Nene

Behave and I'll give you a kiss | Aging like wine since 2001 | What I'm working on?

[crisalidea]

Hiii! As I previously said on my main blog @veenenex! to keep things a bit more organised! I will still keep this blog to spam random stuff and/or updates!

[crisalidea]

wait so will your main blog be where you post your writings?

Yes! My main blog is @veenenex , I will post all my writings and interactions there!

It's currently a work in progress because i'm changing theme and colours <3

[ghostintheclub]

Touch | Jeongin

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Summary: You and Jeongin talk and make boundaries for rules on touch

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.6k

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You’re half awake, face warm against your pillow, thumb scrolling without thinking, when a clip lands on your feed and makes you sit up like you’ve been called by name.

It’s I.N, hair a little messy, cheeks slightly pink, eyes crinkling as he tries so hard not to smile.

And Felix.

Felix is all sun and mischief, leaning in close, arm slung around Jeongin’s shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He squeezes once, casual. Then he does it again, like a habit. Like breathing.

Jeongin melts.

Not dramatically, not in a way that screams for attention. It’s quieter than that. His shoulders soften. His posture loosens. He leans, just a little, into Felix’s side like his body decided it’s safe before his brain could argue.

Then he laughs, small and helpless.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, heart doing that slow, curious flip that isn’t jealousy and isn’t hurt, exactly.

It’s more like… a door you didn’t know existed just cracked open, and now you can’t stop wondering what’s behind it.

Because your boyfriend is attentive. Sweet. Protective in the softest ways, like he’ll casually move you to the inside of the sidewalk without making it a big deal, like he’ll remember how you take your coffee and bring it to you before you’ve even asked.

He’s everything anyone would ever want from their partner.

Except.

Physical touch has always been the one thing you’ve held with two hands and kept tucked carefully away, like a gift you didn’t know how to give without making him uncomfortable.

You’re big on touch. Always have been. You want to curl into people when you love them, to bump shoulders in the kitchen, to lace fingers without thinking, to steal kisses like they’re punctuation.

But with Jeongin, you learned quickly that too much touch made him go still. Not angry. Not cold. Just… contained. Like a startled cat, trying to decide if it should bolt.

So you adapted.

A hug, quick and gentle, when you first see him.

A kiss, soft and brief, when you leave.

A hand on his arm for half a second, and then you pull it back before it can become pressure.

You’ve been proud of how well you’ve done, honestly. Not because you’re suppressing yourself, but because you love him, and you want him to feel safe with you. You don’t want him to feel like affection is a demand.

You watch the clip again.

Felix’s hand is on Jeongin like it belongs there.

Jeongin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stiffen, he leans in.

You lock your phone and set it face down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with your thoughts slowly rearranging themselves into questions.

Do I have to do something specific to earn affection?

How often does Felix touch him?

How long do those touches last?

Is it just because Felix is… well. Felix?

It’s not insecurity, you tell yourself. It’s not that sour fear that you’re not enough.

It’s just information you suddenly don’t have, and your brain hates gaps like that.

—

You try to let it go.

But the next time you’re around them, you see it again.

Felix brushing past Jeongin and letting his fingers drag over Jeongin’s shoulder like a friendly check-in. Felix leaning his chin on Jeongin’s head for half a second, teasing something into his ear.

Jeongin’s face tightens like he’s fighting a smile, and then it breaks anyway.

He doesn’t pull away.

He doesn’t look overwhelmed.

He looks… comfortable.

It’s maddening in a way that makes you feel ridiculous, because Jeongin is allowed to be comfortable with his best friend. Of course he is. Friendship is different. There’s history, there’s familiarity, there’s a whole language built over years.

Still, later, when it’s just you and him, you catch yourself doing what you always do.

You sit beside him on the couch and keep a respectful inch of space between your thighs and his. You angle your body toward him but don’t lean in. You laugh at his joke and let your hands clasp in your lap instead of reaching for his.

Jeongin notices everything. He always does.

He glances at you, then at the space between you, then back at your face.

“You’re being… polite,” he says, eyebrows lifting.

“I’m always polite,” you answer, trying to make it light.

He hums like he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t push.

Instead, he gets up, disappears into the kitchen, and comes back with a glass of water you didn’t ask for and the snack he knows you like.

Attentive. Sweet. Protective.

It should be enough.

And it is.

Except your body keeps holding its breath around him like it’s waiting for permission.

—

The questions don’t stop.

They just… change outfits.

They show up while you brush your teeth.

While you’re folding laundry.

While you’re waiting for him to text back, even though he always texts back.

You notice patterns you never cared about before. How Jeongin initiates touch in small doses when he’s the one choosing it, like a brief shoulder bump or a quick squeeze of your hand that lasts two seconds exactly before he lets go.

How he’ll sit close when he’s tired, knees tucked up, leaning in without thinking, then catch himself and subtly straighten like he’s worried he’s done something wrong.

How you always, instinctively, soften your own want before it can become a request.

A week passes.

Then another few days.

And the questions don’t make you angry. They just make you… aware. Of the places you’ve been careful. Of the ways you’ve tried to love him correctly.

One night, you’re in bed, both of you winding down, lights low. Jeongin’s on his phone, you’re staring at the ceiling again like it owes you answers.

He puts his phone down.

“You’re thinking loud,” he says.

You blink. “I am not.”

He rolls onto his side to face you, cheek squished into the pillow, eyes soft.

“You are,” he repeats, gentle. “You get this little line here.” He taps his own brow like he’s marking the spot.

You laugh under your breath, because of course he notices.

You turn your head to look at him properly. His hair’s falling into his eyes. He looks warm, sleepy, real.

And you decide you’re done collecting theories.

You want concrete answers from the source.

“Can I ask you something?” you say.

His expression changes immediately, not alarmed, but attentive. Like you just put something precious in his hands.

“Yeah,” he says. “Always.”

You swallow once, making sure your tone stays what you mean it to be.

“It’s not… an accusation. I’m not upset. I just want to understand you better.”

Jeongin’s eyes widen slightly, and he nods, slow.

“Okay.”

You take a breath.

“I saw a clip, and then I noticed it more in person too. Felix touches you a lot. Like, casually. And you… let him.” You lift your hand, then stop yourself from reaching toward Jeongin’s face, letting it fall back onto the blanket. “You look comfortable with it.”

Jeongin blinks a few times, processing.

You hurry, because you can feel the words rushing.

“I’m not jealous. I don’t think it’s weird. I just… I’ve been trying really hard not to overwhelm you, because I know you don’t like physical touch that much. So when I see you melt when Felix does it, my brain goes, wait. Is it that I’m doing something wrong? Do I need to earn it? Is there a rule I don’t know?”

Jeongin stays very still for a moment.

Then his mouth parts like he’s about to speak, and he doesn’t.

His eyes drop to the blanket, and you can almost see him choosing his words carefully, like he’s holding something fragile.

Finally, he looks back up.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, and his voice is firm in a way that makes your chest ache. “Not even a little.”

You nod, but you don’t interrupt.

He exhales.

“It’s… complicated,” he admits. “Not in a bad way. Just… my brain is annoying.”

That gets a small smile out of you.

He watches your face like he’s checking to make sure you’re still okay, still safe.

Then he continues.

“With Felix, I’ve known him forever. Like, forever forever. He touches everyone. He’s always been like that. And I always know it’s coming.” He scrunches his nose a little, almost embarrassed. “Also… if I don’t like it, I can just shove him, and he won’t be hurt. He’ll laugh.”

You blink at that, because it makes a painful kind of sense.

Jeongin’s gaze softens.

“With you,” he says quietly, “I don’t want you to feel rejected.”

Your throat tightens.

He keeps going, like he can tell he needs to.

“When you touch me, it feels… important. Like it means something big. And I like that. I do. But sometimes my brain takes it as pressure. Like if I don’t react the right way, I’m going to hurt you.”

He shifts closer, barely, like his body is arguing to be near you even while he talks about why it’s hard.

“I don’t dislike you touching me,” he says. “I dislike being surprised. And I dislike… feeling like I’m failing.”

You stare at him, because there it is. The honest core.

Not “I hate touch.”

More like “touch is a language I’m scared I’ll mispronounce.”

“You’ve never failed,” you say automatically.

He gives you a look that says he knows that’s not how anxiety works.

Then he reaches out, slowly, like he’s asking permission without words, and he places his hand over yours on the blanket.

Just rests it there.

Heat blooms under your skin like relief.

“I like touching you,” he says, softer now. “I just need it to feel… safe. Like I’m choosing it, or like I know what you want.”

You swallow.

“I want you,” you say simply. “Not a performance.”

Jeongin’s mouth twitches, a tiny smile fighting through.

“I know,” he says. “I’m just… me.”

And then, because he’s Jeongin and he can’t leave anything unresolved, he adds, almost shyly, “Also Felix is annoying. He’s like a cat that climbs on you.”

You laugh, surprised, and Jeongin relaxes like he’s been waiting for that sound.

“But you melt,” you point out, gently.

He rolls his eyes, cheeks pink.

“Because he’s warm,” he mutters. “And because he does this thing.” He demonstrates, briefly, pressing his knuckles into your shoulder like a playful massage. “It’s not… romantic. It’s just him being him.”

You nod slowly, absorbing.

“So it’s not that Felix gets special access and I’m on a waiting list,” you say, trying to lighten it.

Jeongin’s eyes widen.

He squeezes your hand, sudden and earnest.

“No,” he says. “No. Baby, no.”

The word baby hits you like a soft blanket. He doesn’t say it all the time. When he does, it’s always on purpose.

He shifts closer again, closing that inch of space you always leave.

Then, very carefully, like he’s stepping onto new ground, he asks, “Can I… be honest about something else?”

“Always,” you whisper.

His lashes flutter.

“Sometimes,” he says, voice quiet, “I wish you’d touch me more. Just… in ways I can handle.”

Your breath catches.

He rushes the rest out, cheeks going pinker.

“Not like all the time. Not like you have to change. But I notice you holding back. And I get why. I really do. But sometimes it makes me feel like… you’re far away.”

Your eyes sting, and you blink quickly.

“I didn’t want to push you,” you admit.

“I know,” he says, and his thumb rubs a small circle against your knuckles. “But you’re not pushing if you ask. You’re not pushing if we make rules.”

Rules.

Common ground.

Compromise.

Your chest loosens like it’s been waiting for permission too.

“What kind of rules?” you ask.

Jeongin thinks for a second, eyes tracking yours like he’s building something with you.

Then he says, “We could have a signal.”

“A signal?”

He nods. “Like… green, yellow, red. Green is yes, you can touch me. Yellow is… ask first. Red is not right now.”

You smile, warmth flooding you.

“That’s actually really smart.”

He looks relieved like he’s glad you didn’t laugh.

“And,” he adds, voice softer, “maybe there are touches I like more. Like…” He hesitates, then lifts your hand and presses your knuckles to his cheek. He closes his eyes for a second, leaning in, just a little. “This is okay. This is nice.”

Your heart does that flip again, but this time it’s sweet.

“What else is nice?” you ask, careful not to sound too eager.

Jeongin opens his eyes and looks almost shy.

“Hand holding,” he says. “If I start it.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“And,” he continues, “when you hug me, I like it when you do it like… this.”

He sits up a little, then gently pulls you into him. Not tight. Not trapping. Just close enough that you can feel his warmth.

His arms come around you, and you feel him breathe out against your hair like he’s letting himself settle.

“Not too long,” he mumbles. “But… longer than a second.”

You laugh quietly into his shoulder. “Deal.”

He pulls back to look at you, eyes bright and serious at the same time.

“And kisses,” he says. “I like kisses.”

You raise your brows.

He huffs, offended. “I do.”

“I know you do,” you tease. “You just like quick ones.”

He nods. “Quick ones. But… often.”

Often.

That word makes your whole body warm.

“You’re a little clingy right now,” you say, soft.

Jeongin’s ears go pink.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, then adds quickly, “Is that bad?”

“No,” you say immediately. “It’s adorable.”

He makes a small sound that could be embarrassment, could be happiness, could be both.

Then he leans in and kisses you, quick and sweet, exactly his style.

And then he does it again.

And again.

Little pecks that feel like he’s proving a point.

“Okay,” you laugh, breathless. “I get it.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft.

“I don’t want you to think you have to earn anything,” he says. “You’re my person. Felix is… Felix. He’s my friend. You’re different.”

“Different how?” you ask, voice quiet.

Jeongin’s gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“With him, touch is easy,” he says slowly. “With you, touch matters. And sometimes that scares me. But I don’t want it to scare me forever.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time it’s hopeful.

“So we practice,” you say.

Jeongin nods, decisive.

“We practice,” he repeats.

Then, because he apparently decided tonight is the night he’s going to be brave, he scoots closer until your knees bump, and he laces his fingers with yours.

He holds on.

Not two seconds.

Not even five.

Long enough that your body stops bracing for him to let go.

Long enough that you realize you’re breathing normally again.

“Green?” you ask softly, testing the new language.

Jeongin looks at your joined hands, then at you.

He smiles, small and real.

“Green,” he says.

And then, in the sweetest voice, like he’s letting himself be honest without armor, he adds, “Can you… stay like this for a while?”

You squeeze his hand.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I can do that.”

Jeongin shifts closer until his shoulder presses against yours, and you feel him relax into the contact like he’s finally stopped trying to be perfect.

Not because he changed who he is.

Because you met him where he actually lives.

And when you tilt your head to rest against him, careful and slow, he doesn’t go still.

He leans back. Just a little.

Like he’s learning that your touch can be safe too.

[strayalivekid]

after hours

pairing: lee minho x reader (no pronouns mentioned)

summary: minho dislikes you, and you dislike him. but when he calls you late at night because his cat had hurt himself, you make your way over to him without having to think about it twice.

genre: enemies to ?lovers?, fluff, bickering {~3.5k words}

warnings: reader is a vet's assistant, soonie cutting his leg on glass, mentions of blood and stitches, mentions of snacks

you were sprawled across han’s couch, half-buried in a blanket you had stolen from his closet, lazily scrolling through your phone while he sat at his desk, headphones around his neck. the friendship between the two of you had grown into something familiar with him becoming like a brother to you.

most of the times you hung out, it was him rambling about whatever new lyrics he was working on and you offering commentary that was mostly unhelpful but always entertained him. han never seemed to mind when you drifted in and out of the dorm like it was a second home.

you heard the front door click open, followed by soft footsteps down the hall. before you even looked up, you knew who it was from how the atmosphere changed.

minho stepped into the doorway like he owned the place, which, to be fair, he did. his eyes landed on you instantly, and he raised one perfectly judgey eyebrow, his signature expression where you were concerned. “oh… you again. what a surprise.”

you snorted, not bothering to hide your irritation. “trust me, i don’t enjoy the view either.”

han let out a long, pained groan, like the two of you had physically reached into his skull and squeezed. “can you two not do this today?” he muttered, spinning in his chair so his back was to both of you.

but it was too late. the atmosphere had already shifted into familiar territory: sharp edges, eye rolls, and the kind of tension that made the air feel too warm.

it hadn’t always been like this. at the beginning, minho had thrown sarcastic remarks your way every time you showed up, each one coated in disdain so thick you could practically taste it. you used to ignore him, or at least try to. but one day you got fed up. maybe it was the way he had mocked your laugh, maybe it was the way he acted like your presence contaminated the room. so you fired back.

and now the bickering had become a routine neither of you seemed willing to break.

later that day, the dorm felt fuller. chan and jeongin had wandered in with the promise of a movie night, chan carrying an armful of drinks while jeongin was already scrolling through streaming apps like his life depended on choosing the perfect film. you ended up in the kitchen, opening bags of chips and pouring them into bowls, arranging everything in a neat little line on the counter because someone had to keep these boys from living entirely in chaos.

you had just reached for another bag when you felt someone’s presence behind you, judgemental even before he spoke.

minho stepped in, arms crossed, watching you line up the bowls. “wow,” he said, tone dripping with unnecessary sarcasm, “i didn’t realise we were hosting a banquet. planning to alphabetise the snacks too?”

you didn’t look up. “yeah, actually. i like my snacks organised. unlike some people who live like raccoons in human form.”

chan, who had just taken a sip of water, choked so violently he had to grip the counter. jeongin burst into laughter. minho just blinked at you, his mouth parting slightly, somewhere between offended and impressed.

his eyes lingered a little too long, that judgey look he had perfected now softened with something almost curious.

after chan walked back into the living room, he leaned closer to han, dropping his voice so you couldn’t hear. “how do you deal with this all the time?” he whispered, amusement tugging at his lips.

han didn’t even glance up from the remote he was fiddling with. “i don’t deal with it,” he said flatly. “i’m just extremely invested in when they’ll finally stop pretending they hate each other.”

chan snorted, “you’re kidding.”

“nope,” han said, still focused on the tv. “i’m waiting for the day one of them snaps and kisses the other out of spite.”

you didn’t hear any of that. you were too busy elbowing minho out of the way as he reached for a chip. “hands off,” you warned him. “i’m arranging those.”

he stepped closer, deliberately invading your space, close enough that you felt his breath on your cheek. “i know,” he murmured. “that’s why i’m touching them.”

you glared up at him, your pulse betraying you with the way it jumped. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet,” he said, leaning just a little closer, “you always come back here.” his voice carried a softness you absolutely ignored on purpose.

you shoved a bowl of popcorn into his hands. “go bother someone else.”

he lingered another beat before walking away with a smug half-smile that made your stomach twist.

when you finally returned to the living room, chan and jeongin were sitting a little too casually, like they had been caught watching something they weren’t supposed to. han just smirked knowingly, and minho, spread across the couch with his arms behind his head, gave you that same look from the kitchen. the kind that made your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

a couple of days passed, uneventful enough that you had almost forgotten how thoroughly minho had gotten under your skin during movie night. it was a quiet tuesday evening, the kind where the sky felt too dark and the living room too still. you were half-asleep on the couch, curled under a blanket with some random show flickering on the tv, one you weren’t even watching. your eyes were heavy, your mind drifting, when your phone buzzed. you blinked, reaching for it lazily. the name on the screen snapped you awake.

minho.

your eyebrows pulled together, confusion cutting through the sleepiness. minho had never called you. ever. you weren’t sure he even had your number saved.

you stared at the screen, debating. pick up? ignore it? let him suffer if he needed to ask something? before you could decide, the call ended. your screen went black. you snorted softly. figures. probably misdialed.

you shifted back into the couch cushions, but then your phone vibrated again.

minho. calling.

your heartbeat sped up, your feelings mixing with curiosity and worry, something that made your throat tighten. why would he call twice?

your mind immediately jumped to the one thing that mattered more than his pride or yours.

han. had something happened?

you answered before the second ring even finished.

“what–"

his voice cut you off. it didn’t sound like him. not even a little. no sarcasm. no coldness. no sharp bite hidden between words. just pure panic. “something’s happened to soonie,” he breathed, the words tumbling into each other shakily.

you sat straight up, blanket falling to the floor. “what? minho, slow down! what happened?”

in the background you heard chaos. hurried footsteps, something clattering to the ground, fabric rustling as he moved around frantically. there was a hitched breath, almost a sob, quickly swallowed like he was trying not to lose it.

“he’s… he’s bleeding,” minho said, voice cracking on the last word. “i– i don’t know what to do.”

and that was the moment your stomach dropped.

you had never heard him sound like that.

not even close.

“minho, hey– calm down for a second,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady even though your own pulse had started hammering. “you need to tell me exactly what happened, okay?”

there was a shaky inhale on the other end, like he was trying to pull himself together just enough to speak.

“doongie… knocked a glass off the counter,” he said, the words rushed. “and soonie– he stepped on it. his leg– there’s so much blood, i don’t–"

“okay,” you cut in gently, already pushing off the couch and heading to your bedroom where your emergency kit was stored. “okay, here’s what you have to do, minho.”

you yanked open the cabinet, grabbing the kit with one hand while pressing your phone tighter to your ear with the other. “is someone with you? anyone who can help hold him?”

“no,” he said, voice still tight, breath still uneven. “i’m home alone.”

“alright.” you took a steadying breath. “put me on speaker. you’ll need both hands.” there was a rustle, and then his voice sounded slightly more distant, but still trembling. “okay.”

“good. now listen carefully,” you said, already stuffing supplies into a bag. “you need to get a clean towel and whatever first aid stuff you have. gauze, disinfectant, anything.”

“i’ve got a towel,” he said quickly. “and the first aid kit.”

“perfect. now, is it his front or hind leg?”

“hind.”

“okay. sit down on the floor or the couch, wherever you have space. put the towel on your lap. then pick him up and hold him against you with one arm. use your free hand to put pressure on the cut. not too hard, but firm enough to slow the bleeding.”

there was fumbling, a muffled curse, then the sound of him settling down.

you could hear soonie’s distressed meow, and minho whispering something soft to him, comforting words you had never heard in that tone before.

you grabbed your keys. “are you at the dorm or–"

you stopped mid-sentence, wincing at yourself. “right. that was a stupid question.”

cats meant he was with his family. you braced yourself for the snark, the obvious jab he would normally throw. but instead, his answer was so soft you almost missed it.

“no,” he murmured, voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “i’m with my family.”

then, before you could respond, he added quietly, “the address is…” and listed it off without hesitation, without you even having to ask. the gentleness in his tone hit you like a physical thing.

this wasn’t the minho who rolled his eyes at you. not the minho who mocked your snack-arranging skills. this was someone scared and vulnerable, and weirdly... trusting you.

you typed the address into your phone with quick, practiced motions, your bag already slung over your shoulder. once the route lit up on the screen, you brought the phone back to your ear.

“i’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” you said, already heading for the door.

you were seconds from hanging up, thumb hovering over the screen, when you heard it: your name, breathed out in a voice you had never heard from him before. “can you… can you stay on the phone?”

it was barely above a whisper. too soft and too un-minho. you froze for half a heartbeat, something warm blooming in your chest before you could stop it.

“yeah,” you said quietly, the corners of your lips lifting without permission. “yeah, sure.”

the line went silent, but not empty. you could hear him breathing, uneven but slowly calming, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted soonie on his lap. you climbed into your car, started the engine, and began the drive.

the ride was mostly quiet, peaceful in a way that didn’t match the adrenaline rushing through your veins. every few minutes, minho murmured an update. soft, like he was afraid to disturb the quiet between you.

“the bleeding slowed down a little…”

“he’s not shaking as much…”

“i think he’s calmer now…”

each update was gentle, so completely unlike the minho who snarked at you across the dorm. there was no edge to his voice, no bite, no carefully crafted sarcasm meant to keep you at arm’s length.

you tightened your grip on the steering wheel, ignoring the way your chest felt too full. you shouldn’t be softening. not when he had spent months acting like you were a thorn in his side. not when you had convinced yourself you hated him.

but hearing him like this… it scraped at something deep inside you.

on the other end of the line, minho’s voice became steadier. the panic had eased, replaced by a strange kind of calm. you didn’t know it, but for him, the simple fact that you hadn’t hung up, that you had stayed with him, felt grounding in a way he couldn’t explain.

you pulled up to the building exactly fifteen minutes later, parking crookedly in your rush to get inside. before you could even knock, the door swung open.

minho stood there, breath shallow, shoulders tense, soonie cradled tightly in his arms. his eyes were frantic, wide and glossy with leftover panic, but the second they landed on you, something in them softened.

you didn’t comment on it. you were too focused on the trembling cat pressed against his chest.

“hey, soonie,” you murmured gently, your voice instinctively lowering as you reached out to stroke his head. “poor baby. let’s take a look at you.”

minho stepped aside instantly, ushering you in like you were the only person who knew how to breathe in the entire building. he followed you closely to the table, placing soonie down with trembling hands.

"put him here,” you said, already opening your kit. “i need better light.”

he did exactly as told, then stayed right beside you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. one of his hands rested on soonie’s back, moving in slow circles, soothing both the cat and himself.

you slipped into work mode effortlessly, your movements precise and calm as you examined the wound. your mind focused on the injury, on what needed to be done. but even then, you could feel minho’s gaze burning into the side of your face.

when you looked up, his eyes were already on you. searching and scared.

“he needs stitches,” you said, your tone gentle. minho’s mouth parted slightly, the breath catching in his throat. he looked like the words hit him in the chest. shock first, then worry, then something else entirely. relief. because you were here. because you knew what to do. because he didn’t have to figure this out alone.

“okay,” he whispered, nodding quickly. “okay. whatever he needs.”

you gave him a reassuring look before reaching for the syringe, trying not to think too hard about the way his entire posture had changed the moment you walked in.

the minho you knew would have let a sarcastic comment slip in by now. the minho you knew would’ve smirked or rolled his eyes or said something snide. but this was a whole different side of hin.

“can you help me with this?” you asked quietly, glancing at him. minho nodded so quickly it almost startled you. “yeah. whatever you need.”

his eagerness tugged at something in your chest, but you pushed it down, focusing on preparing the small syringe.

“this is just a local anaesthetic,” you explained softly as you checked the dosage. “a few tiny jabs, then he won’t feel anything in his leg while i stitch it.”

minho swallowed hard but nodded again, shifting closer to hold soonie gently but securely. his hands trembled just a little, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

you injected the anaesthetic around the wound in careful spots. soonie protested immediately, a soft, pained meow leaving him. both you and minho leaned forward at the same time.

“shh, baby, it’s okay,” you murmured.

“you’re alright, soonie,” minho whispered, voice cracking ever so slightly as he stroked behind the cat’s ear.

once the anaesthetic started to kick in, you positioned soonie onto his side and handed minho one of the towels.

“hold him like this,” you guided, placing his hand where it needed to be. “keep him steady.” he followed without hesitation, his focus entirely on your instructions.

you opened the sterile suture kit, laid out your tools, cleaned the wound with disinfectant, and began your work in practiced motions. the bleeding had slowed drastically thanks to the pressure minho had applied earlier. "you did a good job stopping the bleeding,” you said, your voice soft with genuine praise. he didn’t respond.

when you glanced up, his eyes were locked on your hands, on the steady way you moved, on the care you took. there was something intense in his expression, something warm and unguarded. he didn’t even blink.

you huffed a small laugh. “stop watching me, minho.” your tone was playful, trying to break the tension you absolutely felt growing in the air. but he didn’t tease back. didn’t roll his eyes. didn’t smirk.

he just breathed out, “can’t help it.”

your fingers froze for the smallest fraction of a second. your pulse skipped. but you forced yourself to keep going, guiding the needle through skin with practiced precision.

silence settled, broken only by the occasional soft sound from soonie.

after a moment, you spoke, your voice low. “why did you call me?” you kept your gaze on the stitches, but your ears strained for his answer.

there was a beat of silence. two. three.

then, quietly he said, “you’re the only person i could think of.” your breath caught.

he added quickly, almost tripping over the words, “i mean, you’re a vet’s assistant. obviously.”

you almost smiled at the weak attempt to cover himself, but you stayed focused, tying off the final stitch with a small, precise knot.

as you did, minho whispered, so quietly you almost thought you imagined it: “you’re amazing.”

you looked up immediately.

you raised an eyebrow at him, the question slipping out before you could filter it.

“did you just praise me? or did i mishear?”

minho swallowed, his throat bobbing visibly. his eyes flicked away for a fleeting moment, like he needed that second to gather himself, before they returned to yours.

“i might–” he started, voice barely above a whisper, “i might not hate you as much as you think i do.” your lips twitched. “oh?”

he blinked once, twice, then the words spilled out of him like something he’d been holding in far too long.

“i… i might like you,” he said, each word placed carefully, like he was afraid you would interrupt him. “a little too much.”

his gaze dropped to his hands, to the soft rise and fall of soonie’s breathing. “and it’s kind of annoying.”

a breathy laugh escaped him, humourless and nervous. “you’re annoying.”

you huffed, but he kept going, eyes flicking up to meet yours for half a second before sliding back down.

“but you’re also–" his voice faltered. “god, you drive me crazy.” a beat. “in the worst and best way.”

you stared at him, stunned into silence.

this wasn’t the minho who weaponised sarcasm like breathing. this was earnest. and it was real.

you felt heat rise to your cheeks before you could hide it. “you call this liking me?”

the corners of his mouth lifted, just barely, his eyes still trained downward like he didn’t trust himself to look directly at you.

“it’s the only way i know how,” he murmured.

your chest tightened, terrifying in its clarity. all the irritation you thought you had felt toward him, all the frustration, all the fire, none of it looked like hatred anymore. not even close.

you reached out to stroke soonie’s fur, steadying yourself and your fingers brushed his. both of you froze. minho looked up instantly, eyes wide, breath catching like that single touch had unraveled something inside him.

you withdrew your hand immediately, pulse jumping, your throat suddenly tight.

“maybe i don’t hate you as much either,” you admitted, trying, and failing, to sound casual.

the words hung between you.

clearing your throat in a pathetic attempt to pull yourself together, you quickly started gathering your tools, cleaning up with hands that felt a little too warm.

minho helped you, wordlessly handing you gauze wrappers, holding open the trash bin, wiping down the table beside you. the silence was warm in a way that wrapped around you both like a blanket.

once everything was packed away, you crouched beside soonie, giving him one last check. minho hovered beside you, watching closely as you stroked the cat’s head.

“just… keep an eye on him,” you said softly. “he’s not allowed to lick the stitches, so if he tries, stop him. distract him. whatever works.”

minho nodded, “i will.”

you stood, grabbing your bag. minho moved with you, almost instinctively, walking you to the door. the tension between you lingered. it was something tender now. something new.

when you reached the doorway, he stopped, his hand brushing lightly against your elbow.

“thank you,” he said. “truly.” you opened your mouth to reply, but he spoke again, quieter this time, almost hesitant.

“i know it’s late but… i can, um–" he cleared his throat, eyes flicking away for a second before returning to yours, “i can make you some tea, if you like? you could… stay for a bit?”

your breath caught. the fact that he meant it made heat rise behind your ribs, made your lips curl before you could stop them.

minho noticed, of course he did. his own mouth softened into a small smile, barely there but unmistakably genuine. “okay,” you murmured.

his shoulders eased, as he stepped aside to let you back in. his hand brushed against yours before settling steadily at the small of your back, guiding you gently down the hall.

the touch was careful. like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you closer, but he wanted to.

in the quiet kitchen, with soonie resting safely in the next room and minho’s hand lingering against you, the truth settled between you:

you were never enemies.

not really.

not even close.

a/n: i'm an absolute sucker for this man. you will probably be getting a lot of enemies to lovers, bantering until the tension boils over and he kisses you fiercely lee know fics

[crisalidea]

I was curious if you could give more of a description for everyone's powers in your leyline series. You explain well enough in the fic, but I always appreciate a solid list with what things mean, what their powers do, etc etc in the masterlist. Maybe even something you could update as you release chapters so people know whose been revealed at a glance!

Mainly asking because I'm so unfamiliar with some of the powers some of the guys have.

Hello hello! I would looove to explain better their powers on a more detailed post (that I was drafting eheh) but since I don't really want to spoil anything I updated the masterlist of the series with the powers already manifested!

Buuut since I want to give you something to look towards during these days (after my exams) I will update the description of two new witches! Stay tuned!!

I will also post a whole post about their powers soon as well!

Thank you so much for your ask, I hope I got your point ahaha

[linoxpudding]

Grovelling For Food - (Hyung Line)

summary: when you give him silent treatment after a fight but he grovels because he misses you... and your food

pairing: skz hyung line x reader

genre: fluff, humor

a/n: based on this request ♡

Masterlist

Maknae Line (coming soon)

~°~

bang chan

lee know

seo changbin

hwang hyunjin

------------

Permanent Taglist 1:

@pixie-felix @multi-fandommaniac @emilyywhyy @geni-627 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @brycesgirl @scribblesnsketches05 @lov3rachan @maddy24207 @river121798 @doodlebob2005 @stay-tiny-things @seungminnieinthebuilding @justwonder113 @nyaaa-cat @brbwritingfanfic @inlovewithstraykids @enhaskzverse @enhacolor @thisisnotjacinta @peskybirdysya @galaxygurlll @n4tr3ad5 @imnotsupposedtobedoingthis @linos-pudding-cup @xdbug-bob @7sunny07 @skzfangirl143 @felixsonlyrealwife @nougatjade @ysljoon @silentreadersthings @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @inmyfelixera @kokinu09 @ye0lkkot @ilovedallywinston @lexlikesbts @rachawritingblog @meelbarnes @nebs4real @icannotbelieveit @kayleefriedchicken @chranassaurus @rrhwang @chuahuahua @sturniolos4life16 @delulumel @mbioooo0000 @xoxomanicpanic

[crisalidea]

One step at a time

Genre: Fluff and Angst (the dynamic duo)/Witch AU/Slow Burn Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader, Bang Chan x reader, Bang Chan x Han Jisung (The poly is forming Warnings: Emotional trauma, anxiety, panic attacks, past child abuse, physical and mental abuse. Word count: 10.8K get in loves, we're going for a ride A/N: HELLO MY LOVES, I can't fully express my gratitude and love towards your support over the first fic, again thank you. I hope I can keep meeting and who know maybe exceed your expectations towards my future works. So far I'm fairly happy with how things are going! Please stay tuned to see the future of this series unfold. Without any delay, please strap in, drink some water and enjoy my work! Liking and reblogging are always appreciated, as well as commenting! I'd love to hear your opinions on it <3. With love - Nene Series Masterlist

˚⟡˖Living with Chan and the boys is getting simpler, it's funny, chaotic, easy as you all begin to orbit toward each other. But when Jisung awakens, the lines between magic, memory, and fear blur. Can you help him untangle his anxieties… before they pull you all apart?˚⟡˖

After over twenty years of life, Jisung had really thought that he’d finally found peace.

I mean, he survived childhood without any physical injuries minus a sprained ankle once, clawed his way through university, pried a music degree from the hands of an old hag of a professor who had seemed to take personal offense at his existence (fuck you Mrs. Yang!), and come out the other side with something like hope together with the others. Everything after that was supposed to be clear skies and green fields, normal problems you know? Finding a place for eight boys, rent, arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes. Normal with a capital N. 

Life, apparently, disagreed. 

First, it decided to turn him and the boys into time-ticking magical disasters because of an old lady and a house. A sentient house, mind you, because of course it couldn’t be something reasonable. And then, just when Jisung was starting to think he could actually handle that, it decided to slap his ass and double down. Hard.

Because now he wasn’t just a ticking bomb. He was a teleporting one.

Which is how he currently finds himself standing inside the shower with Felix. 

Felix, who is very very naked. Who is very very loudly screaming at the top of his lungs, because how the fuck is anyone supposed to react when someone materialize in their shower at nine in the morning? 

Jisung screams back on instinct, hands flying up like he’s been caught committing a crime. Water sprays everywhere, the shower curtain sticks to his arm, and his brain short-circuits between wrong place, wrong time, and I’m going to die. 

“I’M SORRY– I DIDN’T MEAN TO– I WAS JUST–”

Felix’s yell climbs an octave.

Jisung scrambles backward, slipping half out of the shower and nearly planting his teeth on the tiles, only to collide full force into something- no someone solid and warm. 

You, and Chan. 

Both of you having sprinted out of the bedroom startled, socks half missing, with eyes wide and the feeling of magic still humming in the air. 

Jisung looks like he’s about to scream again and your hands shoot up, palm visible, to calm him down. 

Chan blinks once, twice. Then, very carelly, he turns his head towards Felix, who’s still naked, frozen mid-panic behind the curtain. 

“Felix, put a towel on” he says, voice hoarse with sleep.

“HE TELEPORTED INTO MY SHOWER” shrieks the blonde “I WAS VULNERABLE” 

“I WAS ALSO VULNERABLE” Jisung fires back automatically, hands still up like he’s under arrest “I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS LOCATION” 

“It’s okay, no one is in the wrong here” reassures Chan, voice a bit steadier now, easily slipping into that calm he uses when things are seconds away from spiraling. 

Felix finally snaps out of his shock, scrambling to wrap a towel around himself and from where you stand you can see that his ears are red to the tips. “I was naked” he repeats a bit affronted. 

“I didn’t plan it” replies quickly Jisung, words tumbling over each other. His laugh comes out sharp, a bit too fast. “I don’t even know how to plan something like that. Also, why are you talking like you didn’t ask me to wax your ass during the second year of uni?” 

There’s a beat. 

Then Felix starts sputtering. “That was one time and I was desperate!” 

The tension cracks, not completely, but enough for Jisung's likings. 

Felix huffs despite himself, shoulders slumping as he adjusts the towel. Chan’s mouth twitches at the memory before he schools it back into something vaguely responsible. But you don’t laugh, not really. 

Your eyes stay on Jisung with a quiet gentleness that it kind of unnerves him. And for a fraction of a moment he thinks that maybe, beneath the joke and the reflexive humour he wields like a shield, you can see it. The tight way his shoulders are drawn up and how his fingers keep flexing subtly, like he’s bracing for something unseen that’s going to come. His gaze flicks from face to face, checking reactions, measuring the damage. 

“Okay” Chan says gently, clapping his hands once to ground the room. “Everyone’s alive. No crimes were committed. Felix, please get dressed before the universe decides to be a shit again” 

Felix mutters something about trauma and stalks off toward his room, still cocooned in the towel like a wet startled cat. 

Jisung lets out a breath. “Cool. Coolcoolcool, great start to the day I’d say! Yeah!” 

You step a little closer before he can spiral further, voice soft but steady. “Hey. You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong” your magic coils around him in gentle threads, something tells you that he doesn’t want to be touched right now. 

His eyes flick to you instantly.

“Oh,” he breathes out,the laugh that follows faltering a bit at the edges. “Yeah. Totally- I know. Just you know… Surprise showers, that’s a very normal magical awakening!” 

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah?” assures Chan gently. Warm magic coils inside of him, almost begging to help him, to keep him from breaking. 

Jisung nods too quickly again, already backing toward the hallway. “Awesome. Love that for me. I’m gonna– gonna go sit somewhere without a shower… and a naked guy yeah.” And then he’s gone, disappearing down the hall in a blur of quick steps and stutters. 

The quiet that follows is heavy.

You feel it settle in your chest, your threads pulling uneasily, tugging in the direction he went like something unfinished. 

Chan notices your stillness immediately. His gaze shifts to you, concern softening his features as a warm palm cups your cheek, grounding and familiar. “He jokes when he’s scared or anxious,” he says quietly, then gentler, ”But I meant what I said before. We’ll figure it out together, one piece at a time.” 

Jisung does not, in fact, go sit somewhere and relax. 

He makes it about three doors down the hallway before his chest tightens so hard it feels like someone wrapped a cord around his ribs and pulled. His steps stutter, his breath does that annoying thing where it forgets how to be automatic. 

He stops for a second, palms braced against the wall, as a familiar pressure starts curling low in his gut. 

Teleport incoming.

Bathroom? No. Too many showers. Living room? Absolutely not. Too open, too many people. Kitchen? Definitely no, what if he teleports into a knife? 

His brain manages to conjure the thought “Bedroom” before the floor drops out from under his feet. 

The world lurches and he lands hard inside his room, stumbling against his desk. He slides  down until he’s sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, forehead knocking lightly against them once, twice.

Maybe if he taps himself enough his brain will reboot. 

“Okay” he mutters to the empty room “Okayokayokay. That was… fine. That was a thing that happened. We were waiting for it, yes?”

His heart doesn’t want to slow down and for a second he swears he can feel the house hum around him, soft and low, like he’s trying to soothe him. 

He’s suddenly very aware of everything. His wet clothes from the shower. Felix’s screams. Chan’s soft tone. Your face, careful and gentle and trying not to crowd him, leaving open space between you two.

He squeezes his eyes shut. This is bad, this is so so bad. 

Not because of the naked thing. That’s… honestly whatever, he’s lived with the other guys long enough to have seen each other naked an embarrassing lot of times. He can joke about that. He already did. 

This is bad because you were there.

Sweet, caring you who looked at him the same way Chan did (and sometimes still does when things go wrong) when he crashed on his sofa with a suitcase full of his clothes and music equipment. Like you’d step in front of a train if it meant keeping things from breaking. 

And he can’t have that. He can’t be another problem, another stupid thing that needs fixing, not for you too. 

He taps his fingers on the sides of his knees, fast, uneven.

He didn’t mean to go there. He hadn’t thought about the bathroom with intention. Or Felix, or teleporting at all. But he did, subconsciously.

He’d woken up tangled in blankets, half asleep and hazy, brain drifting like it always does when he’s not fully conscious yet. Thought stacking on top of thought like a pile, soft and unfocussed. 

About the whole months that passed since the start of this whole mess. About the house. About you. About Chan. 

Next thing he knew, he was dropping in a tangle of limbs in your bed, elbowing Chan square in the ribs. The embarrassment had spiked so hard his brain short-circuited, thinking “ah shit I wish I could drown myself” 

And then he was gone, from your room to Felix’s shower.

His hands start to shake.

“Nope” he whispers, deciding to press his palms flat against the floor. “Nope. We’re not doing that again.”

But old thoughts come anyway, slithering up, familiar and cruel.

You messed up. Stop being so anxious. You are a disappointment. 

His chest aches. 

“Just stop” he grits out “Just stop thinking” And for the first time since finding this family, this fragile sense of safety he feels like he’s scared of himself.

He’s right on the edge of another self-deprecating spiral when something pulls at his attention. 

Footsteps, soft and measured, stop just outside his door, neither hesitant nor rushed. Then there are two quick knocks, followed by another slightly off beat. And Jisung exhales through his nose, because he doesn’t need to ask who is on the other side at all. 

“Me and Seungmin are off buying something for breakfast, do you want to come?” Minho’s voice is quiet. No are you okay or what happened. 

Just a way to get out disguised as a question. 

Jisung doesn’t answer right away, fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves, then relax. The tragedy hasn’t really faded but at least it’s not pressing too much against him.

“I don’t really feel like it… But bring me something please” he calls back after a moment, voice rough but steady enough.

There’s a pause where maybe Minho is contemplating something. But he doesn't push. 

“Okay” he replies simply, much to Jisung’s gratitude. “We’ll get you something”

Footsteps retreat down the hall. Leaving him feeling less like the room is trying to eat him alive. 

The days after Jisung’s… Incident settle into something that looks like normalcy if you squint hard enough… And if you ignore how you see him bolt every time you walk into the same room as him. 

Other than that, things feel fine. No screaming showers, no sudden plus one in your bed. The house hums quietly, the boys fall back into their rhythms and work, and Jisung laughs just as often as he always has.

You don’t push, but you don’t avoid him either. What happened with Chan taught you that forcing things open only risks crushing them too tightly. Some things need to breathe out first before assessing them. So instead you decide to just watch, to listen. You let your magic loosen, threads spreading out just to be present.

You were fairly sure Jisung was a teleporter, fairly being the key word, because then you start to notice things that don’t look teleport-y at all.

Like that one time you were in the living room with Chan, Felix and Hyunjin, sharing two blankets, a stolen chocolate bar and a tv series playing. The older one breaks off a piece of chocolate and feeds it to you, smiling when you steal a quick kiss in return. 

Hyunjin gasps “Oh when will it be my turn?” 

“Come get one” you stick your tongue out playfully. 

Felix laughs, bumping his shoulder against yours. It’s calm, warm, domestic even, as you and the boys are starting to gravitate towards each other.

From the kitchen, Jisung pads out in socks, hair a mess, muttering under his breath. “I swear I bought snacks, I swear I did. This house is gaslighting me”.

You barely have time to glance up before it happens. The chocolate disappears from Chan’s fingers. Gone. Puff. One second it’s there, the next it’s not. And then it’s in Jisung’s hand.

He freezes mid-step, staring at the chocolate with an open mouth. Chan blinks at his empty fingers. Once. Twice.

Hyunjin sits up. “We all saw that right?” 

Jisung looks between the chocolate, Chan, and then you. His mouth showing no sign of closing itself any time soon.

A laugh bursts out of his, sharp. “Okay, wow. That's…new-new". He lifts the chocolate cautiously, like it might explode. “I didn’t even think about that. I bought cookies” 

Your stomach tightens. Because teleportation doesn’t do that, it’s movement, direction, going place to place.This was reality bending to accommodate a thought. That's a whole other set of problems, especially with how Jisung is taking it all. You decide to not say anything, the answer of what he is sits on the tip of your tongue, as perfectly shaped and inconvenient. You swallow it back instead, deciding to give it the benefit of the doubt.

The so called benefit of the doubt fucks off exactly two days later.

You don’t fall asleep that night you… slide. One moment you’re drifting, the house quiet around you, threads loose and resting. The next your magic catches on something that isn’t yours. 

You’re standing in a hallway that you don’t recognize, it’s not the house, nor your family’s last place. The space is narrow, then too long, the walls are old, cold.

There’s a sound at the far end. Raised voices, not shouting but sharp enough to cut and create a sense of discomfort. 

You know that you’re dreaming, and that it’s not yours, so you automatically know that you are not alone in it. Your powers wrap around you in comfort as you take a step forward, the floor creaks under your feet. Somewhere ahead, a door slams. 

“Stop being dramatic.” 

The voice isn’t Jisung’s, it’s older, tired and very irritated. Another voice follows, quieter, rushed, words tripping over themselves in a way that you recognize. Because you’ve been hearing it from him for the past 5 months you’ve been living with him. 

Your chest aches before you even see him. 

Jisung sits on the floor at the end of the hall, back against the wall, knees pulled up, hands clamped over his ears like he’s trying to physically keep the world out. He looks younger here, smaller. HIs shoulders shake, but no sound comes out. 

Shame stains the floor beneath him, dark and spreading. Every time his chest stutters, the light flicker harder. You move without thinking, kneeling in front of him, careful.

“Jisung,” you say softly. His head snaps up. For a second his eyes are wild, unfocussed. Then recognition lands, and something inside the hallway buckles, walls bend inward. 

“No” he wheezes out a weak breath, “No, no, you’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you answer honestly. “You pulled me in.” 

“I didn’t-” he scrambles to his feet, backing away, hands raised defensively, the hallway stretching with him, putting that extra space between you two. “I didn’t do this on purpose, okay? I was just- It’s just a dream” 

“I know” you say softly, “but it’s still yours.” His breath falters, making the floor tremble.

His breath comes faster as the walls start to peel, memory bleeding through. You try to reach for him again, magic flaring as it tries to help you. “Jisung, you don’t have to handle this alone” 

The hallway collapses inward. 

You wake up with a sharp inhale, heart racing, your threads tangled and buzzing. Down the hall you hear a door slam.

You find him in the kitchen minutes later, aggressively stirring sugar into a mug, wrist moving too fast. His eyes are shadowed, posture too tight, like he slept in a coffin instead of a bed.

“Hey” you say gently. 

He jumps, whipping around, a smile snapping into place so fast it’s almost impressive. 

“Oh! Morning,” he chirps, voice bright and a bit too loud for the time, which is two in the night, so not morning at all. “You ever notice how sugar just… disappears in coffee? Like magic! Ironic- Ha!” He tries to laugh but it doesn’t quite land. 

“Ji” You meet his eyes, hold them. His smile flickers just for a second.

Then it’s back, brighter and a bit harder than before. “I’m good” he says “Promise. Just need caffeine, you know, for good music making! Yes” 

He lifts the mug like a shield, takes a sip that’s definitely too hot, winces, and shrugs it off. “See? Totally fine, trust the process of the composer, I just-” he stutters, hands shaking, before disappearing into the hallway toward his room, leaving you alone with a quiet ache in your chest. 

Some time passes, how long you don’t know, minutes, maybe. Hours? Nonetheless the house drifts into that late night stillness that you grew to love these days. You pace around your room for a bit, then sit, then pace again. You try to come up with a solution, you want to help him, feel the need even, but how? How can you do it without scaring him or worse forcing him?

You are halfway sprawled through the bed, half staring at the ceiling, half wanting to go to Chan for help and reassurance, when you feel it. Your threads hum in warning before relaxing. 

Then– Thud–

“Shit-!”

Jisung crashes down onto your fuzzy bean bag with a startled yelp, limbs tangling awkwardly as the fabric groans under the sudden weight. 

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. 

You on the other hand sit up instantly, heart leaping into your throat “Ji!”

“I’m sorry!” he blurts out as he scrambled upright, hair wild, eyes blown wide “I didn’t mean to, I swear, I was just messing around on the computer- Thought about the dream and and you, then I panicked and– I’ll just go, I didn’t mean to land here, shit this is so embarrassing, I–” 

“Hey” you interrupt softly, your first instinct is to go to him. But you don’t move, you don’t get up, you just stay put on the edge of your bed. 

“You’re okay” you say “You landed on the bean bag, that’s the softest place in the house I’d say” 

He huffs out a shaky breath despite himself. “That seems right, aim for the emotional support furniture right?” 

The silence stretches, you watch him tighten his shoulders, like he’s bracing for impact, but it doesn't come. What he hears instead is a softly “I’m not mad” followed by an even softer “I’m not going to scold you and I’m definitely not going to kick you out” 

His gaze flicks up, startled, like he was expecting to see a person of his memories, years and years ago, ready to grab his arm and shake him until he cried.

“Oh” he barely exhales. 

You meet his eyes and hold them, your threads humming low and warm but still, as if they knew not to invade his space too much. You stay silent for a few seconds, thinking of what you could say, images of his dreams flicker in your mind. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, your powers… are difficult to control, especially the ones of a Feymind.” you try to explain “The more you try to suppress them the more they’ll try to get to you” Your gaze is warm and understanding, “You’re not supposed to master it instantly, we’ll get there, together if you want.”

He swallows, throat bobbing, and looks away again, jaw working like he’s chewing on something definitely too big to swallow down. 

“I just-” He laughs weakly, scrubbing his palms against his thighs until the fabric wrinkles beneath his fingers. “I feel like I keep messing things up. Every time I’m making progress something… something always has to happen to fuck me up.” he blurts out, rougher now “And the more I try to keep it in the more I feel it slipping from my grasp” 

“I know” you say, and you do. Because you remember the nights spent sitting on that same bean bag, spine curling towards your knees, magic buzzing too loud under your skin. Trying to understand why your threads lashed out when you were scared. Why emotion couldn’t just simply stay inside your chest but had to explode with your powers, into people.

You straighten up slowly, “Can I sit on the floor? I won’t touch you… Just to be nearer…” you ask. He hesitates, then nods silently. You smile before sliding down, back against the bed, close enough to feel that you are sharing space, but not enough that you touch. The carpet is cool beneath your palms when you set them flat, grounding you. 

“Okay” you murmur. “We’re both here”. Looking at him you notice that his breathing is still a bit uneven, chest hitching every now and then. But you don’t tell him to calm down, nor to stop thinking. Instead you breathe, deep, slow and audible, in, out, in, out. He tries to follow it after a moment, but he starts breathing in when you breathe out, making him huff in frustration, though a small smile is present. 

A similar smile pulls at your mouth. You keep breathing anyway, unbothered, one of your hands follows the motion of your inhale and exhale. Up, down, up, down. Eventually, his breath starts to line up, close enough. 

For some time the room feels steadier, nothing moves, nothing flickers, the house hums softly. 

A while passes before he speaks again, quieter this time. “Thanks… This helps, like a lot, really” he admits, eyes fixed on some invisible spot on the floor near your socks. “But,” he adds after a moment, swallowing hard “What you saw. And what I’m feeling.” His jaw tightens, words stalling “I’m not ready to talk about everything that happened. I know that Chan told you a bit… but those dreams-” he cuts himself off with a small shake of his head. “I just can’t. Not yet.” 

“That’s okay” you say immediately, no hesitation nor disappointment in your voice. “You don’t owe me explanations”

His shoulders drop just a little, the tension easing out of him.

“You get to decide the pace,” you continue “or even if you want my help at all. If you’d feel safer talking to someone else. Or Chan” you let out a quiet laugh. “I think we both know he’s kind of built like that”

That earns a quiet snort. “Yeah,” Jisung mutters. “Stupidly reliable hyung”

You smile, leaning your head back against the bed. “We can keep doing this too.” you add “Just sitting here, breathing. Until you want to go”

You hesitate only a fraction of a second, then let the option exist without pressure. “...Or stay,” you say, light and sincere. “Whatever feels right to you.” 

Some time passes, you bask in the comfortable bubble of silence that you created around you. At some point your breathing evens out, muscles loosening one by one, until your eyelids start to dip. 

It’s only then that Jisung really looks at you. Not the careful and anxious quick glances from earlier when he was checking for eventual disappointment or irritation. This time he lets himself see you properly, slouched against the bed, hands folded over your lap, your neck bent slightly towards the left. 

You stayed with him, and for one moment he truly felt it, like you’d been there with them since university, since the beginning of everything. When he panicked you didn’t push, nor tried to fix him like a broken doll. You just… sat there.

Something warm and twists in his chest, familiar in a way that makes his throat tighten a bit. The kind of feeling he usually only associates with the boys, with late nights and shared exhaustion and many unspoken understandings. With being seen without actually having to explain it.

Oh. 

For a brief second, he thinks he gets it. Why Chan looks at you the way he does, why his magic seems to reach for yours, for you, without thinking, threading together like it’s second nature.

Carefully, he shifts closer, just an inch or two, close enough to feel the warmth without touching at first. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs to no one in particular, voice barely louder than the house’s hum. “I kinda get it now.” 

Gently, with slow movements to not jostle you too much, he lifts you and places you on the plush bed, smoothing the covers over your sleeping figure. You stir faintly, nuzzling into the pillows, breathing slow and even. 

“Good night (Y/n), sleep well” he whispers.

He lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, watching the rise and fall of your chest, as if he wants to keep this calm moment pressed into his memory. 

Then he straightens, quiet resolve settling into his bones. Tomorrow he’ll talk to Chan, about the magic, about the dreams… and about you too. One step at a time. 

The next day, Jisung finds himself in one of the few places that settles his nerves like no other, the house studio. 

He’s curled into one of the soft chairs, knees pulled up, socked feet (stolen from Hyunjin earlier that same day) tucked beneath him. Chan sits a few feet away at the desk, headphones resting around his neck, fingers idly tapping against the table in a rhythm that got stuck in his brain. 

Changbin, third of the musketeers, is out. Something about driving Seungmin to a photography class he’d signed up for on a whim, Hyunjin tagging along for moral support. Which means that the house is quieter than usual. No screaming or crashing stuff, just the hum of equipment, the faint smell of coffee and a pleasant silence. 

Jisung exhales a bit, fingers gently massaging his forehead as his shoulders drop a notch.

Chan glances over at him, not obvious about it. “You sleep at all?” 

“Mmh,” he hums back “Somewhere between passing out and staring a lot at the ceiling” 

“Productive.” 

Jisung snorts, then goes quiet again, fingers worrying at the sleeve of his hoodie. The comfort settles into his bones, but beneath it there’s a restlessness, like a thought bouncing at the back of his skull.

He shifts a bit. “Hyung” he starts, then stops. A packet of chocolate cookies comes out of thin air, as if to soothe him. “Can I say something kind of… dumb?” 

Chan doesn’t even look surprised. He just swivels his chair a little, giving Jisung his full attention. “When has that ever stopped you?” 

Jisung huffs a weak laugh at that, then lets it fade. “I’m scared,” he says “Not of the magic- I mean, okay, yes, that too. But I’m more scared of how it’s making me feel” 

“It feels like I’m back there,” the words pick up the pace a little now that they’re getting out of his mouth. “Like all the progress I made, all the stuff we worked through… it’s just one bad spiral away from going back to square one. Panic brain, running thoughts, me being… too much again.” 

He swallows. “And I hate that part of myself. I worked really hard to not live there with them anymore. We worked really hard”

Something frail lingers in the air, Jisung presses on, voice wobbling just a bit. “And I want help, I do. I just… I just don’t know how to ask for it without feeling like I’m… failing and messing things up again.” 

He hesitates, jaw tightening just slightly. “Especially with (Y/n)” 

Chan’s expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens. “What about her.” 

The other boy rubs at the back of his neck, embarrassed, gaze fixed somewhere just past the older’s shoulders. “She makes it easier. Not in a weird way. Just… She’s just like us. Being near her feels like my head can stop running for half a second.” He huffs “Which is inconvenient on a part, because now my brain keeps going, don’t rely on that, you idiot!”

Chan lets out a small breath, more understanding than surprised. 

“I’m not saying it’s romantic,” Jisung adds quickly, glancing up. “I know you and them are together. I don’t feel…” he gestures vaguely, flustered. “That. It’s more like… safety. And I don’t trust things that feel that easy.” 

That, finally, makes Chan smile, soft, familiar. The kind of look that says he’s heard this many times before, maybe even lived it very very recently “Yeah, that tracks.” 

Jisung blinks. “That’s it? No lecture?”

“No,” Chan replies calmly. “Sungie, feeling safe around someone doesn’t mean you’re crossing a line. It just means your brain finally unclenched itself” 

Jisung exhales once, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. 

“I just don’t want to lean too hard,” he mutters. “I don’t want to turn them into something I’m scared of losing.” 

Chan nods, slow and steady. “That’s fair. And it’s also something you can talk about. With her, with me. You’re not sneaking around or doing anything wrong.” 

Jisung sits with that for a moment. “...Do you feel that pull too? Like your magic is calling to her” 

Chan doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do” and there’s no jealousy in his tone, no claim, just pure honesty. 

Jisung nods once, something resolute settles in his ribs. “Okay” he says softly. “Then… I think I’ll talk to her… one step at a time” 

“One step at a time Sungie, one step at a time” the older smile widens, fond. “Now come, let’s get some work ideas down”

Between studio hours and the soft chaos of everyday chores, it takes nearly a week before Jisung finally manages to catch you alone. Not because you’re avoiding him, and not because he’s doing the same. Just life, loud and a bit uncooperative at times, full of schedules that never quite line up, especially between nine people. When it finally happens it feels like a small victory. 

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, eyes closed, palms resting loosely on your knees. The curtains are drawn just enough to dim the light, and the air feels… thicker? 

Jisung stops in the doorway, feeling it immediately. Threads shimmer faintly around you. He can’t see them properly, but his magic recognizes them immediately. It’s like a pressure against his skin, coiling gently around his body.

He stops short, instinct telling him not to interrupt.

Things have been better than he expected. No sudden vanishing like houdini acts. Occasionally food appears when his stress spikes, a granola bar on his desk, a banana in his hoodie pocket, making him think that the universe apparently is concerned with his nutrition.

The dreams still come though, faint and jagged at the edges. Old hallways, voices sharp with irritation, harsh hands tugging at his sleeves, the flat crack of a ruler against a desk, too loud and definitely too close. They come rarely yet when they go they leave that familiar pressure stuck behind his ribs when he wakes, breath shallow and heart sprinting. 

On those nights he slips out of bed and ventures next door, shakes Minho awake without explanation. The other boy never asks, just scoots over, grumbles something unintelligible, and lets Jisung curl in close until he stops shaking. 

You shift slightly, breath changing. Your eyes open, slow and deliberate, like you felt him before you saw him, which you probably did. The threads around you soften into something gentler. 

“Hey” you say quietly “You okay?” 

“Yeah” Jisung answers on instinct, then huffs. “I mean, I’m not actively teleporting into walls or showers, so I’m calling that a win.” he scratches at the back of his neck, gaze drifting anywhere but your face. 

You snort softly, not laughing but close enough that it lands. He relaxes a fraction, shoulders dropping a bit. He glances around the room, then back at you. “You were… doing magic, right? The thread thing” 

Your fingers flex against your knees. “Yeah” 

“It’s cool!” he says quickly, then immediately backpedals. “I mean not cool like circus trick cool, but cool like… it feels safe. If- that makes sense?”

“It does,” you say smiling. 

He nods, swallowing. “I can feel it. When you’re focused. Like, my brain stops sprinting and just… chills for a second.” The admission hangs between you, fragile. 

“So!” he adds, tone tipping a bit into forced lightness, “what exactly do you do? Other than, you know, becoming the emotional support atmosphere” 

You smile, small and careful and for the first time Jisung feels that maybe under that security there are some cracks that he finds very familiar.

“I don’t pull unless I’m asked” you say softly. “Mostly I listen, I anchor, I can sense when things are about to snap. But I was like that as a child as well, so I think it suits me” 

Silence settles again for a few seconds. 

“I think that’s why this is freaking me out” he admits after a moment, quieter now. “Why I teleport… I think it’s because I learned how to run away before.” 

You don’t interrupt but you scoot a bit, one hand offering the space in front of you like a peace offer. He crouches slowly before fully sitting down, still a bit guarded.

“My place before graduation wasn’t exactly… great,” he continues, words careful, measured. “Lots of rules about being quiet, about not taking up space. About not being… like this.” He gestures vaguely at himself, hands trembling just enough to notice.

“I got really good at disappearing,” he adds, attempting a grin that doesn’t quite land. “Mentally first. Guess my magic took notes.” 

Your chest tightens, threads reacting on instinct before you still them. You refuse to let them pull. You refuse to turn this into something that needs fixing. 

“That sounds like it was really hard,” you say simply and the honesty of it lands harder than sympathy ever could. 

He exhales shakily, voice cracking a bit as he utters a simple “Yeah. It was” and then, after a heartbeat of hesitation, he moves. He shifts closer to your side, slow and deliberate, close enough that his knee brushes yours. 

Your threads stir, restless, alert, you clamp down on them immediately. Did you… did you pull him? 

You force your hands to stay where they are, your magic firmly quiet. Giving him every possible exit, but he doesn’t take it. Instead his shoulder eases closer until it almost touches yours, his breath stutters once, like he noticed the distance too. 

His gaze lifts to you then, really looks at you, searching. 

“I know that’s not the whole story and I’m not telling you this to make it your problem,” he says quickly, anxiety flickering at the edges again. “I don’t want to turn you into an anchor I didn’t ask for.” 

You shake your head immediately. “I know. And I wouldn’t let that happen.” You hesitate, then add just as honestly, “Sometimes I worry about it too… What if I make things easier in a way that becomes a crutch? What if I pull without meaning to, just because it feels… right to be close?” the threads hum, uneasy now, responding to your doubt.

“...That would suck,” he says slowly. Then he huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face as if he’s searching for the right words. “But I don’t think that’s what’s happening right now.” 

You glance at him, waiting. 

“I’ve been obligated before…” he continues. “You can feel it in your bones when someone’s being kind because they have to be. This doesn’t feel like that.” He shifts again, grounding himself, and this time his arm brushes yours fully. The contact is brief, careful, like he’s testing a line he doesn’t want to cross by accident. Still, it sends a small jolt through you both, something warm and uncertain settling in the space between breaths. 

“Okay,” you say softly. “Then we keep checking in.” 

“Deal.” he agrees, a small smile on his lips as he nods once before pushing himself to his feet. “I should… probably let you get back to your magic monk thing.”

You snort, clearly amused this time. “Probably.” 

At the doorway, he pauses, glancing back. “Thanks for today, I really needed that:” 

“Anytime,” you reply, smiling.

Jisung leaves the room lighter than he arrived, and you sit there a while longer, palms on your knees, faint traces of the pull settling in your ribcage. 

The days that follow are normal. Surprisingly so. Studio hours, photography classes and work bleed into late dinners and conversations laughed on the sofa. Someone is always missing a charger and sometimes Chan still manages to get something to bind, stuck in one place for some time. 

You’re also officially banned from the kitchen. The decree is delivered by Minho himself with arms crossed and an aggravated expression. “Effective immediately.” 

“That’s not legally binding!” you protest, wooden spoon in hand. 

“It is in this household,” he replies flatly. “Don’t make me call your boyfriend and make it binding.” 

Chan snorts from the counter, already guilty by association. 

The ruling comes after you, Hyunjin, and Changbin devolve into a full-blown argument over who makes the best ramen. Changbin insists flavor packets are sacred, Hyunjin claims presentation matters while you argue that improvisation is an art form. 

Minho walks in just in time to witness Hyunjin gesturing wildly with chopsticks and you knocking over an entire container of chili flakes. 

There is red everywhere. Jeongin laughs so hard he has to grab Jisung to keep from toppling off the stool. The other wheezes, nearly folding in half, one hand clutched to his chest. 

“Out,” Minho says, pointing toward the living room. “All three of you. Before someone sets the sink on fire.”

Jisung watches the chaos unfold, shoulder shaking with quiet laughter, eyes bright in a way you haven’t seen in a while. When your gaze catches his, he ducks his head, still smiling to himself. 

Normal, you think. This is normal. 

That night, the house winds down slowly. One by one, doors close. Someone hums off-key down the halls. You hear the unmistakable sound of a smack to the back of the neck after Felix asks Seungmin if he wants to “pull a Jisung” and shower together. 

The laughter that follows is fond, familiar.

You end up in Chan’s room without really noticing how you got there. It’s so easy, familiar. He opens his arms and you fold into him like you’ve done it a hundred times before. His chin settles on the crown of your head, fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. 

“Long day,” he murmurs. 

“Good day” 

He hums, pressing a kiss into your hair. Then another, slow and lingering, against your temple. You tilt your head enough for him to find your lips, the kiss is unhurried and warm. You stay like that for a while, breathing each other in. 

“Can I say something without it being weird?” you ask eventually. Chan smiles against your skin. 

“Isn’t it kind of our brand?” 

You laugh quietly. “I think… that everyone’s drifting closer. Not just you and me. All of us…” You hesitate, words catching. “And I’m a little scared because I can’t help but feel like maybe it’s my fault. I can see our connections, some threads of it, Chan… I feel them… What if- what if I pulled without meaning to?” 

His hands stills but doesn’t withdraw, they just rest on your body. 

“What if they think it's a choice but it’s really just… me? My magic nudging things on purpose.”

Chan lifts his head enough to look at you properly, thumb brushing under your eye to ground you. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Baby look at me.” 

You do, because what else can you do when he looks at you with so much care. 

“I know what it feels like when magic takes the wheel,” he says gently. “And I know the feeling of being scared of forcing people, you taught me that” 

He presses his forehead to yours. “This isn’t forcing any bonds.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still say no, so can they” he answers without hesitation. “And I see the way they look at each other, at you.” Chan kisses you again, soft and steady. 

You exhale, tension easing just a fraction. “I just- don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt.” 

“You’re not, but it’s okay to be afraid of that. It just means you care.” 

You tuck yourself back into his chest, letting his warmth anchor you. His fingers resume their slow patterns, grounding and familiar. 

“Whatever this turns into, we'll keep choosing it.” he murmurs, voice already drifting toward sleep. Your eyes close, comfort settling deep in your bones as sleep lulls you before you can overthink it.

Getting pulled into a dream echo feels like falling sideways. 

One second you’re wrapped in Chan’s warmth, cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of his chest. The next the air tightens, your threads snap taut, vibrating like plucked strings, instinct screaming to shield.

The floor slides out from under you, reality warping the room on itself. Your stomach lurches and Chan’s arm tightens around you just in time to hold you steady. Then the world settles. 

You’re standing in a narrow hallway, your breath catches at the same time as Chan’s heart plummet into his guts.

Because you both have seen this place before. 

The walls are too close, painted a tired beige that feels oppressive rather than welcoming. The light overhead flickers, buzzing faintly, the sound of it unnerving you. 

“This is-” 

“I know,” Chan murmurs, already tense behind you. “Yeah” 

Your threads strain, trying to map the space, to find Jisung. “I got pulled in last time as well… But his powers feel… worse not” You tighten your grip on Chan’s hand, slight panic edge in your voice “These are memories, we have to find the real Jisung and pull him out, or at least help him control it before it spirals.” 

Before he can respond, a door opens ahead of you with a clear swing inward. Sounds spill out, sharp voices, clipped and irritated. 

Your stomach twists and the hallway tugs you forwards without asking permission, you both pass through the doorway like you’re not really there. Chan gently keeps you near him as he settles near the wall, he knows what is about to happen from Jisung’s breakdowns during university. 

Inside, the living room unfolds. It feels too neat, unnaturally perfect. 

A child sits on the floor and your chest aches immediately. 

Jisung. Too small. Knees pulled tight to his chest with small fingers twisting in the hem of his sweater. His leg bounces uncontrollably, heel tapping against the floor in a frantic rhythm. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s trying to fold himself into something smaller and less noticeable. 

A woman with striking resemblance stands nearby, arms crossed, posture rigid. Her gaze is sharp, irritation etched deep into her expression. 

“Christ stop moving like that! You look ridiculous.” she snaps. 

The child freezes for half a second. His leg stills. Then it starts again, slower now, restrained as if he’s fighting it. 

“I’m sorry” he says quickly, words tumbling over each other like he sometimes still does when he’s too nervous. “I’ll stop. I promise.” 

His mother’s mouth tightens. “Sorry doesn’t fix it, you have a perfect life, why would you be anxious?.” 

The words land heavy. You stare in horror as your threads surge violently. They reach for him with desperation, trying to wrap around his small frame, to muffle the cruelty digging into his bones, but they pass straight through him. 

Chan’s hand closes around yours instantly, grounding. He doesn’t look away from the scene. “Jisung had some anxiety problems, still has sometimes, though he got a lot better. She hated it… said that his anxiousness embarrassed her.” 

The woman steps closer, looming over him, harsh hands clamp over a little Jisung’s wrists. “Why can’t you be normal?” Can’t you stop making things so difficult?” 

Jisung nods frantically, eyes shining but dry, if he cries he’s doomed. He swallows hard. “I’ll try harder! I can be better.” The words feel rehearsed, far too practiced for a child. 

You feel your eyes watering before something else catches your attention. Something shifts near the edge of the room, the air folds in on itself and then he’s there. 

The real Jisung. 

Older but still terrified. Standing just beyond the doorway, eyes wide as he watches his younger self. His hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white, breath coming fast and shallow like he’s about to bolt. 

His gaze snaps to you and for a split second confusion. Then recognition flashes across his face before the panic fully detonates. 

“No-” he breathes, voice breaking. “You’re not- you can’t-” 

“Jisung!” Chan calls, stepping forwards. “It’s okay, we didn't mean to-” 

He vanishes before Chan can finish the sentence. The space where he stood collapses inward, the room warping again. The woman’s voice loops, sharp and endless. 

You stumble a bit as the memory tears itself apart. Chan catches you, arms firm around your waist, pulling you back against him as the room forces you out. 

The hallway slams back into place. You look at Chan, fingers gripping his arms with urgency. “We have to find him!” Your heart is racing, threads trembling with fear and frustration. 

Chan exhales slowly, trying to ground the both of you. “He didn’t expect us to see that, we’ll find him I promise you, we just have to keep our head clear, if we panic he’ll see it, it will make things worse” 

Your chest feels heavy with things you can’t fix but you nod nonetheless. “Let’s go, another door should be open… another memory” 

As if the hallway hears you, the lights flicker. Further down, a door appears where there was only a blank wall before. It’s different from the first door, it’s taller, edges worn by time and the hands of the countless students who lived there before them. 

“It’s our dorm room, back in uni.” explains gently Chan. 

Voices seep through the cracks. Laughter, loud and sometimes cracking, still carrying the sharp edges of people who aren’t quite adults yet. There’s music too, half-formed, a beat looping too long, stopping then starting again. 

You push the door open and the room blooms around you. 

It’s cramped, but when you split a room between three boys, occasionally four when Minho crashes on the couch like tonight, what else could it be? Posters peel from the walls, there are empty cups of coffee and energy drinks stacked on a desk like a monument to insomnia.

Changbin is hunched over a laptop on the floor, frowning in concentration, fingers stabbing at the keys. Chan sits nearby with a notebook balanced on his knee, pen tapping as he muns under his breath. Minho is perched on their couch, one leg tucked under the other, watching Jisung with that sharp gaze of his. They look so young, a bit soft around the edges still, but there is nothing unserious about the way they’re working. You can feel the weight of it, the care.

And Jisung is everywhere at once. He paces between them, energy buzzing under his skin, hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop. “No no, wait, what if we switch it here?” he says, dropping to his knees beside Changbin. “Like, we cut the beat here for a second?” 

Changbin pauses the track, squinting. “Here?” 

“Yeah!” Jisung’s fly as he talks “We let it breathe, then DAK! We bring it back even harder.” 

Chan hums again. “That could work”

They try it and you can see Jisung lighten up. 

“That’s it!” he laughs, clapping his hands before he catches himself, glancing instinctively toward the door. The sound doesn’t summon anger. No one snaps at him, no one tells him to quiet down. He exhales, his shoulder loosening, and sinks down on the sofa next to Minho. 

Your chest tightens as you watch. 

This Jisung isn’t shrinking, trying to disappear. He’s starting to shine, voice loud with easy laughter. 

Chan shifts beside you, voice barely above a breath. “Living at the dorm with us helped him, he felt safe here, felt like he could actually want something and not be perfect.” 

As if the memory hears him, it tilts. 

Jisung’s smile fades a little as he stares at the screen, fingers twisting together before Minho stops them with his own. “Chan-hyung?” he asks, quieter now. 

Chan looks up immediately. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t think I want what my parents want for me.” The words rush out, fragile and sharp. “But I don’t want to stop, not when it feels so right, doing this, being here… with you.” 

The room stills. Changbin turns toward him, serious now, even Minho straightens, eyes narrowing at the idea of anyone trying to cage him. 

“Then don’t.” Chan doesn’t hesitate even for a second. 

“It’s not that easy.” 

Changbin grins, warm and certain. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

The words land heavily, you see them hit Jisung like a wave. His throat bobs, eyes bright, overwhelmed and hopeful in equal measure. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might cry. 

Then the air tightens again, your threads prickle, a sharp warning sings through you before you see him.

The real Jisung stands half a step behind the scene. Older, tired. Eyes fixed on his younger self with something raw and aching twisting across his face. 

He looks at Chan first, then at you. 

“I like staying here, even then I wanted to stop going back to them” he whispers, voice thin. 

Chan turns fully toward him, hands open at his sides. “You didn’t do anything wrong by wanting that” 

You step closer, careful not to let your threads reach for him. “You don’t have to run right now,” you say softly. “We’re here. We can just walk” 

His eyes flick down, then back up. He hesitates, like he’s bracing for an impact that never comes. 

“... You won’t try to fix it?” he ask 

“No,” you answer immediately. “You don’t need fixing Jisung.”

“We’ll just stay with you” Chan nods, before tentatively reaching for Jisung, fingers touching gently his arms. “I’ve got you. Same as before.” 

Something in Jisung eases before he reaches back to you, to the both of you. Your skin is warm under his fingers. “We need to get out from this dream, if we stay too much inside this echo it will be damaging.” 

He exhales, long and shaky, and nods once. “Okay. Then… come with me… we still have two memories.” 

The dorm room fades, peeling away like one of those old posters.

Jisung doesn’t teleport this time, he walks between you and Chan instead, close enough that you can feel the tremor in him. 

“I’ve been having them for some time, always these four memories, the deeper we go the harsher they get…” he says before stopping in front of another door. It’s his parents' door, anger seeping through the drafts of the door, pressing against your chest like pressure before a big storm. 

Chan’s jaw tightens. He knows this one. 

Jisung’s hand curls into a fist. “I tried to stand up at some point.” The door swings open without being touched and you’re pulled violently inside. 

The room is stark and overly clean, stripped of warmth. A younger Jisung stands near the center, shoulders squared but tense, hands shaking at his sides. He looks older than the last memory, but not by much. His eyes burn with something new, defiance, raw and unpolished. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says, voice trembling but loud enough to fill the room. “I don’t want that major. I don’t want that job. I want to make music.” 

The man in front of him scoffs, sound clipped and dismissive. “Music,” he repeats, like it’s a bad joke that left a sour taste in his mouth. 

The woman beside him frowns, lips thinning into something sharp and judgemental. She looks older as well, harder somehow, like cruelty worn into her expression like a habit. “You’re being dramatic,” she says. “You always do this when things don’t go your way.” 

“It’s not drama,” Jisung snaps, breath hitching. “It’s my life.”

“That’s enough,” his father cuts in. “We didn’t raise you to throw everything away on a fantasy.” 

“But I'm not throwing it away!” Jisung’s hands curl tighter, nails biting into his palms. “I’m good at this. I’m working hard for it. I have people at home who-” 

The slap comes fast. Too fast. 

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and final, echoing against the walls. 

You flinch hard, a hand shoots out to grab the real Jisung’s. You lace your fingers together like you can anchor the both of you to the present through sheer will. His hand is cold, trembling violently in yours. 

The younger Jisung stumbles sideways, cheek burning, head snapping with the force of it. For a moment he just stands there, stunned, eyes wide and unfocused. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t move. 

“You don’t raise your voice in this house,” snarls his father. “And you don’t get to decide things like this.” 

The younger straightens anyway, jaw sets after the shock, his eyes are shining but no tear falls. “I’m still going to do it,” he says, voice breaking but stubborn, unmovable. 

“Look at what you make us do,” his mother says, already moving. Her hand clamps around his arm, fingers digging in hard enough that you know it’ll bruise. “This is why you still can’t be trusted with decisions.” 

“Let go,”

She drags him toward the door, grip unyielding, nails biting into his sleeve, into his skin. He doesn’t fight, body going slack in that familiar way, resistance folding inward, survival sense taking over. 

“Don’t worry son, after I’m done with you you’ll be much more respectful of who put you here in this world.” 

The words echo long after the door slams. The memory convulses and Jisung’s knees finally give in. 

You move at the same time as Chan. The older catches him first, arms locking around his shoulders, grounding and unbreakable. “Hey. Hey, you’re here,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like he’s counting breaths. “That’s not happening anymore.” 

You stay close, pressing your forehead to Jisung’s temple, threads wrapping tight around all three of you in a soothing manner. “You’re safe,” you whisper, over and over, a fact. “We’ll talk after this. All of us. You came a long way from this, you won’t have to hold it alone anymore.” 

Jisung shakes, breath coming in uneven pulls. You grab both of his hands, one on your chest, one on Chan’s. He starts to follow the rhythm, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Again.

The dream exhales with him. The room around you dissolves, peeling away like old paint, leaving behind the familiar hallway. Jisung straightens, still between you and Chan. His eyes are red, rimmed raw, but there is a sense of clarity in there too, there’s resolve. “There’s only one left,” he says quietly. “It’s close to this. Just… a few days later.” 

At the end of the hallway, a final door waits. This one is barely holding together, the frame is splintered as if it’s responding to the fear and urgency of what’s happening inside of the room. 

The moment you step through, your stomach drops, eyes widening in horror at the scene in front of you. 

The Jisung inside of it is frantic, pacing the room like a trapped animal, movements sharp and erratic. His eyes snap to the door at every creak of the house, he’s terrified. Purple and yellow bloom across his arms in ugly constellations, half-hidden by the sleeves he keeps tugging down and then pushing back up again. His fingers shake so badly around his phone that you’re surprised he hasn’t dropped it yet. 

“pickupickupickup please…” he whispers, breath hitching, thumb stabbing the screen over and over. 

“This was the night he called us,” murmurs Chan. One of his arms is around Jisung, fingers tracing circles on his waist. “After we got him out he didn’t sleep for days.” 

The phone rings once, twice. 

There is a noise from down the hall that makes Jisung flinch, panic flashing bright and feral across his face. He presses his back to the wall, sliding down until he’s crouched, knees tight to his chest, free hand clamped over his mouth to keep any sounds from escaping. The call connects.

“Jisung?” Chan’s younger voice crackles through the speaker. There’s movement on the other end, overlapping voices. 

“Is that Jisung?” 

“What’s wrong? Is he okay?”. Changbin and Minho’s rapid questions are heard from the phone. 

The relief that hits Jisung is violent, his shoulders cave in, breath shattering. “Hyung,” he sobs, voice breaking completely now. “I can’t- I can’t stay here. Please I need help, get me out- I’m scared- please get me out.” 

There’s no hesitation. 

“We’re coming, Hannie we’re coming” Minho’s voice cuts in, sharp and grounding. “Pack a bag, we are on our way” 

Chagbin, soft but fierce. “Stay on the line, yeah?” coupled with the sure “We’ve got you” of Chan is what set Jisung in action. 

You watch him drag himself to his feet, movements jerky, stuffing clothes into a backpack with shaking hands. His fingers fumble with the zippers, he drops things, swipes them up again. Every sound from the hallway fuels his movements like a countdown.

The window rattles after just 20 minutes, which is weird, because he knows that Chan’s house is 40 minutes from his. Then it slides open. 

Chan comes through first, already halfway inside before his feet hit the floor. Changbin follows, nearly tripping over the sill in his rush. Minho is last, silent and fast, scanning the room in one sharp sweep before locking onto Jisung. 

“Hannie,” That’s all it takes.

The younger breaks, stumbling forward as Minho catches him, arms locking around his shoulders, solid and immovable. Jisung clutches at him with a sound that’s half-sob, half-relief.

“We’re leaving,” Chan says, Jisung’s backpack already on his shoulder. 

Changbin herds them toward the window, hand waving urgently. “Quick, quick, before they catch us and add breaking and entering on top of the speeding tickets we already got. Move!”

The memory flickers, leaving you, Chan and Jisung in an empty room. He looks down, almost shameful, his eyes are wet, unfocussed, but he’s here with you. 

“I didn’t know if they’d stop,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I thought… I thought if I stayed any longer they’d-” he swallows hard. “I was so scared.” 

Chan tightens his hold instantly, chin resting against Jisung’s hair. “You were brave Jisung,” he says, steady and certain with no hesitation. “Brave for calling us, brave for leaving, brave for surviving it.”

You gently bring Jisung’s hands up, pressing them flat against your chest. Warm, solid. Your heartbeat is loud between his palms. “You got out, you survived. And you didn’t do it alone… you still aren’t” 

“I didn’t mean to drag you in… I tried to keep it contained, I swear. I didn’t want you to see any of it.” 

Chan exhales slowly. “I know, but you don’t get brownie points for suffering quietly, that’s not how we always worked.”

You nod “And you don’t have to carry this alone. Not after tonight.” You squeeze his hands once, grounding. “Come on Sungie, let’s wake up. All of us, we’ll talk about it together, one step at a time, no?” 

Jisung hesitates, breath shuddering in and out. Then, finally, he nods. 

The space around you loosens before folding on itself. 

You jolt awake with a sharp inhale, heart racing, threads snapping back into place. Chan’s room swims into focus, dim and quiet, his arms still around you, breath warm against your hair. 

“Hey, hey” he murmurs instantly, already awake, thumb brushing your cheek “You’re here, with me, you’re fine,” 

Before you can answer, the air bends. Hard. And a familiar scene plays again in the room.

Jisung appears. Directly on top of you.

You wheeze as the weight knocks the air from your lungs, limbs tangling everywhere. “-OMPF!”

Chan swears softly and reacts on instinct, hands up and around Jisung before either of you can fully panic, steadying the pile of limbs and blankets “Okay, okay, easy, easy- Sung, you’re safe”

“I’m sorry!” Jisung blurts out immediately, scrambling but somehow only managing to tangle himself more. “I didn’t mean to… I just- Thought about you- about seeing you”

Before you can answer, he folds forward again, this time carefully, forehead pressing into your shoulder like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t anchor himself somehow. “I’m sorry” he says again, quieter now. “For dragging you in. For making you see all that.” 

Chan shifts closer, one hand firm at Jisung’s back, the other still holding you. “Hey, none of that,” 

Jisung shakes his head, voice muffled. “I know, I just… I wanted to say thank you.” He pulls back enough to look at Chan, eyes still glassy. “For back then. For coming to get me. For not asking questions first.” 

Chan’s expression softens “Always,” he says simply.

Jisung turns to you next, hesitation flickering before he meets your eyes. “And thank you,” he adds, still. “Thank you…” 

Chan exhales and shifts the blankets around the three of you “Alright. Nobody’s going anywhere tonight,” he says.

Jisung hesitates only a second before nodding, curling at your side this time. You adjust instinctively, making room, Chan’s arm wrapping around both of you without fuss. The bed cracks softly. The house stays quiet and you bask in it for a bit.

“... I’m not imagining this right?” whispers Jisung after a moment “What is happening between us?” 

Chan doesn’t answer right away. He tightens his arm, solid and grounding, thumb tracing a slow, absent circle where it rests against Jisung’s shoulder. When he does speak, his voice is low and steady.

“It’s okay,” he says simply. “We don’t have to define it right now. We’ll see how it goes, but as far as I know… I feel it too, the pull” 

Jisung lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay… That- that helps.”

A beat passes, the quiet stretching comfortably. 

“And,” he adds, hesitant again, like he’s stepping onto thin ice, “I think I want to try again with Minho.” 

Chan’s hand stills for half a heartbeat, then resumes its slow, reassuring motion. No tension or surprise. “Yeah?” 

Jisung nods, eyes fixed on the dark. “We never really talked about it. Things were… bad back then. But it mattered- He mattered. And I don’t want to keep pretending it didn’t.” 

Something warm spreads through your chest at that. 

“That doesn’t undo anything here,” you say quietly. “And we don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” 

He turns his head slightly, just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, close but not demanding. “You’re really okay with that?” 

You nod. “I’m okay with taking it slow… And with people choosing each other on purpose” you look at Chan, then at Jisung “By our own choice”

Jisung exhales, tension finally letting go. “Yeah, yeah I can do that”

You huffs a soft laugh, the moment lightening just a touch as you think of a distant memory. “Besides,” you add, barely above a whisper, “One of my great aunts had three wives when she was a young witch.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then Chan snorts, burying his face briefly into your shoulder. “Of course she did.” 

Jisung lets out a breathy laugh, shaky but real, the sound vibrating between the three of you. “That… actually helps.” 

The room settles again, quiet and warm. Chan adjusts the blankets, tucking them closer around all of you. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to Jisung’s. 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow” he murmurs, already half-asleep. “For tonight, this is enough. Goodnight Sungie, goodnight babygirl”

Jisung shifts closer, hesitating just a second before leaning in and pressing a soft, almost shy kiss to your cheek. It lingers for half a heartbeat longer than necessary, warm and grateful, before he pulls back again. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

You smile into the darkness, eyes closing as the last of tension slips away. “Goodnight Jisung, goodnight Channie.” 

And with that, wrapped in shared warmth, you let sleep take you, safe in the quiet of the night. 

Because for tonight… this is enough.

TAGLIST: @sanbangchan @fanficwriter5 @celestialkitsune-x @7sunny07 @gadriezmannsgirl @justsomekpopstuff

[crisalidea]

Hi! I just wanted to say I really enjoyed your Chan fic! His power is sooo him! I know you said that you are going to write a fic for each of them but will you still post drabbles about them?

Thank you so much for your kindness <3

And actually yes! While my idea revolves around the main fics I am quite open in writing drabbles about them as well, even better if you have suggestions in what would you like to see feel free to ask!

Though, to not spoil anything, I'd probably post the drabbles and accept requests about the guys that already have their main fic posted. That would be Chan as of right now, and Jisung starting from this weekend, since I'm going to finish his fic during these days!

[crisalidea]

Happy new years and updates!

Hiii it's Nene!

First of all I wanted to wish a happy new year! Hope you are all spending the festivities well fed and happy.

Just wanted to update a bit on the situation! SO, Jisung's witch AU fic is almost halfway into the making, I sincerely hope that you'll like it! Also! Thank you so much for your love and appreciation towards the first fic of the series, I really really loved to see such a warm response, can't wait to write the others as well!

I also have other drafts of unreleated fics sitting in my computer, which I may bring to the table! BUUT if you lovelies have some suggestions or there is something you want to see writted down don't hesitate to ask me! My asks or dms are always open.

With all said, I really hope that you are all enjoying the beginning of 2026 as you all should! Love you all - Nene

[sagegarnish]

🦀 Kudos Crab 🦀

If you are scrolling and see Kudos Crab, your fics will be blessed!

You will get good comments and kudos!

You will beat your writers block!

GO AND WRITE!

[minhomocha]

Lunar Scent

Ot8 Skz X Fem Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is her family's disappointed due to never having presented, Her family is ashamed and afraid of the public's reaction to their faulty daughter they contact a pack and ask them to take her in. They hope with her surrounded by so many dynamics and scents it will shove her closer to presenting. Little do they know Y/n is about to find more than her identity.

Warnings: A/b/o dynamics, angst, fluff, poly, suggestive, omegaverse lore, mentions of emotional abuse,

Masterlist:

Scents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

more to be added....

Taglist Open!

[fuckyeahkimseungmin]

so many stays cheered when seungmin raised his hand that he did it again all happy Seung cutie of the day

[crisalidea]

Binding threads

Genre: Witch AU/Slowish burn?/Fluff/Angst Warnings: Anxiety in some parts Word count: 6.8K words Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader (future poly!relationship tho) A/N: Finally, my first big fic out in the open! I really hopes that it will go well ahahah, I am already working on the other boys fic (you may get the hint about who) please please enjoy your reading and tell me what you think of it! I'm always open to suggestion or to answer any questions ahaha. Merry Christmas, love you all - Nene Series Masterlist

Taglist: @sanbangchan @fanficwriter5 @7sunny07 @justsomekpopstuff @celestialkitsune-x @gadriezmannsgirl

After seeing your mother tend to the last two witches that the lines chose, you knew that it was soon your turn. Your grandmother had been preparing you for it, slipping lessons into casual chats and long “please catch that garden gnome” sessions. 

So when she asks you to go to the house to greet the newly awakened witches, you agree without problem. Eagerly prepared for what? One? Maybe two new souls to make friends and guide? 

The house’s hum of power could be felt even before reaching the steps of the porch, you felt the familiar tug in your ribs mixed with something else. The ley lines were awake and wilding. 

Before you even got the chance to knock, the door swung open in a panic. A boy with messy hair clad in a soft hoodie filled the space of the doorway. He looked your age, maybe a slightly older, dark eyes with a hint of dark circles under them blinked tiredly at you. 

“Oh! Uh- hi” he blurts, voice warm but frayed at the edges “You’re… Mrs. Park’s niece, right? I called her but she said that she couldn’t come, told me that she would send you” he rambles “I swear we didn’t break anything! Things were normal but then they were not- I don’t know if it’s us or the house or- some of us feel weird and-”

You blink at him. He blinks back, a bit breathless, looking like he is exactly one minor inconvenience away from melting and sliding between the floorboards under the weight of stress.

“Chan, right?” You let a hand fall on the boy’s shoulder, mostly to calm him, partly to make sure he’s not actually going to faint. His hoodie is soft, his bones feel like they’re vibrating on their own and you swear you can feel the faint hum of the house reverberating through him. 

“Me? Yes! I’m Chris, or Chan or whatever you prefer”

“Take a big breath, you are not crazy… My grandmother sent me to help you understand”

He lets out a breath that’s closer to a wheeze than an actual exhale.

“Thank god, we were feeling like going crazy- things are moving on its own, we are moving-” 

You squeeze his shoulder again “Let’s go inside and start from the beginning yeah?” you say, offering him a soft smile. 

He freezes for a second, blinking back at you as if something inside him just clicked into place in a way that he can’t really comprehend yet. The tension in his posture melts, shoulder dropping from around his ears as if you’ve just lightened a weight he didn’t realize he carried all along. 

“You… yeah. Right, that’s a good idea, please come in” he manages finally, voice suddenly softer, almost shy as he steps back and gestures for you to come in.

As you cross the threshold, the floorboards warm under your feet, buzzing as the air tightens with recognition of your presence. The house missed you. 

Chan notices immediately, his eyes widened “Is it supposed to do that?”

“I’ve lived here for the most part of my life, it gets excited when i come back” you explain gently “but it’s best if I speak to all of you, my grandmother said that you got the house with your friends” 

You rock lightly on the balls of your feet, excited to see the other guys, your mind already picturing two people, maybe three if Destiny was feeling funny. 

“Yeah, let me grab them,” Chan says, rubbing the back of his neck.

You follow him down the hallway and into the living room, freezing on the spot. 

For a heartbeat everything goes very still. You blink. They blink back. You feel Chan, who’s standing on your right shrink a full inch in height, ready to apologise for the evident despair that’s to come. 

The first thing you thought was that Destiny definitely decided to put you on its shit list, because there weren’t two or three pairs of eyes looking back at you, but eight. 

Eight sets of eyes turn toward you from the living room, blinking in a weird but perfect synchronization, like a magical litter of kittens. 

You inhale slowly, already feeling the early warning of a headache spark behind your eyes, thank god you packed Tylenol.

Someone in the back mutters a quiet, “I told you we should’ve cleaned”. 

“So… what you’re saying,” Changbin starts as Chan gently slides another beer towards you like he’s offering the peak of emotional support “is that this house gave us powers?” 

You take a long sip and an even longer sigh of relief, because there was absolutely no universe where you could’ve survived the last round of chaotic introduction without a drink. 

“Kind of,” you answer, “The house just woke up what was already inside of you. Which is a lot apparently.”

“Wait, you can feel our powers? Can you tell us what they are?” Hyunjin asks while looking at his hands like he was expecting glittery fireworks.

You scratch your head between sips “Not yet. The ritual actually has different times for each witch, they awaken differently. I can feel your magic stirring but I can’t read it clearly until it fully surfaces” 

Your gaze drifts back to Chan “But you… you’re already awake. Your magic will show itself soon”

Felix mulls it over, chin in his hands  “I mean… It kind of makes sense. Chan’s basically the parent of the group. He kept us together through these years!” 

You feel the boy go very still beside you, a faint pink climbs up to his ears as he tries to shrug “I’m not… I just try to make sure everyone’s alright” 

The freckled boy just hums, smiling unconvinced, but drops it, letting the room settle into a quiet kind of understanding and excitement. 

You take another sip. “For what it’s worth” you look at each one of them and as you do, you feel it, the threads of your magic stirring softly, brushing against each of them in turn.  “None of you is wrong, fate brought you here, the house doesn’t wake up for just anyone”. 

Something eases in the room, like a big exhale. Chan shifts beside you, you can feel his heat near you and your magic purrs. 

Changbin frowns, thoughtful as his arms cross. “How can you say that?” 

“Does the house speak to you?” squeaks Hyunjin, looking at the wall, almost expecting a mouth to pop up.

You tilt your head, quietly considering for a minute how to explain it without sounding like a complete nutjob, thought at this point where was the line between crazy and normal?

“This place would’ve pushed back, you’d feel it, nightmares, doors won’t open, things would hide from you” you look at them softly “It’s letting you settle into it, adjust until you will be ready” you add quietly. 

What you don’t say is how your magic is stirring comfortably in your chest, threads reaching out and finding purchase in each of them, brushing near like they were always meant to be there. 

Chan looks at you quietly for a second as your gaze is unfocussed while you think. He gently lays a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Thank you for helping us, you explaining this means a lot” 

You blink back, pulled back into the warmth of his hand “Don’t mention it!” you reply a little too quickly, pink dusting your cheeks as you look at each one of the curious guys. “I’m just… I think it was fate” 

Chan’s hand lingers a bit before he lets it fall back to his side as he stands up. “Yeah” he mumbles to himself “I think so too”. 

As you all get up to tidy the empty bottles, Seungmin clears his throat. “So, does fate usually come with instructions and a teacher? Will you stay with us? You will need a room” 

Minho cuts in immediately “I am NOT bunking with Changbin again, that buff gremlin steals all the blankets”

Changbin gasps, affronted. “Yah! Who are you calling gremlin? It happened once during last year! And they migrated on their own, not my fault!” 

“Your snores feel like an earthquake” Seungmin adds fatly. 

“I snore because I’m powerful, I have too much to keep it inside!” 

You can’t help but burst out laughing, your snort slipping out before you can stop it. You glance down the hallway, feeling the house stir “I think the house has already decided for me” 

A soft creak sounds from the place you are looking, making eight heads turn at once. 

“That wasn’t there before” notes Jisung, as he looks at the newly formed door near his and Chan’s room. 

You smile softly “Looks like the house decided where I’m staying”. 

You feel a rhythm settle in the days that follow. 

Mornings start with coffee and someone almost burning something before Minho takes control of the kitchen like a general. Questions are thrown here and there across the table, you answer them in pieces, not to overwhelm them. 

You tell Felix about your ancestors, how they built the house on the leylines during the hunting years to help the magic world not die out, how they opened the lines to common folk once harmony settled, letting the curiosity of the people explore.

And when Jisung asks you what you are you hesitate only for a moment. You tell them about your family, about being a Threadweaver, how your main powers do not strike or blaze, but how threads itself quietly, reinforcing and keeping things from breaking apart. An anchor.

What you don’t say is how you can feel those threads even now, soft but persistent. They brush and hum under your skin, especially when Chan is nearby. How his true magic - despite being still dormant - quietly answers yours without effort, like it recognizes it.

You decide to not say anything of that, partly because his plate is already full and in the short period of time you see that he carries responsibility like it’s second nature for him. You are supposed to guide them and help them not be another weight added to the stack. 

Speaking of Chan, you notice that he listens the hardest. 

He never interrupts. Never rushes your explanations or fills the silences you leave on purpose, like he’s storing the weights of every word you say into his head. Quiet and steady you can feel his magic stir, until the day arrives. 

It happens on a Wednesday, you’re perched on the arm of the couch, half listening to Chan, Jisung and Changbin bounce music ideas between each other, when you see it. 

Jisung says something silly, making Changbin laugh and bump against the coffee table, coffees and energy drinks begin to rattle. Chan’s hand is already outstretching his hands on instinct. 

The table stops rattling and you can see how the mugs and the cans stick to each other tightly, as if someone has woven a thread around them. Everything seems locked in place, held still like Chan denied its movement. 

Your eyes snap to him, feeling his magic immediately, something familiar licks up your spine, you can feel he’s similar to you yet not the same. 

The boy blinks down at his still outstretched hand then at you. “Oh” he says confused “I don’t know what happened- I didn’t mean to-” 

The table releases, resuming its rattling for a brief second before stopping naturally. 

Changbin stares. “Did you just block down the coffee table?” 

“I… I think? I just didn’t want it to spill” Chan pulls his hand back. 

You slide off the couch, heart humming in your chest, and step closer without thinking, threads of your power already leaning towards him like it’s always done this. 

“You…” you say softly, hand brushing his shoulder softly before you can stop it “You binded them together”

Jisung squints at the cans, then at Chan, then at you. “So, he’s like a walking magical duct tape?” 

“That’s the worst description possible” 

“But not inaccurate!” 

Your thumb brushes once against his shoulder for reassurance before you pull your hand back. “I think you’re a binding witch, it tends to respond to need before thought” 

Chan nods slowly as if in deep thoughts, his eyes never left yours. 

“Well” Changbin claps his hands together, getting up in the meantime “I vote we don’t test his new powers on the furniture again, what if he sews the fridge on Jisung’s back?”

“Hey! Why me?!” whines the possible future victim, making the other scrunch up in a laugh. The moment is serene overall, Chan’s doesn’t seem scared or too shocked. 

After a bit the others scatter. Jisung to his room, Changbin to the kitchen for a late night snack, and if you squint your eyes a bit you can see Hyunjin’s brief silhouette down the hallway, looking curiously at the walls. 

You decide to talk to him if he keeps doing that but right now your focus lands on Chan lingering near the window, hands shoved into his hoodie, staring at nothing in particular. 

You hesitate a bit before joining him. “You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, maybe more out of habit than actual answer, then shakes his head a bit. “I think so? I wasn't expecting it to feel like this, it felt warm, like I do it every time” 

“That’s good, the more calm you feel the better you can control them” 

He turns, looking at you with a mix of curiosity, but under all of that you can sense uncertainty of toeing into something new, and new sometimes means scary. 

“Can you… explain it to me? Just a little… Not the scary parts.” Your heart warms at his soft tone, you gesture back to the couch, threads of your magic tugs at your heart “No scary parts today. I promise” 

The house hums softly, the air feels warmer, quieter, as if it’s trying to create a bubble for your moment. You sit on the edge of the couch shifting just enough to make space for him to sit cross-legged in front of you, already ready to listen. 

“You are similar to me in a way” you begin softly, “A binding witch relies a lot on the threads of power to bind stuff together, be people or objects, you can hold them together, by simple threads or rituals that you will learn in time.” 

Chan nods, slow and thoughtful, a crease forms between his brows. You think you know exactly what that look is, what he wants to ask but is scared of the answer. So you decide to beat him to it.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that, you do not control, you’re not forcing people to obey to your bindings” Your gaze drifts a bit, unfocused for just a second.

You often wonder if the threads that bind you to the people, to him, answer because they were always meant to, or because you’re the one tugging at them, forcing them to walk on the path that you think it’s right. 

You get a hold of yourself quickly, hoping that Chan didn’t notice it, but from the way he watches you closely you can see concern flicker across his face, soft but there.

“But you’re not doing that,” you steady your voice. “A Binding witch does not erase free will, the threads don’t attach to human beings if there’s no trust between you.”

“So… I’m not tying people down?” he asks quietly.

“No Chan, you’re not forcing anyone” Your hand moves on its own, settling on his shoulder like it belongs there, you feel him relax, already used to your soft touch in such a short period of time. 

“I think you’re meant to keep this group together. Not by force, but because you are you.” a small smile tugs at your lips “And maybe, if you want to, and learn obviously… You could bind the guys into a coven!” 

Chan looks down at his hands, “That sounds… a lot… a lot lot… But it doesn’t feel wrong” 

You feel his warm palm on the hand in your lap, eyes drift to his “Thank you for everything you’re doing, I know that I’ve said that a lot… But I don’t think I could manage to do all this on my own” he confesses quietly in the night. 

“Don’t worry, that’s why I’m here no?” You reply quickly, squeezing his hand once, warmth settles over you in a gentle hug. “We’ll slowly get there, I promise you” 

He nods and after a moment lets your hand go, fingers lingering just long enough to make you both present of the absence afterward.

You watch him hesitate at the beginning of the hall. 

“What you said before… About forcing people to your will… It looks like you’ve thought about this a lot” he says gently, not an ounce of blame 

You offer him a smile, a bit crooked a bit unsure “Comes with the job” 

He opens his mouth, carefully measuring his words “I know that you are supposed to be our ultimate guide in magic for chaotic people… But know that you can talk to us too- to me if you feel like talking about it, you don’t have to carry it alone…” 

Something warm presses behind your ribs, you can feel your heart speed up a bit, not by magic but simply from his words.

“I’ll keep that in mind” you say quietly “Thank you.” 

His smile comes easily. “Good night (Y/n).”

“Good night Chan” 

He turns and heads down the hall, footsteps soft into the night, leaving you alone before you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

Lying in bed later you stare at the ceiling, letting the events of the day settle into your bones.

And for the first time you feel that maybe guiding them will open something in you too.

After that soft night some things start to definitely change.

For starters Chan’s powers begin to manifest a bit more often. Sometimes voluntarily, like when he tried to bind the boys’ shoelaces in the entrance, so they wouldn’t tangle and stay out of the way. 

That seemed a perfectly good idea, something easy, that he could do without bothering you.

Too bad that it resulted in four pairs of shoes ending up so tightly bound by the laces that they had to be declared a total loss by Seungmin after he broke two pairs of scissors trying to cut them free.

Not to mention the scream that echoed through the house when Jeongin slipped his feet into one of the “safe” pairs only to realize that yes, they were tidily out of the way, but also firmly bound to the pavement. 

Cue to you being woken up by a frantic and slightly red faced Chan, standing in your doorway like a scolded child muttering a quiet “I was just trying to keep the entrance tidy”.

You bite the inside of your cheek, a small laugh slipping out, not mocking, just amused, as you crouch to untangle the threads of magic. 

“Maybe next time we aim for a binding that’s more… temporary, what do you think?” 

And sometimes out of sheer frustration, like right now, as you watch Changbin and Chan wrestle with the kitchen cabinets that sealed themselves shut nearly an hour ago.

“I swear I didn’t try anything!” huffs out Chan, fingers still white around a handle.

“It’s just… someone keeps leaving the doors open and they slams sometimes, I just wanted them to stop” 

You take in the scene with a tilt of your head, eyes tracing the faint shimmer of the threads tangled tightly around the handles. After a moment you gesture gently toward Changbin.

“Binnie can you give us a minute? I think I can help him, and maybe we can turn this into a lesson.” 

Changbin blinks between you, the cabinets and Chan. “So, I’m being banished for educational purposes? Or because you want Chan all to yourself? Greedy witchie” he sighs dramatically before backing away

“Temporarily” you shout back, ignoring the last comment but you can feel hotness spread on your neck and by looking at Chan he isn’t faring much better. “For science” 

You turn to Chan, “Okay, show me what you were feeling when it happened” 

He frowns a bit “Just annoyed at the sound of them slamming shut, I thought if I just… tried to keep them from banging so much they would behave” 

You step closer, enough that your magic naturally drifts, reaching for his. “Binding magic listens very closely to emotion. Frustration makes it hold tighter” You place your hand over his wrist, warm and steady. “You have to release it first”.

Chan closes his eyes, shutting out the world, and breathes deeply, skin tingling from where you are touching, grounding, neither pulling nor pushing with your magic, just there. 

“I just wanted to stop for a second, not to stuck them, just…” he breathes again, frustration slipping away as he searches for the word “...Temporary” he exhales, looking back at you. 

The air shifts and you can feel it, the threads loosening slowly. Chan unclenches his fingers, the pressure around the cabinets eases as the magic responds. 

There is a soft click, one cabinet door swings open, another follows, wood creaking quietly like an apology.

Chan opens his eyes, blinking at the kitchen before blinking back at you, awe leaving space to fondness, he notices that he’s been looking at you like that a lot in the past months.

“Oh, it worked” 

You smile, proud “Oh, it did” you laugh out, punching him softly on the arm “I’m proud of you” 

“I just have a good teacher” he muses back, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

The kitchen settles into a quiet hum, the house seemingly pleased with the moment.

From the hallway, Changbin’s voice rises a bit. “Am I allowed back in, or am I going to get super glued to the ceiling?” 

Chan lets out a soft laugh, the tension leaving his frame completely. “It’s safe,” he calls back. 

As he makes his way towards the door, his hand finds your shoulder, fingers warm and familiar, he pauses just long enough to give it a gentle squeeze.

“I know I keep saying it” he murmurs, softly as if it’s meant only for you “But thank you, again” 

Then he’s gone, leaving alone in the kitchen with Changbin, who is watching you far too closely and amused 

“So… when are you two going to confess to each other?”. 

At the three and a half months mark that you live with them you feel like you developed a pretty good routine.

The boys are still chaotic by nature, meaning that your days are rarely empty and your attention is always split between explanations and making sure that no one gets bound to the furniture again. So far, you think you’re doing a pretty good job, no one’s magic has surfaced as clearly as Chan’s, though you can feel it building under the surface. 

Then Felix decides to scare shitless everyone by making a sack of flour sail clean across the kitchen and smack into Changbin with his mind. Not his innate powers you tell him, just the regular set that is awakening too. 

Another thing also happened, but for the moment you refuse to talk about it, is how your threads have started to behave differently, more aware of the surroundings. You have noticed how they behave with three people:

With Jisung, your magic hums during late evening conversations, especially when he’s anxious and his thoughts start running faster than his mouth, like it’s trying to keep up, to soothe him. With Felix, you feel the threads gently pull in your chest when he laughs while you’re together, like they want to lean closer every time.

And then there is Chan, with him the line is no longer just thin, it’s blurred, smudging further and further every day you spend together, every late night talk, every moment where your magic coil around each others before you even think to stop it. 

You think that’s the part that unsettles you the most. Because even after you told Chan that his binding magic cannot force people against their will, your traitorous and hypocritical mind whispers that maybe your threads are doing exactly that.

You tell yourself that it’s normal, that proximity does this, sharing space and magic, threads are meant to connect, after all. 

You weren’t oblivious, you knew that you had feelings for Chan and probably he for you, though nothing happened until one of the calmest nights. It was one of those late nights where you find Chan still in the living room, laptop open and headphones hanging loose around his neck.

You pass next to him, dropping one of the two blankets in your hand on his shoulders, together with a beer. 

“Still working?” you ask quietly before settling next to him, you can feel his warmth as your folded legs touch his. He hums, softly clinking his bottle against yours.

“Yeah, but maybe I’m due a break” 

“What are you working on?” you peek curiously at the screen.

He hesitates a bit, then shrugs “Just a track. Nothing special”

You lean in slightly, elbowing him jokingly. “You always say that, and we both know it’s not true” 

“I have to say that” he huffs out a laugh “Otherwise it feels… heavy, like I’m letting someone down if I mess it up” 

You tilt your head to look him in the eye, only to notice that he’s already watching you. “Is that how it’s always been? With the boys?” 

He tells you then, about university. About how he started to make music with Jisung and Changbin, about how the others slowly gathered around them, all ending up orbiting each other even though they had different majors and different lives. Somehow they’d all find each other late at night to share the same cheap dinners or crash on shared couches because no one wanted to be alone yet. 

He murmurs quietly how some of them didn’t like going back home and some didn’t really have one at all.

“So we just… stuck, we graduated, we waited for each other and once we were all set we kinda stayed together”.

At some point halfway into the story, you drift closer and closer until you’re properly curled into him, his arm warm and steady around you, fingers threading through your hair in a mindless pattern.

“But navigating the world with seven boys was hard,” he continues softly. “I think someone had to get up and have all the answers. Or at least try.” 

“And you took that role” you help gently.

“Someone had to.” 

You shift, just enough to look at him properly, really look at him and you see the way he carries everyone silently and oh so strong and reliable. 

“You’re allowed to be held too, you know?” you say quietly, making his fingers still in your hair.

His eyes lock on yours, something vulnerable flickers there, and the space between you shifts subtly. This time you move first, lifting a hand to cup his face, thumb brushing his cheek without thinking.

You see him inch closer, gaze flicking to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like he’s checking with you if it’s okay, and you don’t pull away.

You can feel his breath ghosts over your lips- 

“Hyung?” 

The voice comes from the hallway, sleepy and confused. Jeongin or Seungmin, you’re not even sure, you can see just a soft silhouette hovering at the edge of the moment. 

Chan freezes and you both pull back like you’ve been caught doing something far more dangerous than almost kissing.

“Sorry” it’s Jeongin, oblivious “I thought I heard something.” 

“No yeah-” Chan answers quickly, his hand drops from your hair far too fast and you already begin to miss the contact. “We were just talking”

“Oh. Okay, sorry to have bothered you” comes the reply, already retreating down the hall. 

Silence settles back into the room, a bit heavier than before. 

“Timing, huh?” you laugh quietly, a little breathless, cheeks warm. 

“Yeah. Timing.” huffs out Chan, before getting up, his hand finds your cheek, thumb gently swiping over there once before he mutters a breathy “Goodnight” leaving you alone on the couch, the lingering feeling of his breath on your lips. 

Your chaotic but peaceful coexistence starts to waver at the beginning of the fourth month. It's not drastic, nothing breaks, nothing explodes, but you can feel the pressure. Some of the boys get restless, Jisung gets more snappy, Seungmin’s joking words land a little too close to old nerves. Minho huffs out more often, irritation kicking in over things that would’ve barely registered weeks ago, doors are closed harder and sometimes silence stretches a bit longer to be considered still comfortable.

And then there’s the thing you’re all not talking about.

The space between you and Chan shifts, unsettled, not distant at all, just… suspended. Glances between you two are a heartbeat too long before you both pull away, fingers linger a bit too much when you pass each other something. Whatever almost happened that night sits between you like some sort of unfinished business, and in the current state of the house and the boys, neither of you seems willing to poke at it. 

You tell yourself there will be time later, when things calms down, but they don’t, they actually worsen.

They are small disagreements, the kind that often get forgiven quickly and easily, apologies are muttered, hugs are given out with laughs stitched on top like a last minute gift. But you can see how they still linger, swept just beneath the rug, resolved for now but not entirely forgotten.

You feel yourself inching closer nonetheless, not too much, because yes, you live with them and a cozy sense of comfort has settled in, but still there is a part of you that feels like you’re imposing, like you are hovering too much at the threshold of the tight bond between them.

Your powers seem to not care about this thought, tugging with more insistence whenever voices rise, but you keep them at bay, you do not intervene, not yet. 

Instead, you decide to offer peace where you can. A wordless cuddle session with Felix when you hear that his laugh thins into exhaustion. Late night tea with Seungmin after a particularly sharp disagreement with Jeongin, where he stares into his mug and talks around the problem. 

You also watch Chan a lot, knowing that he can feel the tension as well. You can tell by the way his shoulders stay tense even during those peaceful half truces thrown around the day. He looks, gaze flicking between loud and silent moments like he’s looking for a way to mend everything before the cracks break. 

It all comes crashing down after one late dinner. 

Everyone’s tired, plates are half eaten, someone forgot to buy groceries again, someone else points out that it was Changbin turn this week.

The latter laugh it off at first, loud and careless, the sound of it bounces too sharply. “My bad, had to work on a new track, we are a bit swamped right now”. Half laughs are thrown around, Seungmin doesn’t.

“You always do that,” he says, voice too calm. “You try to talk over the problem like you can sweep it away”.

Hyunjin forks clatter on the plate and it’s the only sound that echoes in the heavy silence of the room. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Changbin scoffs, but there’s no humour in it now.

“It means that sometimes it’s good to just shut up and say sorry instead of covering it in noise” comes swiftly the reply. 

Chan’s body goes rigid beside you, his shoulders lock, his hands lift instinctively, palms open in search of peace.

“Hey” he says quickly, voice warm but a bit strained “Let’s not do this, we’re all tired, let’s just-” 

Changbin cuts him off, a bit louder than he means to, you can feel the frustration bleeding straight through his words. “Oh please. Maybe some of us are not emotionally constipated and like to bottle everything up, turning it into a silent grudge” 

The words hit like a dropped plate, something cracks, the light flickers and you can feel your threads pull taut, but it’s not that that scares you. It’s Chan. 

You feel his magic surge like a reflex, binding threads snapping out in every direction, frantic and overwhelmed like their master. Your body goes unnaturally still and from the looks on the others faces you get that they got boud as well. 

“Chan-” you gasp, your own powers lashing out in response and for the first time it’s not to guide but to protect you from him. Threads coil instinctively around your ribs, tight and defensive, a barrier drawn between you and him to help your mind catch up, this realization sits heavy in your guts. 

Chan’s eyes snap to you, colour drains from his face as he looks at you in horror. “I didn’t- I swear I didn’t mean to-” 

“I know” you say quickly, you think too quickly, because you can hear your own fear sharpen your voice even though you’re putting in your best effort to stay calm for everyone’s sake. “Chan listen to me, you are binding everything, you have to let go, you need to stop” 

“I don’t know how” he whispers, hands trembling. “I just wanted to keep everyone from fighting” The bindings tighten for a second, someone gasps, your breath is knocked out of your lungs like the room itself was clenched tight.

“I know… I know” you coo at him, trying to get him to relax “Take big breaths, you don’t have to free them all at once” you reassure him, slowly breathing, gesturing him with your eyes to mimic you. “Just follow me.” 

Thankfully he does, his breath stutters for a bit, then steadies. With each exhale a thread loosens and one by one, the magic peels back, freeing the boys. Some of them stay standing, others grab onto chairs, wide-eyed and visibly shaken and for the first time since you arrived, there’s no joke, no deflection to soften the moment. They looked scared.

“Everyone out” you say, voice steady by your will alone and no one questions it, they all file out quietly, casting glances back at Chan, at you. 

Chan’s knees buckle and you’re there before he hits the floor, hands gripping his arms, your magic flares as it wraps around him, just holding and soothing. For a split second, your control wavers too, still shaken up, fear answering fear, as your threads tighten around both of you. 

You catch it quickly, barely reeling it in. 

“Hey” you whisper, forehead pressing to his shoulder. “You’re okay, no one got hurt, I’ve got you” 

He shakes in your hold, breath uneven, the aftershock of too much power at once still buzzing inside of him. “I didn’t mean to” 

“I know” you say again “That’s why you are so scared” you gently guide him up, hands still steady on his torso.

“Come, the kitchen floor is hardly a place to break down” you try to lighten the mood as you guide him toward your room, doors opening without a sound like they understand the need for privacy. 

As soon as the door of your room closes behind you, the tension you’ve been holding finally cracks. 

Your hands start to tremble. Chan notices immediately, of course he does, “Hey” he says hoarsely, reaching for you like it’s second nature but stopping himself halfway like he’s afraid to touch. “You’re shaking.” 

“So are you,” you reply, forcing a small breath out, almost a laugh but not quite one. “Looks like neither of us handled that well.” 

He exhales, long and shaky “I thought I was doing good you know? Everything was under control… For a bit” He lets himself fall on the bed, sitting down with his elbow on his knees, he racks his fingers through his hair once. 

You step closer without thinking, his legs part instinctively, making space for you, and you slip between them. Your fingers take over where his left off, gently scratching his scalp, slow and grounding.

“You stopped it, that is the only thing that matters” 

“But I scared them,” his voice cracks a bit “I scared you, saw it on your face, I even felt it when the air tightened.”

He bows forward, forehead pressing into your stomach, like he can’t bring himself to look at you for the shame.

You thread your fingers more firmly through his hair, anchoring him. “I think you scared yourself more,” you say softly, searching for the correct words. “No one has full control of their magic, not really. But that doesn’t make you dangerous, Chan” 

His breath shudders against you, you feel the warmth through the fabric of your shirt. Then slowly, like he’s testing whether he’s allowed, his hands come up to rest at your hips, not pressing, just there. 

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispers.

“I know” you reply immediately. “That’s why you lost it for a moment. Binding magic answers need, but feeling fear makes it panic” 

He goes quiet at that, like he’s measuring your words as they sink in. After a moment, he tilts his head just enough to glance up at you. His eyes are dark, open, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache a bit. 

“Earlier,” he says, hesitant. “Before everything was a mess. Did… Did I misread that?”. Your hands stills in his hair for half a second, not pulling away, never pulling away, before sliding down to his cheeks. 

“No” you admit quietly into the air “You didn’t” 

Something shifts then. He straightens a little, one of his hands slides from your hip to your wrist. His gaze flicks to your mouth and back, a silent question that he doesn’t want to voice. 

You answer by leaning in. 

Your forehead brushes his, noses almost touching as you tilt slightly your head, giving him every chance to pull away. He doesn’t.

The kiss is gentle, a bit uncertain at first, like both of you are checking with each other, but it deepens after a moment. The hand on your wrist tightens a bit, along with the one on your waist, anchoring himself, before pulling you gently so you are resting across his lap.

Your magic hums, low and content, threads coiling around the both of you, finally satisfied with your actions.

You part only because you have to breathe. 

“Okay” his voice is rough, forehead pressed to yours as he breathes you in. “So it wasn’t just me.” 

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb under his eye.

“No, it definitely wasn’t”.

He smiles at that, a little shy, a little relieved and you shift closer, settling into him. With one arm around your shoulders and the other threading a hand through your hair, he tugs you gently until you both fall flat on the bed with your head resting against his chest. You sigh, letting the warm and steady heartbeat soothe you. 

Sleep comes slowly as tangled threads of magic and quiet breaths weave you both into the same calm rhythm. 

The first light of morning slips through the curtains, warm and soft. You stir at the feeling of the rays on your face, still curled against Chan, his arm draped protectively over you. For a few blissful moments everything feels quiet and peaceful. 

You tilt your head toward him, brushing your lips lightly against his. His arms tighten around you as he shifts closer, eyes still half closed, returning the small kiss with equal tenderness. 

“Mmhh, goodmorning” he rumbled softly, fingers tracing shapes on your back. 

“I think it’s still a bit early you know” you whisper back, afraid to burst the quiet bubble around you. 

Chan hums again before leaning in again–Thunk!

You both jump, heart jumping up to your throat, as a familiar weight suddenly lands on the bed. You are then face to face with a terrified and confused Jisung.

“JISUNG!” you shriek, flailing and knocking into Chan, who groans but holds you both in a tangled heap of limbs so you don’t fall from the bed.

“Sorry! Sorry! I just- I was thinking about yesterday and about you and got here!” shrieks back Jisung but before you can say anything back he vanishes in thin air, you hear Felix screams in the bathroom not long after. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Chan chuckles quietly, still tangled with you despite the sudden interruption. “Looks like someone else awakened uh”

You lean your head into his chest, looking at him softly. “Together?” 

He gently takes one of your hands, lips brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Together.”

[crisalidea]

Stray Kids fic

Hello my darlings, Nene here! My brain finally decided to work, I've been working on the first instalment of the witch series! I can confirm it will start with Bang Chan!

I have put all the points down, now what remains is flesh them out into something nice ( i hope so)

What i kinda wanted to ask is: should I make it a poly relationship with only one reader? Or should I give a singular partner to each one of them? What would you prefer?

Also I've been dying to chat a bit while i work so hit me up!

Love you all

Stray kids witch AU

Poly!OT8 x reader

A reader x each character

Voting ended onDec 21, 2025

[crisalidea]

Hehe the people have spoken! Going to the path of the poly!

Also I know that I'm working on this witch saga but I kinda got some ideas for other fics (which i'm putting down ideas on my notes ahaha).

Anyway! If all goes good, meaning that no one in my family bothers me for a day or two, the first fic should be ready in 3 days! Maybe it is a Christmas gift?

Love you all - Nene

[crisalidea]

Stray Kids fic

Hello my darlings, Nene here! My brain finally decided to work, I've been working on the first instalment of the witch series! I can confirm it will start with Bang Chan!

I have put all the points down, now what remains is flesh them out into something nice ( i hope so)

What i kinda wanted to ask is: should I make it a poly relationship with only one reader? Or should I give a singular partner to each one of them? What would you prefer?

Also I've been dying to chat a bit while i work so hit me up!

Love you all

Stray kids witch AU

Poly!OT8 x reader

A reader x each character

Voting ended onDec 21, 2025

[fuckyeahkimseungmin]

x

[wanderedastray-beenlost]

현진:: SKZ VLOG “HYUN.E’S HOLIDAY” 12.