against your mouth, half-sob, half-whisper of your name.
The moment your lips met, something deeper unlocked inside him. More memories flooded in, sharper and more vivid than before.
The way you used to kiss him backstage after stressful performances — quick and secret, just enough to ground him. The slow, lazy kisses on lazy mornings when he’d sneak you into his bed. The way you tasted when you smiled into his mouth. The way your fingers always found the back of his neck, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.
His heart ached in the best and worst way possible — a beautiful, crushing ache that reminded him exactly how much he had loved you, how much he still loved you, and how terrifyingly close he had come to losing it all forever.
He kissed you harder, tilting his head, pouring every unspoken apology and every recovered memory into it. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away your tears even as his own kept falling.
When he finally pulled back for air, forehead resting against yours, his breathing was ragged and his voice came out wrecked.
“I feel it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours with every word. “I feel everything again.”
Another tear slipped down your cheek and landed on your lips. He kissed it away immediately, soft and reverent, then kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to memorize the feeling all over again.
“I’m so sorry I made you wait,” he murmured between kisses, voice thick and trembling. “I’m so sorry I looked at you like you were someone I didn’t know. You were my everything. You are my everything.”
He held your face a little tighter, eyes squeezing shut as fresh tears spilled. The ache in his chest bloomed wider — not painful in a bad way, but overwhelming in its intensity.
Love. Guilt. Gratitude. Longing.
All of it crashing through him at once because of one kiss.
“I love you,” he breathed against your mouth, the words shaky but certain. “I love you so much it hurts right now. In the best way. Like my heart is finally waking up and it’s screaming because it missed you this whole time.”
He kissed you once more, lingering, pouring every recovered memory and every new feeling into it. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you flush against his soaked body as if he could fuse the two of you together so nothing could ever separate you again.
In the quiet doorway, with rain drumming against the walls and tears still falling freely, Chan held you and kissed you like a man who had been given back his entire world — aching, grateful, and terrified of ever forgetting again.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The rain had finally stopped by morning, leaving the world outside your apartment quiet and washed clean.
Chan woke first, just like he used to.
Soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting your bedroom in gentle hues of gold and pale pink. He lay still for a long moment, heart full and aching at the same time, simply watching you.
You were curled tightly into his side, face pressed against his chest, one leg draped over his, your hand fisted loosely in the front of his hoodie like even in sleep you were afraid he might slip away again. Your breathing was slow and even, warm against his collarbone.
Everything from last night came rushing back — the flood of memories, the desperate run through the rain, the way he had lunged into your arms crying, the kisses that tasted like tears and second chances.
His chest tightened with overwhelming gratitude.
He didn’t move to wake you. Instead, his hand found the curve of your back and began stroking slow, soothing lines up and down your spine — the exact gentle rhythm he used to use when you couldn’t sleep after a long day.
His fingers were careful, reverent, tracing every dip and rise like he was relearning the map of you.
With his other hand, he threaded through your hair, playing with the strands, twisting a lock around his finger before letting it fall softly.
He pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, then another to your forehead, his lips lingering as if he could pour every ounce of love and apology into your skin.
“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair, voice low and hoarse from last night’s tears. “I’m right here, baby. I remember you. I remember everything now.”
He kissed your temple, then the bridge of your nose, then the corner of your closed eye where a dried tear track still lingered.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he breathed, lips brushing your cheek. “Thank you for staying even when I looked at you like a stranger. You’re so strong… so patient. I don’t deserve you, but God, I’m so grateful I have you back.”
Another kiss, this time to your jaw, then just below your ear — random, tender presses wherever his lips could reach without waking you.
“I love you,” he murmured between kisses, the words spilling out like a quiet vow. “I love you so much it still hurts in the best way. You’re my safe place. The only one who makes the noise in my head stop. I missed you even when I didn’t know how to miss you.”
His fingers kept stroking your back in slow circles, while his other hand continued playing gently with your hair. He nuzzled closer, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, then your shoulder, then the spot where your neck met your collarbone.
“You make me want to be better,” he whispered. “Not just for Stray Kids. For you. I promise I’ll never take this — take us — for granted again. Never.”
You stirred then, a soft sound escaping you as consciousness slowly returned. Your body shifted against his, eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep.
The second you moved, Chan tightened his hold, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. Both arms locked around you protectively — one hand still buried in your hair, the other splayed wide across your back as if he could shield you from every painful week you’d endured.
“Shh… don’t go anywhere,” he murmured, voice warm and thick with emotion, lips brushing your forehead again. He pressed another kiss there, then to your temple, holding you tighter as you fully woke in his arms.
“Stay right here with me. Just a little longer. I’ve got you.”
His fingers resumed their gentle strokes along your back, playing with your hair, while he scattered more random kisses — your cheek, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth — each one soft and full of quiet joy.
“I’m so happy,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking just slightly. “I’m so happy I remember. I’m so happy you’re mine again.”
He held you like that, tight and unwavering, heart beating steady and full against yours — grateful, happy, and finally home.
Yang Jeongin hates physical touch. But finally meeting Bang Chan's best friend has him reconsidering...
Words: 1.8k
A/N: Bad day at uni means you guys get a oneshot, i hope you enjoy it! If i survive the camera training tomorrow, i might post the next part of Duty Calls...
Everyone in the building already knew you before you stepped foot into their world. And that was entirely Bang Chan’s fault.
Nightly facetimes in the studio where he’d get your opinions on a lyric, ask how everything was back home, tell you how much he missed having his best friend beside him. You’d laugh and tell him you’d be there soon, very soon.
The others waved enthusiastically when Chan showed them the screen and you’d wave back politely. Felix would steal the phone and run around the practise room, trying to escape the wrath of his leader while asking you if he was your favourite.
“She’s never even met you!” Chan screamed, and you hid a small smile.
Now as you walk through the crowded airport, luggage dragging behind you, you can’t contain your excitement, almost spiriting to the exit where eight men anxiously await.
“There she is!” Chan’s voice booms, mask pulled down to his chin. Your legs struggle to keep up, but soon enough you’re standing in front of him, hand stretched out. He swats it away and pulls you into a tight hug. “Since when did we do handshakes.”
“You’re crushing me Channie” Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues squeezing you, as if you were there for only him.
Felix groans, “Let go, I want to meet her!’ He rushes over, making you pull away from Chan with a wide smile.
“Felix! It’s so nice to finally see you!” He hugs you like he’s known you for years, his body vibrating with excitement.
Soon enough everyone follows. Han side-tackles you, causing you to almost tumble. Changbin wraps one arm around you and the other around Lee Know, “You owe us a cook off.”
Even Seungmin, who was stood away from the others embraced you, muttering something like, “Finally someone who can keep up with me.”
It all felt easy, familiar.
Then you turn to the last one. Jeongin was standing behind the others, hands stuffed in his pockets.
You had seen him before, but not often. He was quiet, only saying hello when Chan urged him to. He looked different in person. You didn’'t know if it was the air or just the shock from seeing them all, but he looked quieter, more shy.
You smile and open your arms instinctively. There’s a flicker, something in his eyes, and he steps forward, hands coming out of his pockets.
But then someone speaks, “Careful.” Hyunjin warns, “He’ll push you away if you even try go near him.” He laughs, and you freeze mid step, arms falling to your sides.
“Oh my god- I'm so sorry,” You laugh awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to assume.” You offer your hand sheepishly, “Handshake?”
For a second, he just looks at you, his shoulders deflating. Then he takes your hand, his grip warm and welcoming.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I don’t really like that stuff.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, but he says nothing. When you pull away, his lips part, as if he wants to say something else, but nothing comes.
It became a pattern after that.
You had always been affectionate, but it had increased tenfold since you arrived. Hugging Chan when you passed him in the hallway, leaning into Felix to see his phone- even Lee Know let you fall asleep on his shoulder one night.
But with Jeongin, you were careful, you kept your distance. If he sat close, you shuffled away and sent him a reassuring smile. You always left a space on the couch, and when his hand brushed yours, you’d flinch back and apologise. You thought you were being considerate, respecting his boundaries and never pushing him.
He thought you were just avoiding him. You laughed loudly with Han, but with him you just smile, politely and careful. Jeongin should be glad for the space, but it felt like torture, especially since he had liked you before you turned up.
All those glances at Chan’s phone late in the night had intrigued him. He listened out for your laugh through the speakers and heard every time you had scolded Chan for staying up late. He had talked to you a few times, when you were asking if an outfit looked weird, and his leader just handed him the phone, expecting Jeongin to handle it.
“You look nice, don’t worry.” he had whispered, and he swears he saw your cheeks flush.
So, when you hugged everyone so easily but him, something tightened in his chest. Every time the boys teased him for pushing them away when they got near, you’d defend him and his heart would thump louder and his longing to reach for you would grow stronger.
He didn’t hate affection; he hated not being chosen. It wouldn’t be like that with you, he thought to himself.
Weeks pass quickly, and you grow closer to everyone. Jeongin starts trying then. It’s subtle at first. Picking the seat next to you at dinners, standing next to you in the line as you wait at the cafe. But each time, you’d notice the closeness, and shuffle away.
“Sorry, didn’t realise how close I was.” You’d chuckle and go back to talking to whoever was taking up your time.
During dance practice, he’d sit on the floor with you, thighs touching and his fingers itching to feel you. For a few moments, you didn't notice the warmth of him beside you, and he silently cheered, maybe this was it. Jeongin opens his mouth to talk.
“Jeongin-ah, break ended.” Lee Know’s voice boomed in the room, startling you and drawing your attention to the presence next to you.
You don’t say anything to him, just look into his eyes with a guilty look. He wishes you hadn't looked at him that way. Had you not whipped your head away, you would have seen the pleading gaze swarming in his eyes.
It happens again at the dorms a few days later. “Could you pass me a glass of water please?” Your voice called out to him from the living room. Jeongin comes through a few seconds later, and hands you the drink, your fingers brushing against his. A spark flies both of you, but you still flinch back, “Sorry.”
He takes a seat next to you on the couch, his knee bumping yours. You shift in your spot, tucking your legs beneath you instead. The smile you flash drives him crazy, like you were protecting him from something. Jeongin had to be more obvious.
You were alone in the hallway, a rare moment where it was just the two of you. You were mid-laugh, recounting something Chan had said earlier that day. Jeongin wasn't really listening, ideas swarming in his head as he watches your lips move.
He shuffles closer to you, an action that goes unnoticed by you. He leans in closer to you, and for once you don't shuffle back, instead letting him enter your space.
Jeongin swallows nervously, but catches your eye, and he leans in. His hand hovers just above your waist. Your breath hitches, and Jeongin smirks- finally.
And then-
You place your hand on his chest. Not hard, just enough to stop him but also send shivers down his spine at the contact. You were still treating him as something untouchable.
Worry swarms on your face, “Are you okay? Do you feel faint?”
The words land like a slap on the face, and his shoulder drop. He steps back quickly, his expression shuttered. He lets out a hollow laugh, “Yeah, sorry.”
You don't understand why your chest tightens at his tone.
The breaking point came a few days later, in the practise room.
You were laughing with Felix in the corner, then he pulled you into a side hug without warning. Jeongin watches as you melt into his side easily and jealousy blooms in him.
Later, when you’re stood beside the mirrors with him, you reach out to fix a stray piece of hair. You’re cautious, and he can tell, but he lets you ruffle his hair, savouring the brief contact.
It felt safe- for both of you.
Then, his hand shoots out, grasping your wrist. Not tightly, but firm, enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
You blink at him, “What?”
“Why do you keep doing that?” Jeongin’s voice is low as he asks, his haze darkening ever so slightly.
You swallow, “Doing what?”
“Moving away.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. I’m not fragile but you treat me like I am.”
The room felt cold and the silence wraps around you like thorns. He’s still touching you, and eyes you expectantly, waiting for a response.
“You don’t like stuff like that.” you say carefully.
“I don’t.” he replies immediately, and the words stings more than you expect. You try release your wrist from his grip, but he doesn’t let go, instead tugging you closer to him. He adds quietly, “Not with them.”
“What?”
Jeongin drops your wrist and takes your hand instead. “I don't like it with them.” You remain silent, and he exhales loudly, “You were going to hug me that day, and I was going to let you.”
Your mind flashes to the first meeting. How he had stepped closer and taken his hands out of his pockets. Then everything starts piecing together. Every time he had sat close, every time his fingers brushed yours and he looked deflated when you pulled away. And, oh my god he had tried to kiss you. The realisation hits like a wave. You hadn’t been protecting him, you had been rejecting him.
“Oh my god...” You step closer, deliberately this time. “If I don’t step back...will you?’
Jeongin shakes his head, and you drop his hand. His eyes flicker, but when he feels you wrap your arms around him, they soften. He pulls you closer to him, burying his head in your hair as he lets out a content sigh.
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” You whisper.
Jeongin pulls back, his hand finding your waist as he leans into you. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, and you wanted more. “Are you going to move away?” He says quietly, and you shake your head.
He presses his lips to yours, gently at first. It was hesitant, like he was waiting for you to pull away like every other time.
But you didn’t. You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss enough to erase all the misunderstandings. When you finally part, his forehead rests on yours, and you let out a breathy laugh.
“You know,” you begin quietly, smile tugging at your lips, “For someone who doesn’t like this...”
