in which your friend felix introduces you to his friend group. you immediately know you're not going to get along with their leader. he's arrogant, controlling and becoming your number one enemy. but neither of you can deny the deep-rooted desire for each other.
mdni!
warnings: heavy sexual themes, enemies, fem reader, jerking off, mentions of porn, name calling (bitch/whore/slut), a little sprinkle of degradation, deep throating (choking on his cock), use of toys (vibrator), oral, fingering, marks (hickeys/bites), bondage, safe words, spanking, unprotected sex, breeding (let me know if i forgot anything), mentions of food
wc: 9.6k
based on this drabble
felix should have warned you before introducing you to his group. instead, he had only grinned the entire drive over, one hand lazily drumming against the steering wheel while saying things like “just don’t let chan scare you off.” as if that could have prepared you for what would happen.
but you understood the second you walked in. the room shifted around him. conversations paused when he spoke. people looked at him before making decisions. even sitting back against the couch with one arm slung over the backrest, chan carried himself like he owned the place and everyone inside it.
and apparently, everyone let him.
your first impression of him settled quickly: arrogant. controlling. the kind of man who expected obedience simply because he existed.
his first impression of you formed just as fast. too observant.
he noticed the way your eyes tracked everything, the way you watched interactions instead of trying to force yourself into them. most people met him and got nervous. eager to please. careful with their words.
you didn’t. worse, you looked at him like something didn't sit right.
felix introduced you with an easy grin, entirely unaware of the tension that sparked the moment chan’s gaze landed on you.
chan leaned back slightly, eyes dragging over you once before he gave a curt nod. “heard a lot about you.” you smiled politely but your tone sounded anything but. “ditto.”
a few people in the room choked on their drinks. felix looked between the two of you like he’d just realised he accidentally lit a match near gasoline.
chan's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. and that was the beginning of it.
after that, it became a pattern, predictable in the most irritating way possible. every time you showed up, chan noticed immediately.
it didn’t matter if he was mid-conversation, or across the room pretending not to pay attention, the second you walked in, his focus shifted. like some invisible thread pulled tight between you.
you noticed it too. the way his eyes found you first. always. and somehow, every single interaction between the two of you turned into a fight.
“we’re ordering from rossi’s,” chan announced one night from the kitchen, barely glancing up from his phone. “rossi’s is awful,” you said immediately.
a silence fell over the room. han muttered, “oh, here we go.” chan looked up slowly. “awful?”
“their pasta tastes microwaved.”
“it’s italian. one of the only italian places around here."
“that doesn’t automatically make it good.”
he stared at you for a second too long before scoffing softly. “you always this difficult?”
you leaned against the counter. “you always this bossy?”
his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
that should’ve warned you. because after that, he started seeking you out. deliberately.
if you sat somewhere, suddenly chan needed that exact spot. if you disagreed with something, he’d argue just to keep you talking longer. if someone else interrupted your banter, he looked annoyed by it.
and the worst part? you kept engaging. every single time.
“move,” he told you one evening when you stole his usual seat on the couch. you looked up from your drink. “there are six other places to sit.”
“that’s my spot.”
you scoffed, “sounds made up.” the room went quiet again. felix was already grinning into his drink.
chan stepped closer, towering over the couch while you refused to move even an inch. “you enjoy testing me.”
“you enjoy acting like a fucking dictator.”
“someone has to keep order around here.”
you snorted. “order? how dramatic."
his eyes narrowed. yours sparkled with amusement.
and there it was again, that awful little pull between irritation and entertainment that neither of you seemed capable of escaping.
because no matter how much chan acted annoyed by you, he kept looking for reasons to provoke you. he’d throw comments your way from across the room just to watch you snap back.
he learned exactly what got reactions out of you. the fastest way to make you glare. the quickest way to make you roll your eyes. the comments that made your lips twitch because you were trying not to laugh.
and god, he loved when you laughed. especially if it was usually at his expense.
“you know,” you said one night after he interrupted somebody for the fifth time, “normal people let others finish speaking.”
“normal people have useful things to say.”
you groaned in annoyance, “see? this is exactly why i can’t stand you.”
“funny." he drawled, eyes fixed on you over the rim of his drink, “why do you keep talking to me then?"
your stomach flipped annoyingly hard at that. because he was right. you looked away before anyone noticed the heat crawling into your face.
but later that night, while everyone else talked around him, you caught chan watching you from the other side of the room, completely focused, making it feel far more dangerous than the arguing ever had.
chan realised something was wrong the first time you followed him without actually being there.
he was at the studio, headphones hanging around his neck while he stared blankly at the unfinished track glowing on the monitor in front of him. one hand tapped impatiently against the desk. the bass loop repeated. and repeated. and repeated.
all because his brain kept replaying something stupid you’d said three nights ago. “you always act like you’re in charge even when nobody asked you to be.”
he could still hear the smugness in your voice. could still picture the look on your face when you’d said it.
“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, dragging both hands over his face. it was ridiculous. you were ridiculous. annoying. argumentative. impossible.
so why the hell was he thinking about you while trying to work? even worse, why did the thought of you make his chest tighten strangely?
he shoved the feeling away immediately. hatred. obviously. that had to be what this was.
except hatred usually didn’t make his pulse jump every time his phone lit up with a message in the group chat, secretly hoping it was you.
hatred shouldn't make his cock hard. and it definitely shouldn't make his thoughts slip to you when he was jerking off.
hatred shouldn’t have made him notice your absence the second he walked into felix’s apartment friday night.
he asked about you before he could stop himself. felix looked up so fast it was almost suspicious. “damn,” he said slowly. “you didn’t even say hi first.”
chan frowned immediately. “i was just asking.” felix smirked at that, “sure you were.”
he ignored the grin spreading across felix’s face and scanned the room again anyway. you weren’t there. and suddenly, the night felt off. quieter, less entertaining. he hated that most of all.
and once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. every room he entered, his eyes searched for you automatically. every conversation felt slightly duller when you weren’t interrupting him halfway through it. every joke landed flatter when it wasn’t making you roll your eyes.
it got worse after that. at the gym, he caught himself thinking about the way you looked at him whenever you argued, so... unimpressed. like you enjoyed challenging him just as much as he enjoyed provoking you.
this was the first time he felt the pressing need to jerk off. to the thought of you.
he rushed home from the gym, cock already half-hard in his pants. had been for the past hour. even an ice-cold shower did nothing.
he dropped his gym back to the floor, making his way to his room immediately, dropping onto his bed. he ran his hands over his face, grabbing his hair.
"fuck you." he said into the empty room before grabbing his hard on through his shorts, squeezing it.
he didn't want to do it, jerking off to you. his pride, his ego, screamed at him to stop. to not do this with you on his mind. he grabbed his phone, unlocking it with one hand while his other slipped into his pants.
porn should do it. watching any other chick, hearing her moans instead of your fucking laugh in his mind. porn used to be his remedy when his mind wouldn't shut up about you. but right now it did nothing. he only saw you. only heard you.
he groaned in frustration, closing the tab on his phone, forcing his hand to stop working his cock. it twitched desperately in his fist, demanding more.
he wanted to text you. to tell you to stop invading his thoughts. tell you how much he hated you. for being so fucking mouthy. for making it impossible for him to jerk off properly. to demand you to do something about it. but he knew you'd only mock him for it.
his thumb moved on its own as it opened his photo gallery. he didn't notice what he was searching for until he found pictures of the last time you hung out with the group.
he loved the shirt you were wearing back then. loved how it made your tits look. fuck. suddenly he was thinking about your tits, wondering what they'd feel like in his hands. he imagined you arching your back, leaning into the touch as he grabbed them, squeezed them, pinched your nipples until you were whimpering.
his hand started moving on his cock again without him realising. his mind was too far gone. he thought about swirling his tongue around your nipples, sucking on them, wondering what your moans would sound like.
but he didn't only want to suck your nipples. he wanted to suck the soft flesh surrounding them. sucking, biting until it left a mark. right on your precious tit. he'd cover you in them, leaving marks all over you. fuck, you'd look so beautiful when he was done with you.
he noticed his fist jerking his cock only when he groaned involuntarily, his eyes fixated on the screen, on the picture of you. he wanted you. needed you. so bad it made his balls tighten.
he felt his orgasm approaching. fuck no, he couldn't cum to the thought of you. no matter how many times he thought of you while jerking off, he always managed to distract himself enough, think of anything but you when he found his release.
but right now he couldn't stop. couldn't stop imagining leaving his marks on you. he wanted to spank you until your butt cheeks were all red and covered in his handprints. finally making you realise who was in fucking charge.
the thought of you surrendering to him, to having his way with you, finally made him come undone. he gave his cock a few more strokes, tearing his gaze away from his phone, head thrown back against the pillow. and he blew his fucking load to the thought of you, whispering your name into the dark room.
after that, chan started gravitating towards you unconsciously. if you were in the kitchen, suddenly he needed a drink. if you were outside, he somehow ended up outside too. if you sat on the couch, he’d lean against the wall closest to you without even realising it. and then there was the hugging thing.
god, he hated the hugging thing. you hugged everyone. felix. the other members. friends arriving. friends leaving. everyone except him.
the first time he noticed it, irritation flared so fast it startled him. the second time, it became impossible not to watch.
you’d grin at somebody, arms wrapping around them casually while chan stood nearby pretending not to care. pretending not to notice. pretending he didn’t immediately wonder what it would feel like if you touched him like that. if your tits pressed against him. your scent surrounding him.
it got even worse when someone else made you laugh. especially men.
one night, seungmin had you nearly doubled over at the kitchen counter, laughing so hard you grabbed his arm for balance.
chan felt something ugly twist in his chest. before he even realised what he was doing, he crossed the room. “what’s so funny?” he asked flatly.
your laughter faded slightly as you looked up at him.“nothing you’d enjoy.”
“try me.”
"you don’t have a sense of humor.”
seungmin laughed awkwardly before quickly excusing himself the second chan looked at him.
coward.
you narrowed your eyes immediately. “did you just scare him off?”
“if he got scared that easily, that’s his problem.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“then stop talking to me.” he said quietly, stepping closer.
the words settled heavily between you. your expression flickered for half a second. and christ, that was another problem entirely.
because lately, every time you looked at him, he forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be hatred at all.
a few days later, a heavy summer storm hit the city. and it had gotten bad fast.
rain hammered against the streets hard enough to blur the city lights, thunder rumbling low and heavy overhead while you hurried towards the studio building with your jacket pulled uselessly over your head. you and felix had made plans to go out for dinner after the studio tonight.
by the time security let you upstairs after recognising you as “one of felix’s people,” you were completely soaked. your shoes squeaked against the floor as you pushed open the studio door with an exhausted sigh already forming, only for it to die immediately when you saw who was inside.
chan sat alone in the swivel chair in front of the mixing desk, one arm resting against the armrest while music played quietly through the speakers.
of course. you sighed dramatically. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
he glanced over his shoulder lazily. “nice to see you too.”
“where’s felix?”
“not here, obviously.”
you rolled your eyes, already pulling your phone out.“helpful as always.”
“i try.” but when chan turned fully in the chair, whatever sarcastic response he’d been about to make stopped short.
his eyes dragged over you slowly. rainwater clung to your clothes, your shirt damp enough to stick to your skin, droplets still sliding down your neck and disappearing beneath the fabric. his dick twitched. for once, chan looked genuinely speechless.
your stomach flipped annoyingly at the expression on his face. “take a picture,” you muttered.
his jaw tightened immediately, like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. before he could answer, your phone buzzed.
felix: « storm’s too bad. roads are fucked. can’t make it tonight sorry 😭»
you stared at the message in disbelief. “you’re joking.”
“what?”
“felix bailed.”
chan snorted softly. “smartest thing he’s done all week.”
and then the power cut out. the room dropped into darkness instantly. you jumped hard enough to knock your knee against the couch beside you. “shit—”
a laugh echoed through the dark. “you scared of a little darkness?”
“absolutely not.”
“you literally jumped just now.”
a flashlight flicked on a second later, illuminating the room dimly from below as chan leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too entertained by your suffering. the lighting made him look unfairly attractive. which only irritated you further.
“what, no candles around?” you asked dryly. “could make this whole thing a little cosier.”
his brows lifted. “this is a fucking studio.”
“and?”
“not exactly a place that calls for romance.”
you snorted. “pity. you probably bang a lot of chicks here considering you’re basically married to the studio. could’ve at least provided them with ambiance.”
chan barked out a laugh at that. an actual laugh. "trust me,” he said, eyes glinting in the flashlight glow, “i don’t need romance for that.”
“oh, i’m sure your personality alone does all the heavy lifting.”
“you saying i’m charming?”
“i’m saying you’re bossy. probably sucking up to people if you want something.”
he shook his head slowly, still staring at you in that intense way that always made your heartbeat feel uneven.
outside, thunder cracked loudly enough to rattle the windows. you crossed your arms instinctively, suppressing a shiver.
unfortunately, chan noticed immediately. his eyes narrowed slightly as another tremor ran through you. “you’re freezing.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re shaking.”
“wow,” you deadpanned, “your observational skills are incredible.”
he rolled his eyes before reaching behind him blindly, grabbing a black sweater from the couch and tossing it towards you.
it hit your chest. you looked down at it suspiciously. then back at him. “…you own sweaters? wow. didn't expect that with you always running around in your stupid tank tops." you loved the stupid tank tops.
“hilarious.”
you held the sweater between two fingers. “this thing probably reeks of ego.”
“put the fucking hoodie on.”
you snorted softly, still not moving. “i think i’d rather suffer.”
“christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “stop being so fucking stubborn.”
“make me.” the words slipped out too naturally. too easily. and the second they did, the room changed.
chan went still. the flashlight from his phone cast shadows across his face as his eyes locked onto yours with dangerous intensity.
your pulse skipped. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. slowly. oh, he knew exactly how to make you less stubborn.
“careful,” he said quietly. your breath caught despite yourself.
but instead of backing down, you tilted your head slightly. “or what?”
his eyes darkened slightly at that. the storm outside seemed louder suddenly, rain hammering against the windows while the studio sat in near darkness around you.
chan leaned back slowly in the chair, one hand still holding his phone loosely against his thigh. “you really don’t know when to stop talking.”
you clutched the sweater against your chest. “you say that like you aren’t the one constantly starting arguments with me.”
“because you make it easy.”
“or maybe you’re obsessed with hearing yourself speak.”
he laughed quietly under his breath. “see?” he murmured. “there it is.”
“what?”
“that mouth.”
heat crept annoyingly up your neck. you tried to ignore it. “you mean the one that hurts your feelings every other day?” you said sweetly.
“please.” his gaze dragged over you again, slow enough to make your stomach tighten. “if anything, i think you enjoy getting my attention.”
you scoffed immediately. “you’re unbelievable.”
“you came here soaked out of your mind during a storm.”
“to see felix.”
“sure.”
“god, your ego is exhausting.”
“and yet you ended up alone with me.”
the words landed heavier than they should have. you hated that your heartbeat reacted instantly. and chan noticed, your flushed face making him way more aroused than it should.
his eyes narrowed slightly, like he was studying every tiny shift in your expression.
“you know what your problem is?” you said, mostly to regain control of the conversation.
“enlighten me.”
“you think everybody wants you.”
one corner of his mouth pulled upward. “you saying you don’t?”
your breath caught for half a second. just enough. his expression changed immediately the moment he noticed. to satisfaction? or interest? something far more dangerous underneath both.
“wow,” he said softly. “that almost sounded convincing.” you glared at him. “you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re nervous.”
“i’m cold.”
“right.” his voice dipped lower on the word. you hated the way it affected you. hated the way the flashlight glow caught against his jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on you like he was trying to peel apart every reaction you had.
outside, thunder cracked again. you instinctively stepped closer to him. not close enough to touch. but close enough for him to notice.
a mistake. because chan's gaze dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face.
“put the fucking sweater on,” he said quietly this time. “why? worried about me?”
his eyes held yours. “more than i should be.”
the room went painfully still after that. your pulse stumbled hard enough to make you angry.
you ended up leaving the studio an hour later once the rain calmed enough to be manageable again. not before chan practically shoved the sweater at you a second time after catching you trying to hand it back. “put it the fuck on,” he said flatly.
“wow. so caring.”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
you rolled your eyes, but you still wore it out into the storm. and annoyingly enough, by the time you got home, you realised it smelled exactly like him.
cedar wood and clean laundry. you hated that.
hated it even more when you caught yourself pulling the sleeves over your hands and burying your face into the fabric for half a second while kicking your shoes off near the door.
“oh, this is bad,” you muttered to yourself immediately. because now your apartment smelled faintly like chan too.
meanwhile, back at the studio, chan sat alone in the chair staring at his phone like it had personally offended him. the power had returned twenty minutes ago. music played softly through the speakers again. but he hadn’t gotten any work done since you left.
his mind kept replaying the way you looked wearing his sweater. sleeves hanging past your hands.
your hair still slightly damp from the rain.
fuck.
he scrubbed a hand over his face aggressively. this was getting ridiculous. you were annoying. stubborn. mouthy. constantly arguing with him.
he did not fucking care whether you got home safe. so why was he still staring at your contact like a man possessed? his thumb hovered over the keyboard. stopped. started again. stopped.
don’t text her. seriously. don’t. you’d never let him live it down.
he tossed the phone onto the desk. picked it back up thirty seconds later. “for fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
before he could overthink it again, his fingers moved.
chan: « got home okay? »
he stared at the message the second it sent, immediate regret settling in. what the hell was wrong with him? his phone buzzed less than a minute later. and despite himself, his heart kicked hard against his ribs.
« no actually. died halfway there. »
his mouth twitched instantly. god. there it was again. that stupid rush every time you answered him.
« tragic. hope my hoodie survived though. »
you snorted softly to yourself while curling further into your couch.
« barely. still reeks of your fucking ego. »
he leaned back in the chair, smiling before he could stop himself, like an idiot.
« you still wearing it? »
your eyes narrowed at the message.
« why? you miss it? »
three dots appeared almost immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you stared at your screen way too intently.
« maybe i just don’t trust you with my clothes. »
heat crept into your face annoyingly fast.
« relax. i’m not trying to steal your precious hoodie. »
« already did. »
your stomach flipped. you hated how much you liked this version of him. because somehow, over text, the banter felt even more entertaining. like all his attention narrowed directly onto you. you bit your lip before typing back.
« you this annoying with everyone or am i special? »
this time, his reply took longer. far longer. chan stared at the message for a while, jaw tightening slightly because the answer came too easily.
you’re the only person who talks back.
you’re the only one i think about this much.
you’re the only one who gets under my skin.
instead, he typed:
« don’t let it get to your head. »
a couple days later, you found yourself back at the studio again. mostly because felix had begged you to bring him lunch after claiming he was “seconds away from starving to death.” dramatic.
you sat cross-legged on the couch while felix inhaled noodles beside you, rambling about some artist they'd been working with while music played quietly through the speakers.
you were halfway through making fun of him for nearly setting the break room microwave on fire earlier when the studio door opened.
and immediately, your attention shifted. chan walked in wearing all black, headphones hanging around his neck, one hand pushing through his hair tiredly before his eyes landed on you.
his expression barely changed. but his heartbeat did. fast enough to irritate him instantly. because there you were again, sitting comfortably in his space like you belonged there now. laughing, talking, wearing that exact expression that always made him want to argue with you just to keep your attention on him longer.
“look who decided to show up,” you said casually.
“look who keeps invading my studio.”
felix looked between the two of you with immediate interest.
chan dropped into the chair across from you before his eyes narrowed slightly. “did you bring my hoodie?” you blinked innocently. “no.” his brows lifted. “no?”
“that’s what i said.”
“you keeping it now?”
you snorted softly. “maybe i like it.”
his gaze flickered over you slowly. "should i be worried?”
“depends,” you said lightly. “you emotionally attached to it?”
“not usually.”
felix looked absolutely delighted. “jesus christ,” he whispered to himself.
you ignored him. mostly because chan was still staring at you with that infuriatingly focused expression that made you feel overly aware of yourself.
“i can go get it right now if you’re gonna be dramatic about it,” you said.
the smart response would’ve been no. he knew that. he should’ve said: don’t bother. it’s just a hoodie. bring it whenever.
instead, his mouth betrayed him. “go ahead.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing in disbelief. “you are such a fucking pain in the ass.”
“you took my hoodie.”
“you told me to wear it!"
“didn’t say permanently.”
you narrowed your eyes at him while felix openly watched the exchange like live entertainment. “see?” you muttered. “this is exactly what i mean. you always need things your way.”
“and you always pretend you don’t like giving me a hard time.”
“i could think of a million things i'd rather do.”
“sure.” god, that smug look on his face made you want to throw something at him.
instead, you leaned back against the couch dramatically. “well, too bad. i’m not going home right now just because you snapped your fingers.”
his jaw twitched slightly. “fine,” he said after a second. “i’ll pick it up tonight after the studio.”
your heart stumbled instantly, hard enough to genuinely piss you off. because suddenly all you could think about was chan standing inside your apartment. wearing that look, talking to you in that low voice, being alone with you again.
you forced yourself to stay casual. “fine.” but the word came out thinner than you intended.
his eyes stayed on you for one extra second too long before the corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly, satisfied. like he’d already figured out exactly what that idea did to you too.
a little after eight, your phone buzzed. you stared at the notification longer than necessary.
« address. »
your thumbs hovered over the keyboard while your heartbeat steadily picked up speed. this was a bad idea. letting chan into your apartment, alone, at night, after whatever the hell had been happening between you lately, felt objectively stupid.
his hoodie sat freshly washed and perfectly folded on your desk like evidence of a problem you refused to acknowledge. you should’ve just brought it to the studio earlier.
after another minute of overthinking, you sent him your address anyway. the three dots appeared almost immediately.
« be there in thirty. »
your stomach flipped. “this is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to yourself. and yet you still fixed your hair before he arrived. fucking pathetic.
exactly thirty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. of course he was punctual. you had no idea why the smallest thing about him annoyed you this much.
you grabbed the hoodie quickly before opening the door just enough to shove it towards him immediately. “here. now leave.”
chan looked down at the folded sweater in your hands before slowly lifting his eyes back to your face. “cute welcome.”
“you came for the hoodie. here it is."
instead of taking it right away, he leaned one arm against the doorframe casually. his gaze stayed fixed on you while he finally took the sweater from your hands. and then he noticed it. the scent. your detergent.
his fingers tightened slightly around the fabric. fuck. he hated how much he liked it. hated the immediate thought that crossed his mind.
you narrowed your eyes. “why are you looking at it like that?”
“nothing.”
“you’re literally glaring at your own hoodie.”
“i’m thinking.”
“dangerous hobby for someone like you.”
his mouth twitched. there it was again. that tiny almost-smile that only ever seemed to appear around you. “you washed it.”
“obviously.”
“didn’t think you had it in you.”
you scoffed immediately. “god, you’re annoying.”
“you say that every time you see me.”
“because it remains true every time i see you.”
he laughed quietly under his breath before his eyes drifted past you briefly into your apartment. “you gonna make me stand out here all night?”
“that was actually the plan.”
“rude.”
“you'll survive.” but despite the sarcasm, you stepped aside anyway.
the second chan walked past you, the atmosphere shifted. you shut the door quickly behind him before you could overthink the fact that you were now alone with him again.
his eyes landed on you again almost immediately. “you nervous?” he asked suddenly. you blinked. “what?”
“you keep fidgeting.” you immediately stopped moving out of spite. “you’re imagining things.”
“am i?”
“yes.”
he hummed softly, unconvinced. “interesting.”
“what is?”
“you only get defensive when i’m right.”
“and you only talk this much when you want attention.” his brows lifted slightly. "you think i want your attention?”
you laughed once in disbelief. “please. you practically orbit around me at this point.”
that hit harder than intended. you could tell immediately by the way his expression shifted.
chan stepped closer slowly, enough to make your pulse spike.
“careful,” he said quietly. “you’re sounding very confident for someone whose heart is racing right now.”
your breath caught. “you’re insufferable.”
“you already said that.”
“because you keep proving it.”
“then tell me why,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth, “you still let me in?"
the tension snapped tighter instantly.
“don’t flatter yourself,” you said, though your voice came out weaker than intended. “you came here for a hoodie.”
“right.” the way he said it made heat spread low in your stomach. because suddenly it very much did not feel like this was about the hoodie anymore.
the room felt unbearably small now. every sarcastic comment, every lingering glance, every argument between you two over the past weeks suddenly sat heavy in the air between you.
chan stayed close. close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw every time you opened your mouth again. which, naturally, only made you want to push him further.
“you know,” you said lightly, even though your pulse was completely betraying you now, “for someone who supposedly can’t stand me, you spend an awful lot of time in my personal space.”
his eyes narrowed. “you think this is me trying to be close to you?”
“i think you’re obsessed with annoying me.”
a humourless laugh left him. “trust me,” he murmured, “if i wanted to annoy you, you’d know.”
your stomach tightened hard at the tone of his voice. but you still crossed your arms stubbornly. “wow. terrifying.”
chan couldn't help but stare at your arms crossed over your tits. those goddamn tits. “you should be scared.”
“of what?”
his gaze locked onto yours completely. “of how much i’m trying not to lose my patience with you right now.”
the words hit like a physical thing, your breath catching slightly. his expression darkened. “there it is,” he said quietly. you swallowed once. “there’s what?”
“that look.”
“what look?”
“the one you get when you stop pretending you hate this.”
heat flooded your face instantly. “you’re delusional.”
“am i?” he stepped even closer. your back nearly brushed the edge of the counter behind you now. every instinct screamed at you to move. you didn’t. because despite the tension winding painfully tight in your chest, despite how impossible he was, you wanted him close.
“you talk too much,” chan muttered suddenly, eyes fixed on your mouth now instead of your eyes.
you scoffed softly, though it came out shakier than intended. “yet you’re always listening.”
“that’s the problem.” your heartbeat stumbled at his low voice. “do you have any idea,” he said slowly, “how fucking badly i want to shut that smart mouth of yours?”
silence crashed between you. your breath came shallow now. because suddenly all the tension between you two finally had a name. and judging by the way chan looked at you, he’d stopped trying to deny it entirely.
you should’ve stepped away. should’ve said something sarcastic. something sharp. something safe.
instead, your eyes flicked briefly to his lips before you whispered, far too softly: “what’s keeping you then?”
that was it. whatever restraint chan had left snapped instantly. his hand caught your jaw almost desperately before he crashed his mouth against yours. like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and finally lost the fight.
the kiss was all heat and frustration and ruined patience. you kissed him back immediately, fingers gripping the front of his shirt as his other hand braced against the counter beside you.
and god, chan kissed exactly how he argued: intense and demanding. like he tried to be in control even in the heat of the moment.
a quiet sound caught in his throat when you pulled him closer, like he couldn’t quite believe this was finally happening either.
his forehead pressed briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe, both of you visibly affected now. and then the idiot actually muttered: “still think i’m annoying?”
you let out a breathless laugh despite yourself. “the most annoying."
his mouth curved against yours again. “yeah,” he murmured, already kissing you again, “but you kiss me anyway?"
you snorted against his lips. "just trying to see whether your ego is justified."
a dark chuckle escaped chan's throat, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, his erection pressing against your lower belly.
"think you can impress me with a hard cock?" chan's hands twitched at that. he wanted to smack that smug expression of your face so badly. wanted to make you shut that goddamn mouth of yours.
instead, he inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "watch it." he said through gritted teeth, trying to hold onto his last bit of self control.
"or what?" you replied confidently, looking up at him, smiling way too sweetly. chan's breaths came out heavier, his hips grinding against you instinctively.
"or i will show you exactly what this cock is capable of doing to you. and spoiler alert, you're not gonna like it."
you snorted at that. actually snorted, right in his face. "yeah? think you're gonna break me, channie?" the soft nickname on your lips were his complete undoing. his cock twitched, you felt it through the fabric. he placed his hands on the counter on either side of you, pulling back but caging you in. he could no longer be this close to you, he had to get his cock away from you. because he was about to snap.
"you have no idea what you're doing to me." he spoke, voice rough. a smug expression crossed your face, you leaned forward, breath hot against his ear as you whispered, "what if i know exactly what i'm doing to you?"
his hand shot up, grabbing your hair so hard it hurt, tilting your head back. you couldn't help yourself but moan out, legs clenching together. chan smirked, grip tightening in your hair, "you fucking like that? being manhandled? where's your fucking smugness now?"
you stared at him, hating how your body betrayed you. "fuck you, chan." you muttered. but that only encouraged him. he knew he had you.
"that the only comeback you can think of?" he mocked, his other hand now grabbing your jaw, holding your head in place. he pressed his body against you again. "c'mon, put that smart mouth to work. i dare you."
but you remained silent, breaths coming out in puffs as you tried to calm your racing heart. "where did your attitude go, hm?" he asked, pushing his leg between yours. he pressed his thigh against your core, making your breath hitch, looking at you with mocking eyes.
"you asked me if i think i can break you? yes, i can. tell me to stop and i will leave right through that door. but if you say yes to this, i will make sure you forget your own fucking name."
he waited. patiently. for any answer. for a simple yes or no. you blinked up at him, mind racing, until you finally nodded your head confidently. "is that a yes?" he asked, tone still mocking. "use your fucking words." his tone was commanding as ever. but he needed to hear it, needed your verbal consent.
"yes—" you choked out. and after that, all hell broke loose.
a low sound escaped chan's throat, his grip on your hair tightening, yanking your away from the counter and towards the couch. it hurt, the way he was handling you. he pushed you towards the sofa, finally letting go of your hair. "undress." he said, standing tall in front of you, arms crossed as he watched you. "i'm not gonna ask again."
your fingers trembled slightly as you started undressing yourself, eyes never leaving his. "for fuck's sake." chan muttered, clearly impatient. he smacked your hands away, basically ripping your clothes away. his hands roamed over your body, feeling your warm skin against his fingertips. you felt better than he could have ever imagined. he groaned, his mouth suddenly back on yours. the kiss was laced with desperation as his hands grabbed your tits, squeezing them through your bra before taking it off with skilled fingers. "fucking perfect." he muttered more to himself than you.
he pinched your nipples hard, needing to know how you react to it. you hissed, biting your lip, gaining a smirk from chan.
he pushed you down on the couch, standing tall in front of you. his thumb traced over your lower lip. "open." he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back. "tongue out." your jaw clenched slightly, not wanting to obey him, wanting to challenge him. but when his grip in your hair tightened painfully, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. chan leaned forward, spitting into your mouth before sliding two fingers along your tongue. he moved them further into your mouth, his cock twitching in his pants.
"i'm gonna show you how to put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" he muttered as he started sliding his fingers in and out of you. you wrapped your lips around them, looking up at him. he pulled your hair harder, tilting your head further, retrieving his fingers from between your lips and smacking your cheek hard. "fucking answer when i'm talking to you."
your breath caught in your throat, eyes watering the slightest bit. "well right now, you're all big words and no fucking action." your snappy response earned you another slap against your cheek, coating it with your saliva that was still on his fingers.
"you fucking bitch." chan just shook his head, unable to believe that you still had the audacity to talk back. he yanked your hair. hard. moving you to lie on your back, head on the armrest of the couch. he pulled you further until your head was hanging over the edge.
he was already working on his pants, pulling them down, freeing his cock, right over your face. he gave it a few strokes, watching you. he didn't waste another second, tapping it against your lips. you smelled him, the saltiness of his precum coating his tip.
he didn't push in, not yet. he smeared his precum over your lips. "tap my thigh three times in a row if it gets too much. understand?" he asked, growing more impatient by the minute. you nodded. fucking nodded. "words, sweetheart." he said through gritted teeth.
"i understand." you said.
"good girl."
"don't fucking call me that. i'm not your good girl."
chan only grinned at that. "you'd rather i keep insulting you?"
"i'd rather you finally put that cock to use." you snapped back. he smacked your tit, making you flinch. "yeah, i fucking should. shut that goddamn mouth of yours for once."
and with that, he pushed his cock past your lips, his hips snapping involuntarily, shoving his length down your throat. "fuck—" he cursed loudly, watching your throat, how it took shape of his length. "holy—"
you immediately gagged around him, not having expected him to just shove his entire length in with no further warning.
and he fucking kept it there, making you choke, cutting off your air supply. you tapped his thigh three times, and he immediately pulled back, realising that he got caught in the moment. you immediately took a deep breath, coughing.
"you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then fucking take it like one."
"you're a fucking asshole, bang chan, you know that?"
a dark chuckle erupted from somewhere deep inside him. "yet you still take my fucking cock like you're my own personal slut." and before you could say anything, he rammed his cock back into your mouth, deep down your throat.
his hips moved in quick little thrusts, fucking your mouth till you couldn't breathe, pulling back to let you get some oxygen before repeating his movements. his hand reached for your throat, squeezing it, feeling the pressure of his own hand around his cock buried deep down.
you choked. hard. your body started jolting until he finally pulled out, a long strip of saliva still connecting your mouth to his cock.
"you're trying to fucking choke me to death?" your voice sounded hoarse, your throat so raw it hurt to talk. chan just grinned down at you, his fingers smearing your own saliva all over your pretty lips. you caught his finger, biting it.
"fuck! you bitch!" chan called in surprise, withdrawing his hand, connecting it to your cheek with a hard smack. and of all possible things you could have done, you fucking moaned at his action. "you're un-fucking-believable." chan muttered through gritted teeth.
"on your hands and knees." he ordered, voice way too calm for the storm inside him. you snorted. "don't fucking boss me around like that."
chan was losing his patience. he grabbed you, handled your body with a strength that left you breathless as he flipped you over on your stomach. "don't make me tie you the fuck up."
you snorted again. fuck, it drove him wild. he wanted to punish you for fucking breathing. "be my guest. i don't own any ropes."
a slow, wicked grin spread on chan's face. "oh, trust me. i can get very creative." and with that, his hands left you and you heard him wander off. you turned your head to the side, watching him waltz around your apartment like he fucking owned the place.
"what the fuck are you doing?" you snapped, already shuffling to get up.
"if you dare move even a fucking inch, i'm gonna spank your ass till it's burning red." your breath hitched at his words. but that still didn't stop you from rising to your feet and following him. who did he even think he was?
you found him in your bedroom, picking up a belt that was stored neatly in one of your drawers. he looked ridiculous. going through your stuff, half naked, his stupid cock still glistening with your saliva.
you stood there, butt naked, crossing your arms over your chest. "stop fucking going through my stuff."
"why? hiding something you don't want me to find?"
you snorted, "no. just don't like fucking assholes going through my things."
he walked past your bed, opening the drawer of your nightstand. "oh my god! you have no fucking respect!"
you knew what he would find. and you couldn't care less. he held up your pink vibrator a few seconds later, grinning like he found a precious treasure. "cute." he muttered.
"oh wow, blame a girl for owning a goddamn vibrator."
chan turned around, standing in front of you, vibrator in one hand, belt in the other. "you get yourself off with this thing?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"yes." you replied confidently but couldn't suppress the soft flush spreading from your neck to your face. chan grin only widened. his eyes travelled past you, landing on a light scarf hanging over the back of your desk chair. "perfect." he muttered, walking past you to grab it. "remember how i told you not to fucking move?"
you rolled your eyes, "remember how i told you not to boss me around?"
chan came up behind you. you could feel the heat radiating from his body. he threw the vibrator and the scarf on the bed. your eyes followed the items. "you know, that scarf is actually my favourite, if you ruin it—"
"don't care." he cut you off, grabbing your wrists, yanking them behind your back harshly. he tied the belt around them, making you gasp.
"and the only thing i plan on ruining," he moved his hands up your arms, fingertips ghosting over the skin, giving you goosebumps. "is you."
his lips connected to your shoulders, leaving a few kisses till he reached your neck. his arms snaked around you from behind, pulling you flush against him, his cock hard against your butt. he bit your neck hard, making you hiss, before sucking the flesh, making sure to leave a fucking mark.
he pulled back slightly, watching the skin change colour, grinning in satisfaction, before repeating it a little further up. your ass ground against his cock, making him suck your skin harder.
"fuck, you like getting marked like a fucking whore?" he whispered against your skin, his hands squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you moan. "chan—"
you moaning his name like that was his complete undoing. he needed more. needed more of you moaning his name, screaming it.
he grabbed the small vibrator from the bed, turning it on and guiding it over your hardened nipples. you pressed yourself harder against him, soft moans now constantly leaving your lips. he started grinding his hard cock against you, moving the vibrator down to your cunt, running it over your clit lazily. you arched your back, your hips starting to move against the toy. "chan, please—" you couldn't suppress the soft whimper, no idea where the sudden needy tone came from. but it made him lose his mind.
he threw you on your bed, yanking your ass up before you could even gather yourself, your hands still tied tightly behind your back.
he started wrapping your scarf around your thighs in figure 8s, tying them together. once he was done, he took a step back, admiring the view. you turned your head to the side, pressed against the mattress, ass in the air. you tried to get a glimpse of him. he stood there, swallowing hard, just... watching you.
"you're a fucking weirdo, bang chan."
his eyes didn't move away from your bare core, "shut up or i will gag you." he said as his eyes finally met yours. he moved closer to the bed, leaning forward, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your face. "if anything gets too much, you use the word 'red' and i will stop immediately, okay?" you blinked at him a few times. the fact that he still ...cared, despite the hatred, despite you riling him up constantly, made something warm settle in your chest. "okay."
his hand started caressing your butt cheeks, way too softly. the serious expression on his face was replaced by a smirk. and then he smacked you. hard. you couldn't move, hands tied together, thighs tied together. all you could do was flinch.
"you should learn to fucking listen. if i tell you not to move, you don't fucking move." another smack. you opened your mouth, wanting to protest. he cut you off with another deliberate slap. "don't you fucking dare talking back right now." he said, making you grin. fucking grin.
"god—" he shook his head, his next smack making you wince from the sting. and then his finger just entered you with no fucking warning. you moaned out loud in surprise, moving back against his touch.
chan let out a dark chuckle. "you're so fucking desperate, it's pathetic." he said, his finger moving in and out of you with ease. "so fucking wet."
his free hand slapped your ass again, so hard it left a handprint. he added a second finger, curling them inside you, making you moan involuntarily. "fuck, chan—"
his cock twitched at you moaning his name again. fuck, that did things to him. "again." he muttered, teeth clenched, trying to keep any bit of self-control. "moan my fucking name again." he pumped his fingers faster, curling them at just the right spot, his name leaving your lips in soft moans, driving him insane.
he dropped to his knees, pulling his fingers out of you and burying his face into your cunt. "fuck!" you cried out, body jolting forwards. he grabbed your hips harshly, holding you in place as he fed on you like a man starved.
"tastes so fucking good." he groaned against you, his tongue swirling around your clit a couple of times before licking up to your entrance, pushing inside you. he reached for the vibrator again, turning it on, bringing it to your clit, while his tongue moved in and out of your hole.
you ground your cunt against him, moaning shamelessly as you felt your orgasm build up. "chan—" you moaned and he knew. he wanted to deny you the orgasm, wanted to edge you, to make you feel as desperate as you always made him feel. but he couldn't. not when you were moaning so sweetly. not when your cunt was grinding against his face so desperately.
your legs started trembling and he threw the vibrator away. it scattered on the floor somewhere as chan grabbed your hips harder, fingers digging into you so hard, they'd leave bruises. he held you in place, burying his face deeper inside you.
"just fucking come on my face already." he murmured into you, big hands moving to your ass, squeezing the cheeks harshly.
you tried to hold back your orgasm, not wanting him to feel even the slightest amount of pride for making you come. and he noticed. noticed the way you tried to hold back.
"for fuck's sake!" he groaned, pushing two fingers back inside you, curling them right where you needed them, making you cry out.
"stop being so fucking stubborn." his fingers pumped into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot again and again, making you see stars, head spinning. until you finally could no longer hold back. with one last flick of his tongue over your clit, you came undone. he guided you through your orgasm and you could feel his fucking grin against your cunt.
"that's it." he murmured, clearly satisfied with himself. "just shut the fuck up." you snapped. bad idea. he smacked your cunt so hard, it made you lose balance, collapsing onto the mattress. with your legs and hands still tied, you couldn't lift yourself up, legs still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.
chan just chuckled darkly behind you, giving his cock a few pumps, watching you being completely at his mercy. he's been dreaming about this, fantasising about it. his eyes wander over your body, spotting every goddamn mark he left. bites, hickeys, fingerprints. he loved it. but he needed more.
he reached forward, grabbing your hair and yanking you back. his breath was hot against your ear, his cock pressing against your ass. "i'm gonna fuck you now, yeah? fill that pretty little cunt. mark you properly."
he gave you a few seconds to protest, but you didn't. you were still catching your breath, body still trembling. he let go of your hair, starting to undress himself. you didn't want to look. you knew he was handsome as fuck, didn't need a proof of that. but you couldn't help turning your head, watching him over your shoulder. fuck.
"stop staring." he said, not even looking up as he neatly placed his clothes over the chair at your desk. your eyes traced his toned body, all the way to his perfect ass. goddamnit.
"don't fucking flatter yourself." you snorted, but your words lacked any bite. chan ignored it, standing behind you, cock fucking throbbing and all. "ass up." he ordered. you struggled against the restraints, trying to move back onto your knees.
"fucking pathetic." chan murmured as he gripped your hips and pulled you up. his hands sprawled over your butt cheeks, squeezing them. you hissed. they still hurt from earlier.
chan just watched you for a while, with you getting impatient. "stop staring." you repeated the words he just threw at you, grinning to yourself. his hands flinched against your butt cheeks, ready to smack the shit out of you, but he took a deep breath instead.
he spit down on his cock, using one hand to spread his saliva over it, before pushing inside you with no further warning. "fuck!" you cried out, jolting forwards. "godfuckingdamnit chan!"
you were so fucking wet, he just slid right in, all the way. he gritted his teeth, trying not to think too much about how fucking good you actually feel. trying not to think about how he actually, finally, has his cock buried inside your fucking cunt. trying not to think about— fuck. his cock twitched inside you, realising how your walls are clamping down on him.
it pissed him off. how good you felt. how warm you were. how fucking wet. how much he wanted you, even though he finally had you.
he grabbed your hair, wrapping it around his hand, yanking you back forcefully, his cock buried to the hilt. he yanked until you were pressed against his chest. "i'm not gonna last long if you keep clenching your fucking walls around me."
your soft moans turned into a snort. "who's pathetic now? you haven't even fucked me properly, channie."
he lost it at the sweet nickname on your lips. his free hand smacked your ass. hard. grabbing your hips. the grip in your hair tightened as he started moving. his hips snapping brutally, each thrust into your sensitive cunt making you whimper.
"you drive me fucking insane." he murmured against your neck before biting down hard, making you cry out in surprise. he groaned against your skin, keeping a steady rhythm. you cried out his name again, and again, making his head spin.
he let go of your hair, forcing you to fall onto the mattress, grabbing your hips, fucking deeper into you. his pace brutal and intense. until your legs could no longer hold you up. they shook so violently, you collapsed onto the mattress.
but he didn't stop. he adjusted to the changed angle within seconds, pushing your hips further down, hips slamming against you, fucking you into the mattress. he moved one hand between your shoulder blades, the other staying on your hip, almost his entire weight holding you down.
"chan—" everything was overwhelming and the familiar knot started tightening in your stomach. his cock rubbed against that sweet spot deep inside you, making your walls clench violently around him as you came hard.
chan cursed under his breath, your orgasm triggering his own. his thrusts become sloppy, desperate to fill your cunt with his load. desperate to fucking breed you.
with a guttural groan, he stilled deep inside you. his arms shook slightly as he emptied himself into you. you felt it, his thick load warm inside you. "fuck, that's it." he murmured almost inaudible, his hips doing small micro thrusts.
he removed his hands from you, placing them on the mattress beside you. but he didn't pull out. not yet. he reached for the belt around your hands, undoing it, freeing you.
you were both breathless, panting heavily. chan's hand reached for your face, swiping some loose strands away. "you okay?"
your body was sore. you were hyper aware of every mark he left on you, your skin burning. but you nodded. the intensity of both your orgasms was enough to make up for the soreness.
he pulled out slowly, sitting back, watching you. your legs were still tied together, looking absolutely perfect to him.
when his cum started dripping out of you, his eyes widened, addicted to the view. "fuck," he groaned, fingers catching the thick liquid, smearing it over your cunt. when more started dripping out, he groaned.
he collected every drop, pushing two fingers inside you. "chan?!" you called out in surprise, but his name died on your lips, turning into a moan. his mind was fucking gone, as he started fucking his cum right back into you with his fingers.
"fucking appreciate the load i gave you." he said, voice dark. he smacked your ass, fingers pumping in and out of you, pushing his cum back inside.
"don't lose a single fucking drop or i'll have to fill you up again."
and right then, fucking his seed back into your cunt, having you whimper at his touch, moan his name with a broken voice, one thing became perfectly clear to him. that he didn't want this to be a one time thing. already too obsessed with the way your body reacts to his.
just a short drabble of what it'd be like to have chan as your enemy
mdni!
warnings: f! reader, rough sexual content, fantasising, jerking off, oral, breeding, fucking his cum back into you
wc: 838
okay, hear me out. we don't talk about enemies to lovers with chan enough.
i get that he seems too sweet a person to have enemies. but let's face reality, once you do something that pisses him off? he won't hold back.
chan tried to be nice to you. when felix introduced you to the group. but something about you just annoyed him so deeply. he didn't even know what it was. maybe it was your smart mouth, your overly confident attitude, the way you had the audacity to talk back at him if something didn't sit right with you.
he hated it. but even more, he hated how much it affected him. physically and mentally.
chan hated how your constant banter and bickering turned him on. hated how his cock twitched in his pants when you talked back, trying to stand a little taller in front of him, crossing your arms over your beautiful tits.
he hated how much he thought about them. hated how badly he wanted to bite them, leave marks all over them, cover the soft flesh in bruises.
and that smart mouth of yours? he hated how badly he wanted to shut you up properly. not just by verbal sparring. but by shoving his thick length deep down your throat until you would be gagging and choking around him. and he'd smack your face if you even dared to pull back, grab your hair, tell you to take it like a good girl.
and you'd fucking hate him calling you that. if you could, you'd keep insulting him, mocking him. but with his dick shoved deep down your throat? you could only try to protest. your tiny fists hitting against his thighs. and he'd fucking thrive on it.
he'd throw you on the bed, head dangling down from the edge. and he'd use your throat like a fucking toy. until it was all sore, your voice hoarse. keeping you from ever talking back at him again.
he wouldn't stop there. absolutely not. as much as he would love to shoot his thick load down your throat, he needed to mark that pretty cunt of yours.
he wouldn't even need to prepare you, you'd already be fucking soaked from him fucking your throat.
he'd grab your hair, yank you up, force you on your hands and knees, yanking your pants and panties down in one swift motion.
he'd taste you. he'd have to. he'd been thinking about it too much, wondering what you'd taste like. so his mouth would latch onto your core, making you jolt forwards, gripping your hips so forcefully, it will leave bruises, holding you in place.
he wouldn't stop until you were whimpering, begging him to finally fuck you, causing him to groan into your cunt.
and he'd ask once again, for permission, for consent. because despite his deep hatred for you, he'd never do shit without consent. and once he has it, there's no holding back.
he'd thrust his still wet cock into you, not giving a single fuck about wrapping it. he needed to breed you. finally make his fantasies become true.
he'd grab your hair with one hand, using his free hand to smack the shit out of your butt cheeks, making sure to leave his handprints on them. he'd thrive on leaving his marks all over you. bruises, bite marks, handprints.
he'd love to hear you moan out in desperation, cry out from the overwhelming sensation. he'd fuck you until your legs gave out, your whole body trembling. and even when you couldn't hold yourself up any longer, he'd continue his merciless thrusts, fucking you into the mattress.
when you finally reach your high, you will have forgotten everything but his fucking name. he'd make sure of that.
with your walls clenching around his cock, gripping it, trying to get it deeper inside you, he'd come undone. shooting his load right into you.
you think that'd be the end of it? think again. he'd keep his cock buried inside you for a while, letting the two of you come down from your highs, his mind slowly catching up to what just happened. when he'd pull out... when he'd see his thick load dripping from your pretty cunt... something primal would take over, an animalistic sound leaving his lips.
he'd use his fingers to fuck his cum right back into you. making sure it stays deep inside you. he'd smack your ass, telling you to fucking appreciate him granting you his seed. telling you that you better keep that shit inside. that he'd only have to fill you up again if you dared to lose a single drop.
and he would fuck you again. because he'd get addicted.
yet right now, he can only fantasise about this in the darkness of his bedroom. his cock in his fist, moving violently up and down, teeth gritted, cursing you for making him feel this way.
and he will once again cum all over his abs with your name on his lips.
a/n: yeah well... fuck. should i write a fic about this?
in which chan figures you're the remedy for his sleepless nights, finding peace not only in some much needed rest but also in grinding his hard-on against you still fast asleep next to him
mdni!
warnings: dry humping, reader being half asleep, somewhat oblivious to chan's actions, mention of alcohol
wc: 970
it had started a few weeks ago, when chan had revealed to you that he suffered from severe insomnia. you blamed it on the alcohol in your system back then that you offered him to come over when he can't sleep, mentioning that you're usually up late because of uni assignments. you didn't expect him to take you up on that offer. but when his message came in a couple of days later, asking if your offer still stands, you let him come over.
that was the first night he fell asleep on your couch while you were typing away on your laptop.
the couch soon became your bed, engulfed in your scent, feeling at peace. you'd climb in at some point. and soon, his arms would wrap around you as soon as he felt your presence.
you let him. let him because it felt good. let him because you felt protected.
and each night he stayed over, the space between you during the night decreased. until you were all tangled up, bodies pressed together.
when chan woke that morning, he couldn't help but notice your closeness, couldn't help but notice his raging hard-on against your butt. he cursed softly, trying to move away from you subtly. but when you only scooted back in your sleep, trying to be close to him again, he stopped. fuck. he was screwed. his control shattering in the morning haze.
he buried his face into your neck, lips brushing against your skin unconsciously. he was completely wrapped around you now, literally and figuratively. his brain still foggy with sleep.
goosebumps spread over your skin when his lips brushed against the skin of your neck, pressing yourself harder against him.
he felt the goosebumps rise under his fingertips where his hand rested on your waist, and he knew you felt that feather-light brush of his lips against your neck. a warm flutter spread through his chest, knowing he affected you even in your sleep.
he pressed another soft, barely-there kiss against the sensitive skin of your throat, unable to resist the temptation. his thumb stroked soothing circles over your hip.
when you move again at the feel of his lips, your butt brushes against his cock, making him remember how hard he was. he curses softly against your throat, but can't seem to keep his lips away from your skin.
he tried to stifle a moan, feeling you against his aching cock. his body pressed instinctively against you, seeking friction, his hips arching slightly. his lips continued their innocent assault on your neck, kissing, nibbling, sucking softly. his mind is conflicted embarrassment wars with desire. should he stop?
his soft kisses and nibbles on your neck made your hips continue moving against him, your breathing becoming heavier, and he couldn't help it but grant himself the friction he so desperately needed.
his breath caught as you unconsciously ground against him, even in your sleep. it's innocent, but it felt so fucking good.
he lost control, his hips moving instinctively against you, seeking more contact, more pressure. his lips sucked harder on your neck, marking you unconsciously as his arms pulled you flush against him. he was completely lost in the moment, his hard cock grinding against your ass through the fabric of your clothes.
you moaned his name softly, still asleep. it didn't pull him out of his haze, if all, it encouraged him, made him get even more lost in the moment.
his name falling from your lips in that sleepy, breathy tone was his absolute undoing.
he groaned against your throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. his hips buck more insistently now, his cock throbbing painfully against you. he needed more, needed to be inside you, needed to feel you wrapped around him. but you were still sleeping. he couldn't. wouldn't. so he settled for grinding harder, using your body as his personal friction toy, his mouth latched onto your neck like a lifeline.
he was about to cum in his pants but he didn't care, he needed this. he hasn't managed to jerk off properly in weeks, his mind too full, too busy. he hasn't felt this fucking good in so long. he needed that release desperately. and the unconscious moan of his name, the way you ground against him even in your sleep, threw him right over the edge.
he came hard, his body shaking with release as he was grinding out his orgasm against you, his hot cum leaking into his boxers. he buried his face in your neck, muffling a loud, guttural moan as he rides out the wave, his arms clinging desperately to you.
his hips stuttered and jerked against you as he emptied himself completely, his body limp and satisfied for the first time in forever.
once he came down from his high, he pulled away carefully. he noticed the tiny mark on your neck he accidentally left there. it was barely visible, but it was there. the tiniest amount of guilt tried to spread in his chest but was replaced by the overwhelming sensation of the orgasm he just had. he hasn't felt like this in weeks and it was intoxicating.
he watched you sleep, his fingers gently tracing the faint hickey on your neck. the guilt tried to surface again, but he quickly pushed it down, replacing it with the warm afterglow of his orgasm and the comforting feeling of being wrapped around you. he decides right then that he doesn't care about the guilt or the consequences. you made him feel too good.
and just like that, this became a new routine. chan started coming over at night whenever his schedule allowed it, falling asleep in your bed, in your arms, waking early to find you wrapped around him, grinding himself against you.
a/n: hi hello, i know it's been a while. i had a lot going on with uni but um— couldn't help but get back into writing drabbles. is it still okay to use my old taglist even though it's been like what? six months since i last posted haha
anyway, about writing... it's good for uhh— motivation
you didn’t remember ordering the last drink. one second you’d been laughing at something chan said, something stupid and very him, and the next the glass was empty in your hand and the warmth in your chest had spread too far, too fast.
“okay,” you said, squinting at him. “i think i’m officially past the fun drunk and entering the honest drunk.”
chan smiled, “yeah? that sounds dangerous.”
you bumped your shoulder into his. “you say that like you’re not always dangerous either.” he snorted. “i’m literally just a guy.”
“a very attractive guy,” you muttered. he froze for a second there. “what?” he asked lightly, like he hadn’t heard you. you turned your head, blinking at him. “what what?”
“you said something,” he replied, eyes searching your face. “repeat it.” you laughed, waving a hand. “no, i didn’t.”
“you did,” he said, gentle but firm. “hey. you okay?”
“i’m great,” you said. “i just–” you frowned, words slipping loose now that the door was open. “i just think it’s funny how you pretend you don’t know.”
“know what?”
how did you explain years of small moments in a sentence? how did you explain late-night talks and shared headphones and the way he always walked you home, no matter how tired he was?
you stepped closer to him, close enough that you could see the tiny crease between his brows. “that you’re… you. and that it affects people.”
his voice dropped. “you’re drunk.”
“yeah,” you said. “but not wrong.” his smile faded.
“let’s get you home,” he said.
“chan,” you said, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “don’t do that.”
“do what?"
“that thing where you decide for both of us.”
he exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking away. “i’m deciding for you. you’ve had too much to drink.”
“i know i have,” you said. “that’s why i’m saying this now, before i chicken out again.”
that made him look at you. “saying what?” he asked.
you swallowed. suddenly very aware of how close you were. of how his shirt smelled like laundry soap and him.
“that i’m attracted to you,” you said. the words tumbled out messy. “that i have been for a long time. and i tried not to be, because you’re my best friend and i didn’t want to ruin anything, but i think about you all the time and i notice things i shouldn’t notice and–"
“hey,” he said softly.
you laughed, a little hysterical. “see? this is why i shouldn’t drink.”
he reached out, hands warm on your arms, grounding you.. “how long?” he asked quietly.
you blinked. “what?”
“how long have you felt like this.”
you hesitated. “since before i let myself admit it.”
his jaw tightened. “that’s not fair,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
“i know,” you said. “i’m sorry.”
“don’t apologise,” he said immediately. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
you looked up at him. “then why do you look like that?"
he huffed a breath, shaking his head. “because i want to do something i shouldn’t.”
your heart skipped. “like what?"
he leaned in before he could stop himself. you felt the shift, the gravity of it. his forehead hovered inches from yours, his voice barely above a whisper.
“like kiss you,” he said.
your breath caught. “then why don’t you?" you whispered.
his eyes closed. just for a second. when they opened again, there was something raw in them. "because you’re drunk,” he said. “and i care about you too much to ever wonder if i took advantage of a moment.”
that hurt more than if he’d laughed it off. “so that’s it,” you said quietly. “you don’t feel anything.”
he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “don’t say that.”
“then say something else.”
his hands slid down to your wrists, thumbs brushing over your pulse. you could feel how fast your heart was racing. you wondered if he could too.
“i’ve wanted you for a long time,” he admitted. “long enough that i learned how to lock it away. long enough that i convinced myself it was safer to stay quiet.”
your chest ached. “chan…”
“but i won’t cross this line tonight,” he continued. “no matter how much i want to. and believe me–" his voice wavered just a little. “i really want to.”
you nodded, suddenly emotional. “okay.”
“okay?” he asked, surprised.
“okay,” you repeated. “thank you. for being… you.”
he smiled sadly. “yeah. that’s the problem.”
chan walked you home, the silence was heavy with things unsaid. when you reached your door, he hesitated.
“text me when you wake up,” he said. “just… so i know you’re okay.”
you smiled at him. “worried about me?”
“always,” he said without thinking.
you went inside before you could say something stupid.
the next morning, your head hurt less than your heart. your mind replayed everything. every word. every look. the way he’d almost kissed you.
your phone buzzed.
chan.
« hey. you awake? »
« yeah. unfortunately very sober. »
there was a pause.
« do you remember last night? »
you stared at the screen.
« yeah. i do. »
another pause. longer this time.
« can i come over? »
your fingers trembled as you typed.
« yes. »
he showed up twenty minutes later with hot choclate in one hand and nerves written all over his face. he stood awkwardly in your doorway until you laughed and stepped aside.
“you don’t have to look like you’re about to be executed,” you said.
“i kind of do,” he replied. “this conversation feels important.”
you sat next to each other on the couch, knees almost touching.
“are you okay?” he asked. “really?" you nodded. “are you?” he smiled, relieved. “better now.”
you took a breath. “everything i said was true.”
he didn’t hesitate this time. he leaned forward, hands bracketing your face, eyes searching yours one last time.
you blamed the alcohol for the confidence. normally, you filtered yourself around minho. normally, you matched his energy. sarcasm for sarcasm, insults disguised as affection. but tonight the line between teasing and truth blurred until it didn’t exist at all.
“you’re walking funny,” he said, glancing at you as you stumbled slightly on the pavement.
“i’m walking honestly,” you replied. “big difference.”
“that’s not a thing.”
“it is when you’ve had three cocktails you didn’t pay for.”
he scoffed. “that explains why you’re acting like this.”
“like what?”
“like you’re about to confess to a crime.”
you stopped and turned to face him. “oh, i already did that once. remember when i said i didn’t eat the last dumpling?”
his eyes narrowed. “you did eat it.”
“see? honesty.”
he shook his head, lips twitching. “you’re unbearable.”
“you like that about me.”
he shot you a look. “don’t push it.”
you smiled at him, a little too soft for the joke. “but you do.”
there was a beat. just a fraction too long. “yeah,” he said dryly. “platonically. unfortunately.”
you laughed, but it came out quieter than you meant it to. “wow. devastating.”
“you’ll recover,” he replied. “you’re resilient. like a cockroach.”
“you think i’m resilient and disgusting?”
“i didn’t say disgusting.”
“you implied it.”
“you inferred it,” he corrected. “that’s on you.”
you walked a few steps, then glanced back at him. “do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t know things?”
he raised an eyebrow. “depends. what am i pretending not to know now?”
“that you’re hot.”
he barked out a laugh. “okay, you’re definitely drunk.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re always serious when you’re wrong.”
“i’m not wrong,” you insisted. “you know you’re attractive. you just hide it behind sarcasm and looking annoyed all the time.”
“that’s just my face.”
“liar.”
he stopped walking. “are you flirting with me?" he asked, deadpan. “i might be,” you said. “is it working?”
“no.”
you crossed your arms. “wow. rude.”
“i’m just confused,” he said. “you don’t flirt. you insult me.”
“i can multitask.”
he stared at you, expression unreadable. “you’re drunk.”
“yes, congratulations. gold star.”
“you’re going to regret this.”
“i regret not saying it sooner.”
that got him. his mouth opened, then closed. “okay. say what?"
you stepped closer, invading his space on purpose this time. “i’m attracted to you.”
he laughed immediately. “no, you’re not.”
“wow,” you said. “did you just reject me before i finished?”
“i’m saving us both time.”
“i’m serious, minho.”
“yeah, and i’m the king of england.”
your heart started racing. “stop doing that.”
“doing what?"
“looking at me like that.”
“like what?"
“like you’re thinking.”
“i am thinking.”
“seems dangerous.”
he scoffed, but his eyes flicked down to your lips. just for a second. then he straightened. “you don’t mean this,” he said. “you’re drunk and sentimental.”
“i’m drunk,” you agreed. “but i’ve been attracted to you sober too.”
“since when?"
you shrugged. “since you started caring more than you pretended to.”
his jaw tightened. “that’s not an answer.”
“it is for you.”
he exhaled slowly. “you’re a menace.”
“you like that.”
“i really don’t.”
you reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve. for a moment, you thought he might kiss you. the air felt charged. his hand hovered near your waist, not touching.
then he pulled back. “you’re drunk,” he said flatly. “and i’m not dealing with this version of you.”
that stung. “ouch.”
“don’t look at me like that.”
“like what?"
“like i just kicked a puppy.”
“you kind of did.”
he rolled his eyes, but his voice softened. “let's get you home. sleep. we’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”
you swallowed. “and if i don’t want to pretend?"
“you will tomorrow,” he said. “trust me.”
you didn’t.
the next morning, your head was clearer and your phone was buzzing.
« you alive or should i start planning a funeral? »
you stared at the screen.
« alive. sober. unfortunately still remembering everything. »
three dots appeared. disappeared. reappeared.
« tragic »
« you’re not funny. »
« i’m hilarious. you’re just embarrassed »
« i’m not embarrassed. »
« then why are you avoiding the point? »
you sighed.
« everything i said was true. »
there was a long pause.
« …great. »
ten minutes later, there was a knock on your door. you opened it to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed.
“you look too awake,” he said.
“you look too annoying,” you replied.
“good. balance restored.”
you stepped aside. “are you here to mock me or have an actual conversation?”
“both,” he said, walking in. “mostly the first.”
you faced him. “i meant it.”
“i know,” he said quietly. “that’s the problem.”
“why is that a problem?"
he stared at you for a long moment, then stepped forward abruptly and kissed you
you noticed it immediately, the shift. one moment changbin was laughing, cheeks flushed, leaning against the bar as he listened to you ramble about nothing. the next, you slurred his name just a little too softly, and everything about him changed.
“binnie,” you said, blinking slowly. “can i tell you something?” he straightened. completely. like a switch had flipped.
“hey,” he said gently. “yeah. what’s up?”
you smiled at him, warm and loose and unguarded. “you’re really handsome, you know that?”
his breath caught. you saw it. his smile faltered. “okay,” he said slowly. “you’re drunk.”
“i know,” you said. “that’s why i’m brave.”
he chuckled under his breath, but there was no humour in it. “that’s usually when you’re not brave.”
you stepped closer, swaying slightly. instinctively, his hands lifted, then stopped midair, hovering like he was afraid to touch you.
“hey,” he murmured. “careful.”
“see,” you said fondly. “this. this is what i mean.”
“mean what?"
“you’re always so kind,” you continued, words spilling now that they’d started. “and funny. and you listen. and you make everyone feel safe without even trying. and i hate that i noticed all that, because you’re my best friend and i shouldn’t be thinking–"
his jaw tightened. “thinking what?" he asked quietly.
you laughed, embarrassed but honest. “things. things i really shouldn’t think about you.”
that did it. whatever buzz he’d had left him completely. his eyes darkened, focus sharpening, like he’d sobered in a single breath.
“okay,” he said firmly. “we’re stopping right there.”
you frowned. “why?”
because if you say one more nice thing, i’m going to kiss you, he didn’t say.
instead, he stepped back. put space between you on purpose.
“because you don’t deserve this conversation like this,” he said. “you deserve to remember it. to choose it.”
you tilted your head. “i am choosing it.”
“no,” he said softly. “you’re choosing it drunk.”
you reached for him again, fingers brushing his wrist. he froze, eyes flicking down to where you touched him, then back up to your face.
“changbin,” you said, voice earnest. “you’re everything i ever wanted. ever dreamed of.”
his throat bobbed. his hands curled into fists at his sides. “don’t,” he whispered. “please don’t say things like that right now.”
“why not?"
“because i want you,” he admitted, voice low. “and i don’t ever want to wonder if you only said yes because you’d had too much to drink.”
you searched his face, suddenly emotional. “you’re such a good man.”
that almost broke him. he closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, steady again. “let me walk you home.”
the walk was quiet. every step felt like restraint. at your door, he hesitated, hands shoved deep into his pockets like that was the only way to keep them there.
“get some sleep,” he said. “drink water. text me when you wake up.”
you nodded. “will you still want to talk to me?"
he smiled sadly. “i don’t think i could stop myself.”
he left before you could say anything else.
he didn’t sleep. by noon the next day, he was standing outside your apartment with takeaway bags in both hands, heart pounding like he was about to step into something irreversible.
you opened the door, hair messy, face bare, eyes clear.“hey,” you said.
“hey,” he replied, suddenly nervous. “uh. i brought food.”
he held the bags up like proof of good intentions. you smiled. “you didn’t have to.”
“i wanted to,” he said. then, more carefully, “are you sober?”
you didn’t hesitate. “yes. and i meant every word, binnie.”
the way you said his name so softly undid him completely.
the bags slipped from his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud, forgotten. he stepped forwards, hands cradling your face like it was instinct, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.
“good,” he breathed. then he kissed you. desperate and warm and full of everything he’d swallowed the night before.
you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands clutching his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear.
he pulled back only enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath shaky. “i’ve liked you for ages,” he whispered. “i just didn’t think i was allowed to.”
you were already emotional before the words even left your mouth. maybe it was the music, which was too loud and echoing in your chest. maybe it was the way hyunjin was leaning close so you could hear each other, eyes bright, hair falling into his face like he didn’t even realise how unfair he looked.
“you’re staring,” he teased.
“i’m appreciating,” you corrected, swaying slightly. “it’s different.” he smiled, “you’ve had a lot to drink.”
“yeah, i think i’ve had enough,” you said. “enough to finally say it.”
that made him pause. “say what?"
you laughed, but it came out fragile. “that i think i’m in love with you.”
the world seemed to slow.
“you’re–" he stopped himself, then laughed quietly. “okay. wow. bold.”
you frowned. “don’t joke.”
he blinked. “i’m not. i just–" he searched your face, suddenly serious. “are you serious?"
you nodded. “i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
his breath hitched. you watched his hand lift, fingers twitching like he wanted to touch you, then curl back into his sleeve instead.
“you’re drunk,” he said, almost mournfully.
“yes,” you agreed. “but i didn’t invent these feelings tonight.”
he stepped closer anyway, unable to help himself. his voice dropped, turning soft without trying. “do you have any idea,” he said, “how long i’ve imagined you saying something like that?"
your heart skipped. “then why do you look like you’re about to cry.”
“because this feels like a tragedy,” he replied. “perfect moment, wrong timing.”
you smiled. “you always talk like we’re in a movie.”
“because it feels like one,” he said. “and i don’t want to ruin the ending.”
you reached for him. he caught your wrists gently, holding them between you. “if i kiss you right now,” he whispered, “i’ll never forgive myself.”
“hyunjin…”
he leaned in anyway, forehead touching yours, breath warm. “i want you sober. i want you choosing me with clear eyes.”
then, with visible effort, he stepped back. “let me walk you home,” he said. “before i do something poetic and stupid.”
the next morning felt unreal. you remembered everything. painfully clearly.
your phone buzzed.
« did you sleep okay? »
« yeah. i hope you don't think i forgot anything i said last night. »
three dots appeared instantly.
« good. then i can be honest. »
a knock came at your door not ten minutes later.
when you opened it, he was standing there dressed simply, nerves obvious. in his hand was a singel flower. just one.
you blinked. “is that… for me?”
he nodded, suddenly shy. “i thought one felt more… intentional.”
your chest tightened. his eyes softened like he’d been waiting to exhale.
“let me say this properly,” he said. “i’ve loved you quietly for a long time. like a secret i didn’t think i was allowed to keep.”
you reached for him. this time, he didn’t stop you.
he kissed you slowly, reverently, like the moment deserved to be remembered forever. when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“see,” he murmured. “much better scene.” you laughed softly. “happy ending?" he smiled. “we’re just getting to the good part.”
I have read some of your fanfics and they are all so nice. Where do you take the inspiration for your stories? And how long do you write one of your longer stories?
thank you so much, truly :')
i have a rather vivid imagination, so most of my stories are imaginary scenarios i come up with in my head before falling asleep hahaha. i'm always very grateful for requests, they always inspire me a lot, even if i sometimes change them the slightest bit.
as for how long it takes me to write them, it usually varies. sometimes, when i'm really inspired, i finish a 4k+ story in less than a week, yet a 2k one can take me multiple weeks up to multiple months to finish. it also always depends on how much time i have at hand, considering i just started attending university after working for many years to save up for it ♡
hey how do you do the fake text? I would like to try it out but I don’t know which program to use or how to make them in generell. Do you use a program or an app to make these?
i have an iphone so i basically just use the imessage app to create the fake texts. i unfortunately don't know about any apps or programs which can be used. perhaps one of my followers/anyone who sees this can comment some? ♡
summary: tucked away in the back room of the art gallery, the tension finally boils over and the connection only grows deeper, far beyond something physical
genre: strangers to lovers, smut! {~3.9k words}
warnings: explicit language, fingering, sexual intercourse, use of darling once
this is part two of exhibit a
mdni !
the backroom was quieter than the gallery, the door clicking shut behind you like a secret being kept.
the daylight shining in from the tiny window seemed softer here, casting gentle shadows over canvases stacked against the walls. some were unfinished, some rejected, some simply too personal to be framed and displayed.
hyunjin stepped inside slowly. he didn’t speak. didn’t rush. he moved from one painting to the next with deliberate care, posture attentive like he was afraid of disturbing them. his eyes traced every line, every colour choice, every hesitation you’d ever left behind in brushstrokes.
but his thoughts weren’t entirely on the art. every few seconds, his gaze drifted to you. trying not to be obvious about it. just quick glances, checking your expression, your posture, the way you breathed as he lingered in front of a piece. like he was trying to memorise you alongside the paintings, stitching the two together in his mind so neither could exist without the other.
you felt it. the way his attention brushed against you even when his body faced the canvas. the tension sat thick in the room, pressing in closer with every quiet step he took.
there were questions burning inside him. you could see them in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his lips parted slightly before closing again. questions about intent, about pain, about you. they sat heavy on his tongue, begging to be asked.
but he couldn’t. not when all he could focus on was the sound of your breathing behind him. the subtle shift of air when you moved. the faint trace of your scent. something that was so grounding, yet impossibly distracting.
he stood in front of one painting for to long, realising he hadn’t absorbed a single detail. because his body had already decided.
whatever he wanted to know, whatever he was afraid to ask, it wasn’t going to start with words.
he turned towards you before you realised he’d decided to move.
the distance between you disappeared in a single step, his presence suddenly everywhere. he didn’t say your name. didn’t say anything at all. his hand came up slowly, like he was giving you time to stop him, fingers hovering just short of your waist.
you didn’t. that was all the permission he needed.
his touch settled firmly against you, and the tension that had been coiled tight in the room finally gave way. he leaned in, forehead brushing yours for half a second, close enough for you to feel his breath, before his lips found yours again.
the kiss seemed different this time. slower. deeper. like he was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth, the way you responded to him. his hand tightened slightly, anchoring you there, and you felt the way his body relaxed into the contact, like this was where he’d been trying to get since the moment he’d stepped into this room.
a quiet sound slipped from you before you could catch it. he reacted instantly, a soft exhale leaving him as his mouth moved more insistently against yours, encouraged by the way you melted into him. the world narrowed to heat and breath and the steady pressure of his hands, to the way his thumb brushed unconsciously at your side like he needed to make sure you were real.
your hand slid around the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair as hyunjin deepened the kiss. and he was no longer able to stop his hands from roaming. his cold fingertips slipped under your shirt, giving you goosebumps.
you inhaled sharply, your mouth parting just slightly, enough for him to push his tongue inside it. you moaned at the sudden sensation and hyunjin was about to lose it right there.
he pulled you flush against him, needing you as close as humanly possible, one hand steady on your back. the other traveled the front, up to your tits, squeezing them gently through your bra.
both of you were too caught up in the moment, forgetting all about where you were, what you were doing, who you were doing it with. a complete stranger. in the back room of an art gallery, door closed but not locked.
hyunjin kissed your throat, and you arched your back, throwing your head back to grant him better access. his teeth grazed your skin and he just wanted to bite the soft flesh, suck on it, mark you. his hips bucked into you involuntarily at the thought of making you his.
"hyunjin," you wanted to say his name softly, wanted to make the two of you come back to reality, but instead, his name came out as a moan.
he acted on that, his leg moving inbetween yours, thigh against your clothed core. he grabbed your arse as he guided you on it and you couldn't help but rub yourself against him.
hyunjin groaned in desperation as he finally pulled away from your throat. he wanted to ask you if you were okay with this, if you wanted this as much as he did, but the way you looked at him made it impossible for him to keep his lips away from yours.
so he kissed you instead, the soft whimpers that left your throat went right into his mouth. his cock throbbed painfully with desire.
he whispered your name against your mouth, like a prayer. whispered it again, grounding himself, trying to swim back to the surface of reality. and when he finally pulled back, his grip on your hips loosening, he looked deep into your eyes.
"do you want me to stop?" he asked genuinely. even if it would have broken him physically and mentally, if you were to say yes right now, he would stop.
"don't you fucking dare, hyunjin."
that was all he needed. he pushed you back until your back hit the wall. a small, free space between canvases. he was quick to undo your trousers, hand slipping inside.
your own desire was painfully palpable, panties completely soaked, your walls clenching around nothing as his fingertips rubbed the smallest circles on your clothed clit. he was towering in front of you, watching you, studying your reaction.
"please, hyunjin." you needed more, craved his touch.
"it's about remembering you're alive." hyunjin repeated your words from earlier before he slipped his hand into your panties. he inhaled sharply as he felt you, your arousal.
his fingers were covered in your juices immediately. he kissed your temple as he slid one long digit inside you. "you're allowed to feel desire." he whispered against your hair, moving his finger in and out of you. "you're allowed to feel alive."
his words alone almost undid you. the sound of his voice hit something deep inside you.
his free hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back, making you look at him as he slid a second finger into you. and then he knew no mercy. his fingers pumped in and out of you at a fast pace, curling against the inside of your cunt, making you roll your hips against him.
his gaze never faltered. his eyes held yours intensely, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered. you were a moaning mess by now.
he rubbed his clothed hard on against you, desperate for some friction. it was almost embarrassing how much you loved the feeling of it. of knowing you had this effect on him.
your hand shot down, palming him, squeezing gently. "please, hyunjin." you begged. he clenched his teeth, clearly trying to control himself as he repeatedly curled his fingers at just the right spot.
your walls clenched around him, wanting to guide his fingers even deeper into you.
hyunjin swallowed down a groan. "come for me and you can have my cock." he murmured into your ear, kissing the skin just underneath your lobe. "come for me and i promise i will fuck you against that wall, darling."
and you did. hard. your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly, you feared your legs might give out. but hyunjin held you in place, pinned against the wall, guiding you through your orgasm, groaning a quiet "fuck, that's it."
once you came down from your high, he removed his fingers and slipped them into his mouth, the softest sound escaping him as he tasted you. as much as he wanted to eat you out, to cover his whole face into your juices and fuck his tongue into you until you came all over it, he knew he wouldn't be able to last. he would blow his load into his pants. and he had made a promise he had to fulfil.
he yanked down your trousers and panties in one swift motion, helping you step out of them. you reached for his belt with shaky hands, while he was busy fetching a foil packet from his wallet.
the thought of just dropping to your knees and sucking him off to repay the pleasure came to your mind. but you wanted him inside you so badly, the need for him burning embarassingly in your lower belly.
and his eagerness mirrored his own desire and desperation. he opened his fly with one hand, ripping the foil packet open with his other and his teeth.
his eyes never left yours, studying your face for any sign of regret as he freed his cock. you watched him, still out of breath, reaching for his length and giving him a few strokes. hyunjin threw his head back, eyes shut, half opened foil packet between his fingers. he let the moment linger for a bit, allowed himself to feel the touch of your soft hand around him.
he rolled the condom onto himself, grabbing one of your legs and placing it around his waist, knees slightly bent to find the right angle to line his cock at your entrance. he looked at you again, unable to speak but he didn't need words.
you nodded, soft smile on your lips and his heart jumped. he pushed inside you, slow, embracing the feeling of your warmth around him, watching his cock disappear inside you.
you moaned, the sensation of him stretching you out overwhelming. his eyes found yours again, watching your reaction with utmost care, before he finally started moving.
his cock slid in and out of you, rubbing your insides in just the right way, his tip hitting a spot so deep inside you as he fucked you against the wall.
hyunjin clenched his jaw, trying to suppress any sounds that threatened to escape. he wasn't usually very vocal during sex, but with you he had troubles holding back.
hyunjin's hands moved to your arse, palms stretching over your cheeks. "jump." he commanded, voice low. you wrapped your arms around him, and jumped up, wrapping your other leg around his waist as well.
hyunjin stilled for a moment, securing his grip on you, arms sliding under your thighs to steady you. when he moved again, his thrusts were slower but so much more intense. his lips were on yours in a heartbeat, wanting to feel connected to your body in every way possible.
it's about remembering you're alive. your words from earlier still echoed through his mind. he hadn't realised what an effect they've had on him back then. but right now, he felt more alive than he had in a very long time. with your cunt clenching around his cock, your lips chasing after his, your soft moans that were meant only for him.
and when you came around his cock, it didn't take him long to follow, to thrust deep inside you once more, movements coming to an halt as he filled the condom with his cum, his forehead resting against your shoulders, breaths heavy, arms shaking, but continuing to hold you.
you were tucked away here, hidden behind unfinished canvases and unspoken truths, and for a moment nothing else existed.
when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. just enough to take a look at you. his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the quiet.
he gently let your legs slide back down, his grip strong until your feet hit the floor. while you were still trying to comprehend what just happened, he was quick to remove the condom and tie it shut, before fixing his pants.
he picked up your trousers that were scattered on the floor and handed them to you, placing a tender kiss on your hand in the process. you laughed softly at that, and he was no longer able to hide his smile.
and only then, only once the need had eased into something softer, did he look at you like he might finally be able to ask his questions.
“i don’t usually do this,” he stated quietly. he pulled you close to him again, hands resting at your waist like letting go would cost him something.
“i don’t let myself give into my emotions this fast,” he continued. “i look. i think. i analyse until whatever i’m feeling makes sense.” a humourless breath left him. “you don’t make sense.”
you swallowed, heart beating too loudly in your chest. "you don't make sense either.” you whispered. his eyes softened at that, but something pained flickered there too.
“your paintings,” he said, “they felt familiar in a way that scared me. like they were pulling things out of me i’d already buried.” he hesitated, jaw tightening. “and hearing your explanations, your thoughts... only made it worse.”
you let out a quiet laugh that held no amusement. “i paint because i don’t know how else to survive what i feel,” you admitted. “because if i don’t put it somewhere, it stays in me. festers.” you looked at him. “i didn’t expect someone to see it. not like you did.”
he nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something he’d already known. “i’ve spent my life convincing myself that longing is dangerous,” he said. “that if you want something too badly, it’ll ruin you.” his thumb pressed unconsciously into your side. “standing in front of your work made me realise i still want. and meeting you–" he stopped, breath catching. “it made it impossible to pretend i don’t.”
the silence that followed was heavy, almost crushing. you felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin.
“maybe that’s why this feels comforting yet terrifying,” you said softly. “because we recognise each other too well. because we’re built from the same kind of hurt.”
his forehead dropped against yours again, eyes closing briefly. “yeah,” he whispered. “that’s exactly it.” neither of you pulled away.
the connection between you had grown heavy now, almost frightening in its depth. this wasn’t infatuation or coincidence. it was two people standing too close to something raw, something honest, knowing that once acknowledged, it couldn’t be undone. and still, neither of you stepped back.
he didn’t give either of you time to overthink it. his hands slid up from your waist, one settling at the back of your neck, thumb brushing just beneath your ear as he pulled you in again. the kiss was unrestrained, like everything you’d just said had stripped away the last layer of caution.
his mouth moved against yours with urgency, but there was tenderness threaded through it now, something aching and deliberate. he kissed you like he was trying to hold onto this exact moment, like he knew how rare it was to feel this seen.
you responded without hesitation, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left to close. your breaths tangled, soft sounds spilling from you as the kiss deepened, emotion bleeding into every movement. bodies speaking where words had failed.
for a few seconds, maybe minutes, nothing else existed. not the world outside, not the pain, mot the fear.
a sharp sound interrupted you, completely out of place.
you froze first, the reality crashing back in as the alarm on your phone echoed softly in the room. hyunjin pulled back slowly, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard, eyes still dark with everything that had been building between you.
“5pm,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “i have a guided tour to give.”
the moment cracked open, fragile but not broken. he nodded, disappointment flickering across his face even as understanding followed. his hand lingered at your neck a second longer than necessary, having to memorise the feel of you before letting go.
neither of you said anything. there was nothing that could make leaving easier.
you smoothed yourself down before stepping back into the gallery, hands steady despite the way your pulse still raced beneath your skin. the space felt different now. brighter. louder. too open.
the small group gathered near the entrance turned towards you with polite smiles. they didn’t know what had just happened a few meters away. didn’t know how the air back there still felt charged, like it remembered.
you began the tour anyway. your voice came out even, practiced, guiding them from piece to piece. you explained techniques, themes, progression. how the exhibition moved through loss, grief, endurance. they listened intently, nodding, murmuring appreciation, asking thoughtful questions.
“your work feels incredibly honest,” someone said.
“there’s so much vulnerability,” another added.
you smiled. thanked them. answered with grace. but your thoughts kept slipping. back to the backroom. to the way hyunjin had looked at you when he kissed you goodbye. to the way he hadn’t said a word, like anything he tried to offer would fall short.
as the tour ended, they applauded softly, congratulated you, lingered to offer praise. hands shook yours, compliments stacked up. you accepted them all. and still, your chest ached with the absence of one person who wasn’t there anymore.
that night, sleep refused to come. you lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the room too quiet, your thoughts far too loud. every time you closed your eyes, he was there. leaning too close, breathing uneven, looking at you like he was seeing something fragile and sacred all at once.
you replayed everything. the way he listened. the way he kissed you like it meant something. the way neither of you had said goodbye.
your chest tightened as the questions crept in.
will you ever see him again?
was it too much, too fast, too intense to be real?
were you drawn together because you were compatible, or because you were both broken in the same places?
you turned onto your side, then onto your back again, the sheets twisting beneath restless hands. part of you wanted certainty, something solid to hold onto. another part feared it just as much.
maybe it was better this way, you thought. a moment suspended in time. something beautiful that didn’t demand more. and yet the thought of never seeing him again made your throat ache.
somewhere across the city, unknown to you, hyunjin lay awake too.
the gallery replayed behind his closed eyes. the warmth of the backroom, the sound of your voice when you spoke about living through pain, the way you felt under his hands. he stared at the dark, jaw tight, heart heavy with the same impossible questions.
two strangers, who felt closer, more connected than they could have ever imagined, separated by distance now, both staring into the night.
the next morning arrived too quickly. you stepped into the gallery with heavy eyes and a body that felt like it hadn't fully rested, the events of the previous day clinging to you like a second skin. the familiar scent of paint and polished floors greeted you, grounding and disorienting all at once.
you barely made it two steps inside before someone hurried towards you.
it was one of the younger interns, the one who’d helped you hang the frames, measure the spacing, adjust the lighting until everything felt just right. her face was lit up, practically glowing, a grin stretching so wide it bordered on disbelief.
“your paintings are sold,” she blurted out. you stopped short. “sold?” you echoed.
she nodded rapidly, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “yes. people started buying them last night. it happened really fast.”
your heart stuttered. “all of them?” you asked, breath catching.
“almost all of them,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “and–" her grin widened impossibly, “about three of them were sold to the same buyer.”you stared at her, shock washing over you in waves.
“guess you have a fan,” she added, clearly delighted.
not long after, you were waved towards the gallery owner’s office.
the door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling out into the hallway. you knocked softly before stepping inside. she sat behind her desk, an elderly woman with kind eyes and a presence that felt both commanding and gentle. she looked up at you with a smile that carried genuine pride.
“sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. “i wanted to speak with you properly.”
you did, hands folded in your lap, heart still racing faintly from the news.
she spoke about your work with care, about its honesty, its emotional depth, how rare it was to see something so unguarded resonate with so many people. you listened quietly, gratitude swelling in your chest.
then she leaned back slightly. “the final painting,” she said, “the one with the red, gold, and white.”
your breath hitched. want after grief. “it brought in the highest sum.”
she told you the number. your eyes widened before you could stop yourself, the air leaving your lungs in a soft rush. “that’s too much,” you whispered.
she smiled knowingly. “no,” she said. “it’s exactly what it deserves. and so do you.”
you swallowed, emotions tangling. disbelief, pride, something close to fear.
she continued, more casually now, “some buyers have requested to pick up their pieces personally. they’ll be coming on sunday, when the exhibition finishes.”
you nodded slowly, still trying to steady yourself, unaware that the answer to every question that had kept you awake the night before was already waiting on a list just within your reach.
you waited until you were alone to look at the buyers' list.
it sat on the small desk near the back, neatly printed, names aligned with titles and notes in tidy columns. your fingers hovered for a moment before you picked it up.
you scanned the names slowly. some were familiar, collectors you’d met before, patrons who had followed your work quietly over the years. others meant nothing to you, just ink on paper, strangers who had seen something of themselves in what you made.
then you saw it.
hwang hyunjin.
your breath caught so sharply it almost hurt. your eyes dropped, reread the line like it might rearrange itself if you weren’t careful. but it stayed exactly where it was. beneath his name were the titles. three of them.
the opening painting.
the one you had told him was your personal favourite.
and the final piece. the one about want after grief.
and beside the last entry, written neatly in the margin, were the words: pick up on sunday.
your heart began to race, heat blooming in your chest, spreading outward until your hands trembled slightly around the paper. he hadn’t just bought one. he’d chosen the beginning, the end, and the piece you’d bared yourself most completely in. he’d understood.
slowly, you lowered the list, a quiet, disbelieving smile tugging at your lips.
sunday meant the exhibition would close.
sunday meant the gallery would be quiet again.
sunday meant he would walk through those doors knowing exactly who you were.
the thought sent a shiver through you.
the stranger who hadn’t felt like a stranger at all was coming back. and this time, you wouldn't just let him slip away.
pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
summary: when walking through your own art exhibition with a complete stranger turns into something way too emotionally charged and heated. a deep connection neither of you can deny
genre: strangers to lovers {~3.6k words}
warnings: reader is an artist, a lot of charged tension, mutual attraction
the gallery had been quiet all day. you stood near the far wall, half hidden by the angle of the space, watching people drift in and out with slow steps, hushed voices, polite distance. most of them skimmed. some lingered. none stayed long enough to feel heavy.
then the door opened again.
you noticed him immediately, not because he was particularly loud, but because he wasn’t paying attention at all. and because he looked absolutely breathtaking.
he stepped inside almost absentmindedly, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes unfocused, as if he hadn’t fully decided to be here. his gaze flicked around the room, like this had been a detour rather than a destination. you could tell he hadn’t read the placard outside. hadn’t prepared himself. he was just… here.
from his point of view, the gallery barely registered at first. white walls. soft lighting. quiet air. his thoughts were elsewhere, unfinished.
but then he stopped. simply halted in front of the first painting, as if something had caught him by the collar and pulled him back. his hand loosened at his side. his breathing slowed without him realising why.
the longer he looked, the more the rest of the room dissolved. the clean lines of the gallery faded, replaced by colour and texture. the painting didn’t shout for his attention, didn’t demand it. it waited. and somehow, that made it worse.
he leaned in slightly, head tilting, eyes tracing shapes he couldn’t yet name. there was a tension in his posture now, the kind that came from being caught off guard. he hadn’t expected to feel anything. certainly not this quiet pull in his chest.
you watched the way his expression shifted, how distraction gave way to focus, how focus sharpened into something almost reverent. the absentmindedness peeled off him layer by layer, replaced by stillness.
his lips parted before he realised he was speaking. “it’s fascinating,” he murmured, barely louder than the hum of the lights.
and that was when you turned your head, already knowing he was going to matter.
“what is?” your voice cut through the quiet gently, not loud enough to startle the room, only him.
hyunjin flinched, shoulders tensing as he turned towards you, eyes widening just a fraction.
he clearly hadn’t expected anyone to hear him, hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud at all. for a split second, he looked caught, almost embarrassed, like you’d interrupted something private.
then you smiled. just a soft and curious smile. and something in him loosened.
he hadn’t expected that either, the way the tension slipped from his spine so easily, the way his breath evened out without effort. it surprised him how quickly his body responded, how instinctive the relief was. he stood there, momentarily thrown by the fact that a stranger’s expression could settle him so completely.
his eyes stayed on you longer than they should have. he didn’t mean to look the way he did. didn’t intend for his gaze to drift, from your face down to the line of your shoulders, the way you stood so comfortably in the space, like you belonged there.
it wasn’t hunger exactly, more like recognition without context. a heavy pull he couldn’t immediately name.
from where you stood, you could see it happen. the pause. the quiet gravity of his attention.
hyunjin caught himself a heartbeat too late. he shook his head slightly, barely noticeable, as if the movement alone could snap him back into place.
his posture straightened. his focus shifted, deliberately this time, back to the painting in front of him, back to reality.
but the air between you had already changed.
and he knew, even then, that whatever had drawn him into the gallery in the first place had just taken a different shape.
he cleared his throat quietly, as if grounding himself, then lifted his hand towards the painting. he didn’t touch it, never would, but his fingers hovered close, tracing invisible paths through the air.
“this one,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care, “it feels… restrained.”
his eyes followed the lines as he spoke, sharp angles cutting through softer washes of colour. dark blues pressed in on themselves, bruised purples layered over grey, everything held in a kind of tense balance.
“i think the painter’s a reserved person,” he added after a moment, almost apologetic about the assumption. “or at least someone who learned early on how to keep things contained.”
his hand moved again, outlining the harsher strokes.
“these parts, see how they’re rigid? controlled? it’s like grief that never got permission to be messy.” his brow furrowed, concentration deepening. “not the kind that breaks you open, but the kind you carry quietly. the kind you fold up and tuck away because there isn’t room for it.”
he shifted closer, leaning in just enough to catch details most people missed.
“and then there’s this,” he murmured, indicating the softer shading beneath the darker lines. “everyone would call this comfort. acceptance. but i don’t think it is.” his lips pressed together briefly. “i think it’s containment. like the emotion is allowed to exist, but only inside very specific borders.”
he paused, hand dropping back to his side. “it feels like someone who never let themselves fall apart, someone disciplined,” he said finally. “someone who decided early on that grief was something to be endured, not expressed.”
his voice was quiet now, as if he were afraid the painting might hear him.
you watched him as he spoke, the way his eyes stayed locked on the canvas, the seriousness with which he handled something that wasn’t his. there was no performance in it. no desire to impress. just honesty.
when he finished, he glanced at you uncertainly, as though bracing for disagreement.
“that’s just how it reads to me,” he added softly.
and in that moment, standing beside the man dissecting your pain with such care, you realised how dangerous it was to be truly seen, even anonymously.
you didn’t answer right away. you let the silence stretch. not out of hesitation, but out of respect. his words still lingered in the air, and you didn’t want to trample over them with something too quick, too decisive.
when you finally spoke, your voice was calm. “i agree with you,” you said, and watched the way his shoulders eased at that alone. “about the restraint. about the quiet.”
his eyes flickered to you again, attentive now, like he’d leaned into an invisible current.
“but i don’t think it’s discipline,” you continued, stepping a little closer to the painting yourself. close enough to feel its presence, not close enough to touch. “i think it’s fear.”
you gestured towards the softer areas he’d mentioned. “those parts aren’t comfort,” you said gently. “they’re hesitation. like someone standing on the edge of something they already know is going to hurt.”
your fingers traced the air, mirroring his earlier motion. “the lines don’t soften because the feeling fades. they soften because it hasn’t been named yet.”
you glanced at him briefly before returning your gaze to the canvas. “it’s not grief behaving,” you added. “it’s grief waiting for permission.”
the words settled between you. hyunjin didn’t interrupt. didn’t rush to respond. he just stared at the painting again, seeing it shift under your interpretation, like a lens clicking into place. something in his expression changed, not disagreement, but recognition.
slowly, he nodded. “that makes sense,” he said under his breath. “more than what i thought, actually.”
his eyes lingered on the canvas for another moment, then drifted back to you. this time, there was something different in his gaze, like curiosity sharpened by intrigue.
“you explain it like you’ve been inside it,” he said, not accusatory.
and you smiled carefully, already knowing how much you were giving away without meaning to.
he hesitated after that, like he was standing at the edge of something he hadn’t planned to step into.
you could see the shift in him, the way shyness tried to reassert itself, tugging him backward, even as curiosity pulled harder in the opposite direction.
his fingers flexed at his side restlessly. his gaze drifted briefly to the rest of the gallery, then returned to you, as if the space between the two of you had quietly narrowed.
“i, um,” he started, then stopped, lips pressing together in thought.
when he spoke again, his voice was steadier, driven less by politeness now and more by want. “would you like to walk through the rest of them with me?” he asked. “only if you want to. i just–" he exhaled softly, a hint of a laugh slipping out. “the way you talk about it. it’s… fascinating.”
the word landed differently this time. heavier. intentional.
he met your eyes fully now, and there was no mistaking it. the longing wasn’t just for the art anymore. it was for your perspective, the way you saw beneath the surface, the way you articulated things he’d felt but never named.
you felt a flicker of something warm in your chest. you hadn’t planned to walk through your own exhibition like this. hadn’t planned to hear it filtered through someone else’s voice. and yet, the idea of staying anonymous, of letting the work speak without the weight of authorship, felt suddenly irresistible.
you nodded. “i’d like that,” you said. “but only if you promise to tell me what you see, too.”
his eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard again, then they softened, and he smiled. genuine, almost uncontrollablly, like it had slipped out before he could stop it. it transformed his face completely, “i promise,” he said.
and as you turned together towards the next painting, you hoped quietly that the gallery would keep your secret just a little while longer.
you moved together slowly, as if the pace had been agreed upon without words. the second painting waited a few steps away, its colours darker, the composition more fractured. hyunjin stopped in front of it, hands sliding into his pockets as he tilted his head.
“this one feels louder,” he said after a moment. “not in sound, more like pressure.” he frowned slightly, searching. “like everything is trying to occupy the same space at once.”
you hummed softly in agreement, and his eyes flicked to you almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for that small confirmation.
“it reminds me of losing something before you realise it’s gone,” he continued. “the chaos comes first. the understanding comes later.” he paused, then added quieter, “or maybe it never comes.”
you stepped closer, your shoulder nearly brushing his. “i think you’re right,” you said. “but i also think it’s about identity.” you gestured towards the fragmented shapes. “pieces of the self competing when there’s no clear center anymore. like grief doesn’t just take something away, it rearranges you.”
his breath caught, just slightly. he nodded, lips parted, eyes bright. “yeah,” he said. “that. that’s exactly it.”
you moved on, and with each painting, the rhythm repeated itself.
he spoke with care, never rushing, never claiming certainty where there wasn’t any. he noticed small details, repeated motifs, changes in texture, the way certain colours softened as the exhibition progressed. his interpretations weren’t academic, they were emotional, grounded in empathy.
“this one feels tired,” he said in front of another canvas, voice gentle. “like it’s already mourned too much.”
“or like it’s learned how to live with the weight,” you offered.
every time you spoke, his attention sharpened. he glanced at you as often as the paintings now, eyes searching your face for reactions, for additions, for more. sometimes he asked outright.
“what do you think this part means?”
“does this feel intentional to you?”
“do you think it’s anger, or resignation?”
and sometimes his questions drifted elsewhere.
“you think about things like this a lot, don’t you?” he asked at one point, almost shyly. “not just art. life.”
you smiled at that, “i try to,” you said. “i think it helps me understand people better.”
his gaze lingered. “it shows.”
with every step, the space between you narrowed without any of you noticign. just a quiet gravity pulling you closer. your arms brushed. your shoulders aligned. at one point, you realised your footsteps had synchronised without either of you trying.
he leaned in when you spoke. you angled towards him when he did. neither of you commented on it.
you were both too busy being drawn in. by the art, by the conversation, by the strange, undeniable feeling that this wasn’t just about paintings anymore.
the room shifted subtly as you approached the final piece. he felt it before he saw it, the way the air seemed warmer here, heavier, like something was waiting. hyunjin slowed instinctively, his steps faltering until he stopped altogether in front of the last painting.
he didn’t speak right away. this one didn’t demand careful decoding. it didn’t hide behind restraint or fragmentation. it simply existed, open and unapologetic.
the colours were warmer. deep reds threaded with gold, pale whites cutting through like breath against skin. the lines were looser, almost trembling, as if the hand that painted them had hesitated and surrendered at the same time. nothing was fully formed, yet everything felt intentional, intimate.
hyunjin exhaled slowly. “this one’s different,” he said at last.
you watched the way his eyes moved across the canvas, slower than before. the intensity in his expression had shifted, sharpened into something more visceral.
“the others feel like aftermath,” he continued. “like pain being processed. carried.” his jaw tightened slightly. “but this…” he swallowed. “this feels like want.”
he lifted a hand, then stopped himself, fingers curling instead. “there’s still grief here,” he said, thoughtful. “you can feel it underneath. but it’s tangled with something else. something physical.” his lips curved faintly, almost disbelieving. “the strokes feel almost… erotic.”
he glanced at you, checking your reaction, then back at the painting.
“overwhelming. like the kind of beauty that makes your chest ache. like standing somewhere too vast to comprehend.”
his voice dropped as he found the comparison. “it reminds me of those old nature writings,” he said. “where the land is described so intensely it borders on desire. not because it’s meant to be possessed, but because it makes you feel painfully alive.”
"william bartram." you murmured softly. "you know him?" hyunjin asked. you just nodded without looking away from the painting.
his gaze lingered on the canvas, pupils dark, breath slow. “it’s like the body remembers how to feel before the mind can catch up,” he murmured.
when he finally looked at you again, the distance between you had all but disappeared. there was heat in his eyes now, deeply curious, drawn tight with fascination.
and the way he watched you told you he wasn’t just looking for confirmation anymore. he was looking for permission to feel exactly what this painting had awakened in him.
the air between you changed without either of you moving. it thickened, like something had shifted just beneath the surface. you felt it settle in your chest, in the way your breath slowed, then deepened. when you spoke, your voice dropped only slightly, but enough to matter. “it’s want after grief,” you said quietly.
hyunjin’s attention snapped to you fully then, the painting forgotten behind him. his eyes were dark, unblinking.
“the frightening part isn’t the pain,” you continued. “it’s realising that desire survives it.” you swallowed softly. “that after everything, the body still reacts. still aches. still reaches.”
you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your gaze fixed on the canvas, as if the words needed somewhere neutral to land.
“it’s not about seduction,” you said, barely above a breath. “it’s about remembering you’re alive.” silence followed.
when you finally turned your head, you found him closer, far closer than before. he hadn’t meant to move. his body had reacted before his mind could catch up, pulled forward by something instinctive and unignorable.
his chest rose and fell heavily now, breaths deeper than they had been moments ago. his lips were parted, eyes locked on your face like you were the only thing in the room worth anchoring to.
you could see it written all over him, the fascination tipping into something rawer, the way your words had struck somewhere beneath thought. he wasn’t analysing anymore. he wasn’t interpreting.
he was feeling.
and the space between you had dwindled to almost nothing, charged with the knowledge that neither of you was untouched by what had just been said.
hyunjin didn’t answer right away.
instead, he studied you. really looked at you this time, like he was stripping away context, replaying every word you’d said, every certainty you’d carried so effortlessly. you could almost see it happen, the realisation clicking into place piece by piece. his gaze sharpened, no longer hazy with feeling but precise, searching.
“you know an awful lot about these paintings,” he said. his voice was deeper than before. dangerous in the way it vibrated low in his chest.
you inhaled quietly, the breath catching just enough to give you away.
before you could say anything, he turned. his eyes dropped to the small plaque beside the painting, scanning it once, then again, slower this time. his lips parted.
he whispered your name. it didn’t sound like a question. it sounded like reverence. like something fragile and sacred.
then he looked back at you. “that’s you, isn’t it?” he said, this time louder, steadier, though his eyes betrayed him.
you nodded. no words came. your throat felt too tight for them.
something in his expression softened instantly, awe flooding in where suspicion had been. he stepped closer, one deliberate step, and held out his hand.
“hwang hyunjin.”
you stared at his hand for half a second too long before whispering, “nice to meet you.”
when you took it, the tension finally snapped.
his touch was warm and grounding. and it lingered. fingers curled just enough to be intentional. electricity raced up your arm, and you saw the same jolt register in him as his breath stuttered.
neither of you pulled away.
the gallery faded. the paintings blurred. all that remained was the heat of his hand around yours, the quiet, impossible chemistry boiling over between two strangers who suddenly weren’t strangers at all.
something in his expression shifted. dangerously decisive.
his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, the last trace of hesitation burning away as if he’d finally stopped arguing with himself. you saw the exact moment the choice was made, when fascination tipped into need, when restraint lost its hold.
without another word, he moved. his hand tightened around yours and he pulled you with him, steering you around the corner of the gallery, away from the open space, away from the soft lighting and the possibility of eyes. the world narrowed to motion and heat and the sound of your pulse in your ears.
your back hit the wall with a soft thud, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. before you could inhale again, before you could think, before you could react, he was there.
his hands came up to either side of you, caging you in, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. his breath was heavy now, brushing your face.
then his mouth was on yours.
the kiss was intense. all the careful analysis, all the quiet conversations and unspoken longing collapsed into that single point of contact.
it was charged, it was desperate, like he’d been holding this back since the moment he’d first stopped in front of your work.
his lips moved against yours with purpose, hunger threaded through every second, as if he were trying to communicate everything words had failed to carry. the fascination that had lived in his eyes became action, heat, urgency.
the tension you’d built together finally boiled over, spilling into the kiss, into the way neither of you pulled away, into the knowledge that this had been inevitable the moment he let himself really see you.
the kiss deepened without either of you meaning it to.
his hands slid to your waist, steadying you against the wall as if he needed the contact to ground himself. his touch was firm, thumbs pressing in like he couldn't refrain himself any longer. you felt the way his body leaned into yours, heat unmistakable, breath warm and uneven against your skin.
a soft gasp slipped from you before you could stop it. he felt it immediately.
his mouth stilled for half a second, then moved again with renewed intent, like the sound had unlocked something in him.
he kissed you harder, hungry to draw another breathy sound from your lips that he seemed to feed on, encouraged by every quiet noise you made. each one pulled a low sound from his chest in return, a soft exhale that trembled against you.
when he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to breathe.
you were both panting, the space between your mouths barely there. his chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and blown wide as they scanned you, your expression, your lips, the way you looked utterly undone beneath him.
attraction burned openly now, tangled with awe. not just for you, but for what you’d created. for the way your mind worked. for the fact that you were standing here with him.
you swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “i have a few more works in the back room.”
the words hung charged between you.
hyunjin let out a sound that was almost a groan, his grip tightening instinctively as his eyes flicked up to meet yours again.
“show me,” he said desperately, adding a breathless "please".
and the way he looked at you told you he meant it.
summary: when your best friend starts dating someone, you're happy for him. at least you try to be. but when the distance continues to grow between you, it shatters both of you, and he starts realising who he truly wants {requested by anonymous}
genre: angst! with a happy ending {~5.8k words}
warnings: jealousy, hurt, miscommunication, mentions of food, (use of y/n once)
the kitchen smelled faintly like toasted bread and instant ramen, the kind of comforting mess that always came with spending too much time at felix's place.
you were perched on the counter, legs swinging as felix leaned against the opposite side, laughing at something on his phone. his laugh filled the space so easily that you barely noticed how natural it felt to be there with him.
it always did.
you were wearing the hoodie he’d left at your place weeks ago, sleeves a little too long, and he was absentmindedly fiddling with the thin bracelet around his wrist. the one you’d made him years ago, back when friendship bracelets felt like promises.
“listen to this,” he said, shoving his phone towards you. some ridiculous video played, and you snorted before you could stop yourself.
“you have the worst sense of humour,” you told him, smiling anyway.
“that’s a lie and you know it,” he shot back, grin wide. then, almost casually, like it didn’t mean anything at all, he added, “oh, by the way, i’m going on a date tonight.”
the words landed wrong. they felt absolutely… off. like a note slightly out of tune.
for half a second, your chest tightened, breath catching before you even realised why. your mind scrambled to keep up with the sudden shift, to shove the feeling down before it showed on your face. you forced your expression into something bright, something easy.
“oh,” you said, then quickly, “really? that’s great, lix. i’m happy for you.”
and you meant it. you did. at least, you wanted to. you cared about him, wanted him to be happy, wanted his life to be full and exciting and everything he deserved.
that didn’t stop the small, sharp sting in your chest, the one you pretended not to notice.
felix blinked. it was subtel, the way his smile faltered for just a moment before he smoothed it out again. his fingers stilled on the bracelet, hand dropping to his side.
“yeah?” he asked, like he was checking your answer. “you’re… happy?”
“of course,” you said, too quickly. “why wouldn’t i be?”
he hummed, nodding slowly, but something in his eyes shifted. confusion, maybe. disappointment. something unspoken settling heavy between the two of you.
he’d expected something else. he didn’t know what exactly, maybe surprise, maybe hesitation, maybe a crack in your voice that betrayed something deeper. anything that proved he wasn’t the only one who felt that strange, tightening pull when the idea of someone else entered the picture.
but you were smiling supportively. and for reasons he didn’t fully understand yet, that made something sour twist in his stomach.
“i should get ready,” he said after a moment, pushing himself off the counter. “don’t wanna be late.”
“right,” you replied, nodding. “have fun.”
he paused at the doorway, glancing back at you like he wanted to say something else. instead, he just smiled again, brighter this time, almost forced. “i will.”
when he left, the kitchen felt quieter. too quiet.
you stared at the spot where he’d been standing, fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie. the bracelet on your own wrist felt heavier somehow, the thread digging softly into your skin.
you told yourself it was fine. that this was something you knew would happen at some point. that you’d get over your iwn feeling like you always did.
you didn’t see the way felix, down the hall, glanced at his reflection and frowned, thinking about how much he’d wanted your reaction to be different.
you were still sitting on the counter when the door opened again, the sound of shoes being kicked off echoing through the hallway. seungmin walked in, hair damp, practice bag slung over his shoulder, radiating that tired-but-energised post-practice vibe. he headed straight for the kitchen, nodding at you in greeting.
“hey,” he said easily. “you’re quiet.”
“am i?” you asked, though your voice felt distant even to yourself.
he didn’t push it. instead, he grabbed his water bottle. the normalcy of it grounded you a little, the familiar rhythm of someone else just… existing.
“felix around?” seungmin asked, unscrewing the lid.
“yeah,” you replied. “he’s getting ready.”
seungmin paused, eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at you. for a second, you could almost see the thought forming behind his eyes.
ready for what? shouldn’t you have to get ready then as well?
his gaze flicked over you, your hoodie, your lack of urgency, the way you were very clearly not scrambling to leave. the confusion lingered, then something clicked.
“oh,” he said, eyes widening slightly. “wait, who’s he going out with?”
you shrugged, the motion small, almost careless. “no idea.”
seungmin frowned, clearly unsettled by that answer, but before he could say anything else, you pushed yourself off the counter.
“i should head out,” you said. “see you.”
he watched you leave, the quiet click of the door closing behind you leaving the kitchen feeling oddly incomplete.
down the hall, felix stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the collar of his shirt for the third time. he should’ve been excited.
instead, his mind kept replaying the same image. you, smiling. supportive. unbothered.
he swallowed, jaw tightening. it shouldn’t matter. it didn’t matter. you were his best friend. you always had been. the feelings he’d buried for so long were stupid, inconvenient, and clearly one-sided.
you didn’t feel that way about him, he told himself. so why keep holding onto it?
felix exhaled sharply, straightening his posture. fine. he’d go on the date. he’d really go through with it. he’d let himself try, let himself prove that he could want someone else, that he could finally get over this stupid crush he’d carried for way too long.
he grabbed his jacket, forcing determination into his movements.
this was for the best.
for both of you.
when felix came back later that night, the dorm was dim and quiet, the kitchen light still on. seungmin was there again, rinsing a plate, glancing up when the door closed.
“you’re back,” seungmin said. “how was it?”
felix dropped his keys onto the counter, shoulders tense as he shrugged out of his jacket. he hesitated for half a second, long enough to notice the faint, unfamiliar emptiness settling in his chest.
“it was nice,” he said finally, tone carefully neutral. “i thought i’d give her a chance.”
seungmin studied him, something thoughtful in his expression, but he didn’t argue. he just nodded slowly.
“yeah?” he said. “that so?”
felix nodded, even as his fingers curled unconsciously around his wrist, rubbing over the place where his bracelet sat, like he was reminding himself of something he hadn’t meant to forget.
days passed, slipping into each other the way they always did, and on the surface, nothing really changed.
felix still texted you the moment he woke up, half-coherent messages riddled with typos and voice notes where his voice was warm and sleepy. he still sent you pictures of the sky when it looked especially pretty, of his food when it looked especially bad, of anything that made him laugh because his first instinct was still you.
you replied like you always had. you teased him for his spelling mistakes, sent him memes in return, complained about your day, listened to his. sometimes you forgot that anything had shifted at all.
until it did.
a pause before he answered. a message left on read for longer than usual. a conversation that ended earlier than it would have before. you told yourself not to overthink it. he had a girlfriend now. things were bound to be different.
felix felt it too. every time his phone buzzed with your name lighting up the screen, something warm spread through his chest, and right after it, a sharp prickle of guilt.
his girlfriend would glance over, lips pursed. “you’re texting her again?” she asked once, not quite accusing, but close enough.
“yeah,” felix replied, instinctively tucking his phone closer to himself. “we always text.”
she hummed, eyes lingering on him for a second too long. “don’t you think that’s a little… much?”
the word settled uncomfortably between them.
after that, she started hovering. leaning against his shoulder while he typed, peeking at the screen, commenting on your messages.
“what’s so funny?”
“why does she need to know that?”
“can’t it wait?”
felix started angling his phone away without even realising it, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. he hated the feeling crawling up his spine, like he was doing something wrong just by wanting to talk to you.
so he replied slower. shorter. sometimes not at all.
you noticed and didn’t say anything at first, but the ache built quietly, every unread message and delayed reply chipping away at something you hadn’t realised was so fragile. when you did see him in person, he seemed distracted, his attention split, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
the worst part was that he still laughed with you. still cared. just… less openly.
one afternoon, you caught sight of his wrist and your heart sank a little. the bracelet was gone.
you didn’t ask about it. you just swallowed the feeling and smiled like everything was fine, even as felix rubbed absentmindedly at the bare skin there later that night, a hollow sensation blooming in his chest.
the tension finally snapped the night the boys invited you over. it was supposed to be casual. food, games, too much noise and not enough space. the kind of thing that usually felt like home. but felix barely looked at you.
he laughed at jokes that weren’t yours, kept his answers short, his body angled away like he was trying to create distance on purpose. every time you caught his eye, he looked away first.
your patience wore thin. you waited until he stepped into the hallway to grab a drink, then followed him, heart pounding as you called his name softly.
“felix.” he turned, expression already tense. “what?”
you hesitated, then took a breath. “did i do something? you’ve been really distant lately and i just– if i upset you, i want to know.”
for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. his jaw clenched instead. “no,” he said, too fast. then, louder, “it's just... i have a girlfriend now, okay? i can’t be there for you twenty-four seven.”
the words hit harder than you expected, a cold shock spreading through your chest.
you stared at him, searching his face for something, any emotion, but you didn’t find anything.
“okay,” you said quietly, with a forced nod, “fine.”
you didn’t wait for him to respond. you turned and walked away, grabbing your things, ignoring the way your hands shook. when the door closed behind you, the sound echoed painfully through the dorm.
felix stood there, staring at the empty hallway, heart racing.
the second you were gone, the anger drained out of him, leaving only a sick, sinking realisation in its place.
he thought he’d just done something he wouldn’t be able to take back.
you went home, kicked off your shoes, sat on the edge of your bed and stared at the floor for a long time, replaying his words over and over until they lost shape and still somehow hurt just as much. you told yourself you were being dramatic, that this was what you’d agreed to the moment you decided to stay quiet about your feelings.
still, the ache lingered.
hours later, when the apartment was dark and your thoughts refused to settle, you reached for your phone. not to start a fight. not to demand anything. just to… make sure you hadn’t imagined it all.
your fingers hovered over his name before you typed.
« hey. i don’t want things to be weird between us. »
you hit send.
the message stayed grey.
you frowned, waiting. refreshed the chat. tried again.
« is everything okay? »
nothing.
a cold knot formed in your stomach, your pulse quickening with every second that passed. then you realised it.
you were blocked.
your breath left you in a shaky exhale. you laughed once, softly, like you couldn’t quite believe it. “wow,” you whispered to no one.
embarrassment burned hot, followed quickly by anger. you wanted to march back to the dorm and scream at him, wanted to slap that stupid, apologetic look off his face that he’d probably wear if you ever confronted him. instead, you tossed your phone onto the bed and lay back, staring at the ceiling until the ache settled into something dull and heavy.
fine, you thought. if that’s how he wants it.
back at the dorm, felix sat on his bed with his phone in his hands, screen lighting up his face every few seconds as he checked it again. and again.
nothing.
you hadn’t texted. not once. no memes. no sarcastic comments. no got home safely! like you used to send without fail.
his chest tightened.
maybe you just need some space, he told himself.
but the days dragged on, stretching thin, and the silence grew louder with every passing minute.
the memory of your voice earlier replayed in his head, softer than he’d ever heard it.
did i do something?
guilt clawed at him.
he reached for his wrist without thinking, thumb brushing over bare skin where the bracelet used to be. the absence felt wrong, like he’d misplaced something important and only realised too late.
maybe you were upset. maybe you were hurt. maybe, his stomach twisted, maybe you just didn’t care enough to reach out anymore.
the thought hurt more than he expected.
he unlocked his phone again, opening your chat, ready to type something, anything, to fix it. he stared at the empty space where your messages should have been, waiting for the familiar buzz that never came.
with a frustrated sigh, he set the phone face down on the bed and ran a hand through his hair.
you probably don't want anything to do with him anymore, he thought. the idea settling heavy in his chest.
and as he lay there in the quiet, felix realised with a sinking feeling that pushing you away had hurt a lot more than he’d ever meant it to.
weeks passed, each day blending into the next. felix threw himself into schedules, practices, anything that kept him busy enough not to think too hard about the quiet that followed him everywhere. he laughed when he was supposed to, smiled for cameras, nodded along to conversations, but it all felt hollow.
his girlfriend didn’t notice. or maybe she didn’t care. "we should go out again,” she said one afternoon, scrolling through her phone while sitting next to him. “somewhere nice. people love couple content.”
felix hummed noncommittally. “i’m kinda tired. maybe we could just stay in?”
she looked up, visibly unimpressed. “stay in? felix, that’s boring. you’re an idol, you can’t just hide. i want people to see us.”
us, she said, but it never felt like it included him.
another time, as he poked at his food, appetite long gone, he tried again. “i’ve just been feeling off lately,” he admitted quietly. “like… not myself.”
she waved a hand, already losing interest. “you’re overthinking. anyway, i was thinking we could do a couples shoot. it’d be great for my socials.”
his words dissolved in the air between them. whenever he talked about himself, about being tired, overwhelmed, lonely, she’d redirect the conversation so fast it left his head spinning.
“you’re so sensitive lately.”
“can we not talk about this now?”
“why are you making this such a big deal?”
once, when he went on for more than a minute about missing the things he used to enjoy, she scoffed. “why do you always make everything about you?”
the words stuck with him. around the studio, the others noticed.
chan watched felix retreat into himself, shoulders hunched, smiles shorter. jeongin whispered to changbin one night about how quiet he’d gotten. even hyunjin frowned when felix flinched at a joke that would’ve made him laugh before.
late one evening, the studio was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that made thoughts too loud.
chan found felix curled into one end of the studio couch with his phone in his hands. he wasn’t really scrolling, just staring at the screen like he expected it to change if he looked long enough. chan lingered in the doorway for a moment before speaking.
“hey,” he said gently. “i haven’t seen y/n in a while.”
felix’s thumb paused. he didn’t look up.
“how is she?” chan continued, tone casual on the surface. then, more carefully, “how are you?”
felix shrugged, the movement stiff, practiced. “i don’t know.”
chan frowned, stepping closer. “you don’t know?” he echoed. “aren’t you two talking anymore?”
felix’s grip tightened around his phone. your chat sat at the top of his screen, empty, silent, mocking him with weeks of nothing. no good mornings. no stupid videos. no did you eat yet?
nothing.
“i don’t know,” he repeated, quieter this time.
chan raised his eyebrows, disbelief creeping in. “you don’t know how she’s doing? felix, she used to be here all the time.”
felix swallowed, jaw tightening. he hated how small his voice felt when he spoke again. hated how much effort it took just to keep it steady.
“people drift,” he muttered.
it sounded like something he’d rehearsed. something he’d told himself over and over, hoping one day it would stop hurting.
chan crossed his arms. “since when?”
silence stretched between them.
felix stared at his phone like it could save him, like if he kept his eyes down long enough, he wouldn’t have to face what chan was really asking. his chest felt tight, lungs burning, the weight of everything pressing in at once.
he hated who he’d become. hated how quiet he was now. hated how empty his days felt. hated waking up and realising the person he wanted to tell everything to wasn’t there anymore.
his life felt wrong. like he was living someone else’s version of it, smiling for the wrong reasons, holding onto the wrong person.
“i have a girlfriend now,” he said finally, voice flat.
chan scoffed, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “but she was your best friend.”
was.
the word hit felix like a blow to the chest. something inside him cracked, breath stuttering as he pushed himself to his feet too quickly. he didn’t trust himself to speak, not if he wanted to keep whatever composure he had left.
he grabbed his jacket, keys jingling in his trembling hand, and headed for the door.
“felix,” chan called after him, concern threading his voice. “hey! where are you going?” felix didn’t answer. he didn’t turn around.
the door closed behind him with a soft but final click, leaving chan staring at the empty space and felix walking out into the night, heart pounding, the word was echoing in his head long after he was gone.
he was different around her. smaller. tense. nothing like the felix they knew. nothing like the felix he’d been with you.
you had always been his calm. the person who grounded him after exhausting days, who listened without judgment, who cared about the parts of him that existed far beyond the stage lights. with you, he never had to perform.
chan’s message came late at night.
« hey. random question, but do you think we could meet up sometime? »
you stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering. you hadn’t talked properly in a while, not to him, not to anyone from the group, really. still, chan had always been kind to you. safe.
« yeah »
« i could swing by the studio during my lunch break tomorrow, if that works. »
« perfect »
the next day, the studio smelled familiar, it made your chest ache. you barely had time to set your bag down before chan was pulling you into a gentle hug, arms warm and steady around you.
“i missed having you around,” he said quietly. “game nights aren’t the same without you.”
you laughed, the sound lighter than you felt. “please,” you teased, stepping back. “you should consider yourself lucky. now you actually have a chance of winning instead of constantly losing to me.”
chan grinned widely.
inside, the joke twisted into something sharper. felix hadn’t invited you once since everything happened. not a single text. not even a half-hearted “you should come over.” the realisation stung more than you wanted to admit.
“guess i’m not welcome anymore,” you added lightly, like it was nothing.
chan’s gaze sharpened immediately, like he’d been waiting for that. “hey,” he said firmly, “you’re always welcome. you know that.”
you shrugged, looking away. “i don’t know. i’m not so sure a certain someone wants me there.”
chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “seriously,” he said, voice soft but weighted, “what happened between the two of you? if you don’t mind me asking.”
you shook your head at first, pressing your lips together. you didn’t want to open that door. didn’t want to say his name out loud. but chan’s expression which was genuinely worried, made your resolve crumble.
“i just…” you exhaled slowly. “i didn’t want to interfere with his happiness. he has someone now. i figured it was better to step back.”
chan scoffed, disbelief flickering across his face. "i think he misses you."
you let out a small, humourless laugh. “chan, he blocked me.”
that wiped the expression from his face entirely. “he what?” chan asked, brows furrowing. “blocked you?”
you nodded, arms crossing instinctively. “yeah. weeks ago.”
chan fell silent, staring at you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. something about this felt wrong. deeply, unmistakably wrong.
felix blocking you?
it didn’t add up.
felix missed you. the longing grew heavier with every day, until it pressed down on his chest and made it hard to breathe. until one night, sitting alone in his room, he broke.
he needed you.
without thinking, he grabbed his phone and opened your chat, fingers already moving.
« are you awake? i really need to talk. »
he hit send. nothing happened.
his stomach dropped. he tried again. refreshed the chat. checked his signal.
then he noticed. blocked.
panic surged through him. his hands trembled as he stared at the screen.
“no,” he whispered. “no, no, no…”
you'd blocked him. that had to be it. the realisation felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. the thought of you wanting nothing to do with him, of cutting him off completely, hurt more than he thought possible.
his chest felt tight, vision blurring as he swiped through his phone, desperate for some kind of explanation.
he checked his settings. his blocked numbers.
yours was right there.
his breath stuttered to a halt. panic twisted into confusion, his mind racing as he stared at your number listed under blocked. his fingers hovered over the screen numbly, as the pieces slowly fell into place.
confusion hardened into something hot and sharp. rage.
the truth hit him all at once, heavy and unmistakable. his girlfriend had done this.
she’d taken the one person he needed most and cut you out of his life without him even knowing.
felix’s hands curled into fists, heart pounding as anger surged through him. anger at her, at himself, at the way he’d let things go this far.
and for the first time in days, his next move felt painfully clear.
the moment the truth settled in his chest, he pulled out his phone and called her. she answered on the third ring, voice sweet, almost lazy.
“hey, babe–"
“we need to talk,” felix cut in. “now.”
there was a pause. “we could meet at that café near–"
“no,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “no more public places. i’m coming over.”
he didn’t give her time to argue. he ended the call and was out the door seconds later, moving on pure adrenaline. the drive blurred past him, streetlights streaking like lines of fire against the windshield as his thoughts spiraled.
you hadn’t messaged him in weeks. not because you didn’t care. not because you’d moved on. but because you couldn’t.
the realisation made his jaw clench so hard it hurt. you must’ve thought he’d blocked you on purpose. must’ve believed he’d chosen someone else so easily, that he’d cut you out without a second thought.
he gripped the steering wheel tighter, anger and shame tangling painfully in his chest.
how didn’t i notice?
how did i let this happen?
by the time he reached her place, his hands were shaking.
she opened the door with a smile, stepping forward like she expected a hug. felix walked right past her.
“did you block her from my phone?” he demanded.
he didn’t say your name. he didn’t need to.
her shoulders dropped as she sighed, already bored of pretending. “yes,” she admitted easily. “i did.”
something in him snapped.
“she was constantly texting you,” she continued, crossing her arms. “she was demanding way too much from someone who has a girlfriend. you barely have time as it is, don’t you think you should spend what little you have with me?”
every word felt like another knife. before he could respond, she stepped closer, fingers sliding around the back of his neck, trying to pull him down. “let’s not fight about this,” she murmured. “you’re just stressed–"
felix stepped back sharply, her hand dropping uselessly to her side. anger and frustration burned openly across his face, eyes bright with something close to fury. "we’re done,” he said.
her mouth fell open, but he was already turning away. he left without looking back.
he didn’t remember the drive to your place. he just knew he was there, heart pounding, breath shallow as he knocked once, twice, a third time. then he called your name, voice breaking despite himself.
“please,” he said softly through the door. “i know you’re home. just let me explain.”
inside, you froze. your heart slammed against your ribs, his voice sending a shock through your entire body. you stood there, staring at the door like it might disappear if you didn’t look directly at it.
minutes passed. too many.
finally, you reached out and opened the door and let him in.
felix let out a shaky sound of relief, eyes wide and desperate as he saw you. without thinking, he stepped forward, arms already lifting, needing you close like he needed air.
you pushed him away. harder than you meant to, maybe, but you couldn’t let him touch you.
the look on his face when you did was covered in hurt. he looked so devastated it made your chest ache.
but you held your ground, arms crossing over yourself as the space between you filled with everything that had been left unsaid.
felix’s breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling too fast from running up the stairs because he hadn’t wanted to wait for the lift, not when every second without you felt unbearable.
“i’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you again. “i’m so sorry. but i swear it wasn’t me who blocked you. i didn’t do it. i would never–"
“i don’t care, felix.”
the words came out sharper than you meant them to. a lie. a blatant lie, because of course you cared. but the damage was done the second they left your mouth. he flinched like you’d struck him.
“i messed up,” he rushed on, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “i know i messed up. and i hurt you. i’m so sor–"
“you didn’t just hurt me,” you exploded, the dam finally breaking. “you abandoned me.”
his breath hitched, shoulders jerking like the word had physically slapped him.
“you made me feel like i didn’t matter to you at all!”
something snapped then. because for once in his life, felix couldn’t stay calm. “that’s bullshit and you know it,” he shot back, voice rising despite himself. “you matter so fucking much to me.”
“you say that,” you fired back, anger flooding your veins, “but it certainly didn’t feel that way!”
the air between you grew hot, heavy with everything you’d both swallowed for too long. your words spilled over each other, tangled and sharp, and felix raised his voice too. frustration, fear, and hurt crashing together.
“then why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?!” he demanded.
“because it wouldn’t have mattered!”
“how could it not matter?!” he snapped. “of course it would have!”
you laughed then, short and humourless, the sound bitter. “i was blocked, felix. even if i wanted to, i couldn’t have reached out. besides, i thought you didn’t want that.”
that stopped him. his jaw clenched, then unclenched, breath slowing as guilt settled deep in his chest. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, strained.
“you could’ve told me how you felt before. before our first argument. or during.”
“tell you how i felt?” you scoffed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “about how jealous i was?!”
his voice softened immediately, confusion and something fragile threading through it.
“jealous?”
“of course i was jealous!” you shot back, even as your voice trembled.
his eyes widened slightly, disbelief washing over his features. “you… were?" his voice was gentle now.
“god, felix,” you said, the anger giving way to raw honesty. “yes, i was jealous. ever since you first told me about her. i’ve been crushing on you for years. but i just didn’t want to wreck what we had. i valued our friendship too much to ruin that. i thought i’d get over it. i thought–"
you didn’t get to finish. felix moved suddenly, like the decision had been burning inside him all along. his hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you. fierce, desperate, breath-stealing.
the kiss tasted like pent-up longing and apology and everything he’d never said out loud. it said i’ve wanted this too without needing words.
you gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt, but he only deepened the kiss.
he pulled you closer before you could think, one hand sliding to your lower back, the other still warm against your cheek. it was messy and aching and full of too much feeling, like he was trying to tell you everything he’d failed to say with his mouth alone.
you felt it in the way his hands trembled, in the way he kissed you like he was afraid this might be the only chance he’d ever get.
you were the one who pulled away first. barely.
his lips chased yours for a second before he stopped, breath uneven, forehead dropping against yours as if that was the only thing keeping him upright. his fingers traced the sides of your waist, grounding, familiar.
“what are you doing, felix?” you whispered, voice shaking despite yourself.
“kissing you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. his eyes were closed, forehead still resting against yours, breath warm on your skin.
“why?” you asked.
he opened his eyes then and looked at you, and something in his expression made your chest ache instantly. there was no confusion there anymore. just truth. raw and unguarded.
“because i’m a fucking idiot,” he said quietly. “because i’ve been in love with you too. for so long.”
his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “i thought you didn’t want me like that. so i tried to make myself not want you.”
he shook his head, almost laughing at himself, the sound breaking halfway through.
“but i can’t,” he admitted. “i never could. i want you so bad it hurts. it always did.”
his grip tightened slightly at your sides. “she was just… a pathetic attempt to get me to stop hoping for something i thought would never happen.”
the words hit you one after another, impossible to ignore.
"i’ve been miserable,” he continued, quieter now. “not just because of her. but because i lost you.”
his eyes shone, tears threatening but not falling. “every day felt wrong. like i was living someone else’s life. i hated who i became. i hated waking up and realising the first person i wanted to talk to wasn’t there anymore.”
you felt your own eyes burn. “i missed you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “so much it scared me.”
something in you finally broke. “i’ve been miserable too,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i tried so hard to pretend i was fine. i told myself it was stupid to feel the way i did. that i was selfish for being jealous.”
your voice cracked. “i watched you drift away and i couldn’t even be angry at you because i thought i was the problem. i thought you were happy."
you laughed softly, sounding broken. “every day i told myself to get over it. to stop hoping. but it just… hurt more.”
felix’s expression crumpled.
“i thought losing you was what i deserved,” you whispered. “i thought that was the price for staying quiet."
he pulled you into his chest then, holding you tightly, like he was terrified you might slip away. his chin rested against your hair, his arms firm and warm around you.
“i’m so sorry,” he murmured. “i should’ve fought harder. for you. for us. our friendship."
you clutched his shirt, breathing him in, heart pounding painfully but steadily now.
his arms were firm around you, protective, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the reminder that you were really there.
“can we…” his voice came out soft, almost hesitant. “start over?”
his breath tickled your skin as he shifted slightly. “or… start something new?”
your heart ached in the best way. you lifted a hand to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands before you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
“we can start whatever you want, lixie,” you whispered.
he let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like relief, his shoulders finally loosening. he smiled softly against you.
he leaned in again, lips brushing against your skin as he kissed slowly up your jaw, over your cheek, lingering like he was savouring every second. when he reached your lips, he paused just long enough to murmur, voice barely there, “i’ve always been yours.”
then he kissed you again.
this one was softer than before, unhurried, full of promise instead of desperation. his hand cupped your cheek, thumb warm against your skin, like he was grounding himself in the moment. you kissed him back just as gently, heart full and fragile and hopeful all at once.
summary: after everything you've been through with your abusive ex, life finally feels peaceful. healing isn't linear, but chan is there to help you through it all, good days and bad
genre: comfort! with a little bit of angst {~4.4k words}
warnings: trauma, chan being stressed and raising his voice without meaning to
this is part three of save haven and safe constant
healing doesn't feel like a breakthrough. it feels like waking up every day and choosing to fight.
most mornings started slow. you woke up tangled in chan’s sheets or your own, sunlight spilling softly through the curtains.
chan was usually already awake, watching you like he was making sure you were really here. when you noticed, he’d smile sheepishly and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, almost like an apology for staring.
days settled into a rhythm. therapy appointments. uni. long walks that ended at the studio or one of your places. sometimes you didn’t even talk much, you just were, existing side by side in a way that felt safe.
at the studio, you either curled up on the couch with a blanket, or worked on your uni appointments while he worked. sometimes you just watched him, watched how focused he looked, how his brow furrowed when he was deep in thought.
every now and then, he’d glance back to check on you. “you good?” he’d ask softly.
you always nodded. he'd grin sheepishly then, "good. then stop staring. you're making it hard to focus."
evenings were your favourite. soft lighting. quiet music. chan cooking while you sat at the counter, legs swinging slightly. he’d pass you little bites to taste, watching your reaction like it mattered more than the food itself.
touch came back slowly. a hand resting on your knee. a thumb brushing your knuckles. feather-light kisses pressed to your temple.
chan touched you like he was undoing something, like every gentle gesture was meant to replace a memory that never should’ve existed.
and you let him.
you learned the sound of his breathing again. learned the warmth of his chest. learned that it was okay to lean into him, to take up space, to be held without fear.
some nights you talked for hours. other nights, silence wrapped around you both comfortably.
when you slept, it was usually with his arm around you, his heartbeat steady against your back. sometimes you woke in the middle of the night, panic flaring for no clear reason.
chan always noticed. his arm tightened instinctively, voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve got you.”
and somehow, that was enough.
life wasn’t perfect. some days were heavy. some moments still hurt. but slowly, peace crept back in.
you laughed more. you breathed easier. you began to trust your body again. and chan stayed. like a constant, in his own gentle way, unwavering.
one night, sleep wouldn't find you. the night stretched long and restless. you’d been turning over again and again, sheets tangling around your legs, breath never quite settling. you tried to stay still, tried not to wake him.
but chan noticed. he shifted closer, arm slipping around you, pulling you gently into his chest. your face pressed into the warmth there, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. one of his hands began tracing slow, sleepy circles on your back, grounding without effort.
“can’t sleep?” he murmured, voice soft with exhaustion. you sighed against him and nodded.
for a moment, he didn’t say anything else. just held you. just breathed with you.
he asked quietly, “what’s on your mind?” the question broke something open. the words spilled out before you could stop them.
how scared you were. how the fear still lingered even on good days. how you worried you’d never be able to live a normal life again. one without looking over your shoulder, without bracing yourself for something bad to happen.
your voice wavered as you kept going. how you felt like too much sometimes. how you worried you were a burden. how you felt broken. not enough.
“especially for you,” you whispered, the words barely audible. “sometimes i don’t know why you’d want to deal with all of this.”
chan’s hand stilled. then he shifted, just enough to tilt your face up, his other hand coming to rest gently at your jaw. his eyes searched yours in the dim light, there was no sleepiness left in them now. only focus. only care.
“hey,” he said softly but firmly. “no. stop.”
you blinked, tears gathering. he shook his head slowly, thumb brushing beneath your eye.
“don’t ever talk about yourself like that,” he continued, voice steady but full of emotion. “not to me.” you tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you.
“you are not a burden,” chan said. “you never have been. not once.” his forehead rested against yours.
“you are enough,” he went on quietly. “for me. for this world. and one day, when you’re ready, for yourself too.” your chest ached.
“you’ve been through things that would’ve broken most people,” he said. “and you’re still here. you’re kind. you’re gentle. you still worry about everyone else even when you’re hurting.”
his voice softened even more. “do you know how rare that is?” he kissed your forehead once. twice.
“you don’t need to be fearless,” he whispered. “you don’t need to be ‘normal.’ you just need to exist. and even on days where all you can do is breathe, that’s enough.” his arm tightened around you, protective but gentle.
“i choose you,” he said simply. “every version of you. the scared one. the healing one. the one who laughs. the one who cries at three in the morning.”
a tear slipped free and soaked into his shirt.
“you don’t have to earn my care,” chan murmured. “you already have it.”
you melted into him then, body finally loosening, breath evening out as his hand resumed its slow circles on your back.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered, voice barely louder than your thoughts. “always.”
and he kept his promise.
it was one of those evenings where conversation flowed without effort, laughter came naturally. you sat together on the couch, legs tangled, chan talking about something trivial, some silly thing changbin had done earlier, the way he always exaggerated the punchline just to make you laugh. and you did. you laughed, leaning into him, fingers idly tracing shapes into his sleeve.
somewhere between his words, something inside you softened even more. you grew quiet without realising it. but chan noticed the stillness.
he kept talking for a few seconds longer, but his mind was already elsewhere, rewinding the last things he’d said, searching for a misstep, a wrong tone, anything that might have dimmed your smile.
when he couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped. “hey,” he asked softly. “is everything okay?”
you looked up at him then, eyes warm, smile gentle.
“yeah,” you said. “just… happy.”
the word hit him so hard his heart almost stumbled.
before he could stop himself, chan pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like instinct. he kissed you softly. you kissed him back just as gently, the moment stretching into something warm and unhurried.
it was just lips brushing, parting slightly, smiles against skin. quiet, tender kisses that felt more like reassurance than anything else.
when you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, you exhaled a soft laugh. “actually,” you said quietly, “i’ve been thinking about something.”
chan leaned back just enough to look at you, eyebrows lifting. “oh?”
you slipped out of his arms and stood, moving towards the small drawer by the door. chan watched you with quiet curiosity, heart beating faster for reasons he couldn’t name.
you came back a moment later, holding something small in your palm. you placed it in his hand.
“it’s the spare key to my apartment,” you said softly. “i want you to have it, chan.”
for a second, he couldn’t speak. he stared at the key like it might disappear if he blinked, like it was something absolutely sacred. something that carried far more weight than metal ever should.
“what–?" he started, then stopped, swallowing hard.
something tight pulled at his chest, emotion rising so suddenly it stole his breath.
trust. love. choice. all wrapped into one quiet gesture.
chan stood and pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if grounding himself. he blinked rapidly, voice a litte unsteady when he spoke.
“thank you,” he whispered. “you have no idea how much this means to me.”
he pulled back just enough to look at you, hands resting at your waist. "i promise i’ll never use it without your permission. i’ll never cross your boundaries. not ever.” his forehead rested against yours.
“i’m so grateful for you,” he murmured. “for trusting me.” you smiled, pressing into him, and chan held you. and in that quiet moment, with the key resting warm in his palm, you both knew, this wasn’t just the usual closeness. it was trust, chosen freely.
it hadn’t just been one bad day. it had been a week.
the kind that settled into his bones and refused to leave, pressure stacking until his chest felt too tight to breathe properly. the company called constantly. deadlines, revisions, expectations piling on top of each other without pause.
sleep became optional. the studio lights stayed on long after midnight.
more than once, chan found himself staring at his phone at two in the morning, fingers hovering over your name. every time, guilt flared. he didn’t want to disturb you, didn’t want to drag you into his chaos.
but every time he texted anyway.
« are you still awake? »
« is it okay if i come over? »
your replies always came faster than he expected.
« chan, it’s past midnight. why are you still at the studio? »
« you know you have a key, right? »
« there’s leftover dinner on the stove. come home. »
home.
the word wrapped around him like a promise.
he remembered standing in the studio, phone pressed to his chest, the tightness in it easing just from reading your messages. how you never sounded annoyed. never overwhelmed. only worried for him.
you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. his schedule hadn’t scared you away. the late nights hadn’t driven you off. instead, you met him where he was in your caring and patient way, steady in a way he didn’t know he needed.
you took care of him. and he loved you for it in a way that went deeper than words.
the week only got worse. calls from the company turned sharper. the pressure from above became relentless. even the members noticed.
“hyung, you should take a break,” seungmin said gently.
“come eat with us,” hyunjin tried.
chan almost snapped at them. it wasn't that he was angry with them, just frustrated, fed up with being told to slow down when everything around him demanded the opposite.
when you arrived at the studio later that day, he was already frayed to the edge.
you stepped inside quietly, holding a small bag of snacks, eyes soft as they always were when you looked at him.
“hey,” you said gently. “i brought you–"
“can we not do this right now?” chan said sharply, eyes never leaving the laptop screen. "did the boys send you?" he groaned.
the tone was wrong. too loud. too harsh.
your breath caught. it felt like ice water down your spine. your body reacted instantly, shoulders pulling in, voice shrinking without you meaning it to.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “i just thought–"
chan kept typing, jaw clenched, frustration still buzzing through him like static.
“I just need to finish this,” he snapped. “okay?” the words weren’t cruel. but the tone was. and it terrified you.
your heart hammered painfully as your world narrowed, fear crawling up your throat. you stood there for a moment, frozen, before quietly stepping back. you didn’t say another word.
chan realised it a second too late. the room felt wrong. too quiet.
“fuck– no,” he muttered, finally looking up. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to–"
he spun around. you weren’t there. panic hit him like a punch to the chest.
“shit,” he breathed, already pushing his chair back, standing abruptly, hands shaking as the realisation hit him all at once.
he had raised his voice.
at you.
he paced the room, heart racing, every worst fear clawing its way to the surface.
did i scare her?
did i trigger her?
did i just become the thing she’s afraid of?
his phone was in his hand, but he hesitated.
running after you... would that overwhelm you?
would it make things worse?
he hated that he didn’t know. hated himself even more for putting you in this position.
chan sank back into his chair, hands covering his face, breath uneven.
“i’m so sorry,” he murmured to the empty room.
he ran. out of the studio. down the hall. through the doors and into the street, scanning faces, shadows, corners, anything.
nothing. no sign of you.
his heart raced uncontrollably as memories surged uninvited. the night you disappeared, the fear, the phone on the ground, the waiting. but this time it was him who'd driven you away.
“fuck,” he whispered again, hands shaking as he turned in circles, searching desperately, pulling out his phone to messahe you.
« please don’t be scared of me. »
« please don’t run from me. »
he walked the streets, faster now, eyes darting everywhere, cursing himself under his breath with every step.
the worst part wasn’t that he’d snapped. it was the thought that he might have sounded like someone else. and the idea that he’d become even a fraction of what you feared, terrified him more than anything.
the walk to your apartment felt endless. chan’s thoughts spiraled faster with every step, fear tightening around his chest until breathing hurt.
he replayed the moment over and over, the edge in his voice, the quiet apology you hadn’t needed to give.
what if i scared her?
what if she thinks i’m angry at her?
what if she thinks i’m like him?
the thought made him feel sick.
when he reached your building, his hands were shaking. the key was heavy in his pocket. he didn’t take it out.
instead, he raised his hand and knocked softly. carefully. like anything louder might shatter something.
“hey,” he called quietly through the door. “it’s me.”silence. he swallowed hard.
“i’m not coming in,” he said quickly, voice gentl. “i just… i wanted to check on you. that’s all.”
no answer. chan rested his forehead briefly against the door, eyes squeezed shut.
“i’m really sorry,” he murmured. “i didn’t mean to raise my voice. i was stressed and i took it out in the wrong place. that’s on me. not you.” his hand curled into a fist at his side.
“you don’t have to talk to me,” he added. “i just need to know you’re okay.”
still nothing. his chest tightened painfully.
“i won’t use the key,” he promised softly. “i won’t come in unless you ask me to. i just–" his voice wavered. “i just don’t want you to think i don’t care.”
he waited. counted his breaths. counted thr seconds. nothing.
eventually, he stepped back. leaving felt wrong, but staying felt like pressure he didn’t want to put on you.
“okay,” he said quietly. “i’m gonna go. but i’ll be nearby. if you need me. anytime.”
he lingered for one last moment, hand hovering uselessly in the air. then he turned and left, cursing himself with every step down the stairs.
he tried to be patient... but that didn’t last long.
by the time evening settled in, worry had eaten through him completely. calls unanswered, his messages weren't even read.
he stood outside your door again, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
this time, his voice shook despite his effort to keep it calm.
“hey,” he said softly. “it’s me again. i’m sorry for coming back, i just–" he exhaled slowly.
“i’m really worried about you. if you’re okay, could you just… text me? one word. anything. i just need to know.”
silence pressed in around him.
images crashed into his mind uninvited, flashing lights, police radios, your name shouted into phones.
his breath stuttered. “i’m gonna come in now,” he said carefully, loudly enough for you to hear. “i’m not coming near you. i swear. i just need to make sure you’re safe.”
his hand finally went to the key. the lock clicked and the door opened.
the apartment was dark. empty.
chan’s heart dropped straight through the floor. panic surged violently, his pulse roaring in his ears as he stepped inside, scanning every corner, every shadow.
before his thoughts could spiral further, his phone vibrated in his hand.
the vibration startled him so badly he nearly dropped his phone. chan froze, breath caught painfully in his throat as he stared at the screen.
your name.
his hands shook as he answered, the word tumbling out before he could stop it.
“hey–" you said but he cut you right off, chest rising and falling too fast.
“where are you?” he asked, barely holding himself together.
there was a pause on the other end.
“I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “i didn’t mean to ignore your calls or messages.”
the tension snapped. chan’s knees gave out, and he sank down onto your couch in the dark apartment, back pressed against the cushions as relief washed over him so violently it made him dizzy.
“are you okay?” he asked quickly. “are you safe?”
“yeah,” you replied. “i’m okay. i promise.”
he closed his eyes, forehead dropping forward as he breathed out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“thank god,” he whispered.
you explained how your therapist had time for you on short notice that afternoon. how you’d needed to ground yourself, to process what the snapping had stirred up. how you hadn’t meant to disappear, hadn’t realised how long it had been.
“i should’ve told you,” you added quietly. “i’m sorry.”
“no,” chan said immediately, sitting up straighter. “don’t apologise. i should never have snapped at you.”
you cut him off gently. “chan, it’s okay. i know you didn’t mean it. you were stressed. i shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
his jaw tightened. “you had every right to react,” he said firmly. “what you felt was real. and i’m so sorry i caused it.”
there was a small pause. “where are you now?” he asked, voice softening. “i just want to see you.”
“I’m… actually walking to the studio,” you admitted. “i wanted to come back to you."
his heart skipped.
“funny thing,” he said quickly, laughing softly, already standing, keys in his hand. “i'm actually at your place. just come here? i’ll meet you halfway.”
“you don’t have to–"
“i want to,” he replied, already heading for the door. “i’m not hanging up until i see you.”
he moved faster with every step, eyes scanning the street, breath uneven but determined.
“where are you?” he asked.
“two blocks away,” you said.
chan slowed when he spotted you. you stood under a streetlight, one arm wrapped around yourself. he stopped a few steps away, forcing himself to keep distance, to let you decide.
you looked up, saw him, and smiled softly.
you stepped closer and poked his belly lightly, like you used to. “okay,” you said.
that was all it took.
chan crossed the space between you instantly, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest. he held you tight but careful, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, reassuring circles into your back.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “i’m so, so sorry.”
you relaxed into him, fingers gripping his hoodie.
“It’s okay,” you murmured.
“I’m really proud of you,” he said softly. “for taking care of yourself. for going to therapy. for coming back.”
he pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, holding you like he was afraid to let go.
and he didn’t let go right away.
he stayed there with you, arms wrapped around your back, forehead resting against your temple, breathing you in like he needed the reminder that you're okay.
when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were glassy, rimmed red with emotion he hadn’t let himself feel yet.
“i’m really sorry,” he said again, voice a little unsteady. “about earlier. about snapping. i never want to sound like that with you.”
you shook your head gently, lifting your hand to rest against his chest, right over his heart. “i didn’t blame you,” you said softly. “not for a second.”
his brows knit together, like he didn’t quite believe that was allowed.
“you’re allowed to have bad days,” you continued. “you don’t have to be okay all the time around me. you don’t have to carry everything so carefully.”
chan swallowed hard.
“i know,” he said quietly. “but that still doesn’t justify it. i shouldn’t have raised my voice. i’m… i’m so sorry.” his voice broke on the last word.
“i never want you to think i’m angry at you,” he whispered. “i can’t be. i physically can’t. it’s impossible.” he let out a shaky breath, shaking his head slightly like he was overwhelmed by the truth of it.
“you’re everything,” he said. “and i’m so damn grateful for you. every day.”
your hand lifted then, fingers brushing his cheek gently, thumb resting just beneath his eye. the softness of the touch nearly undid him, emotion rushing through him so fast it made him dizzy.
he closed his eyes.
“i love you,” he whispered, like a confession, like a promise.
you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “and i love you, chan,” you replied just as gently.
his eyes flew open. the smile that spread across his face was unguarded, and full of relief and devotion all at once. he leaned in without thinking, hands cradling your face as he kissed you beneath the soft glow of the street lamp.
the kiss was needy yet emotional. like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into it.
his lips moved against yours with quiet desperation, holding you close, grounding himself in the feel of you. you kissed him back just as earnestly, fingers curling into his hoodie, heart wide open.
when you finally pulled apart, foreheads touching, breaths mingling, the world felt softer again.
"wanna grab some dinner?" you asked softly and chan nodded.
by the time you reached the food place, the heaviness had lifted.
chan insisted on paying for you, squinting at the menu like it had personally wronged him.
“why are there twenty-seven options for the same thing,” he muttered.
you leaned into his side, amused. “it’s called variety, channie.”
he glanced down at you, deadpan. “it’s called stress.”
you laughed, the sound bright and easy, and chan visibly relaxed like he’d been waiting for that exact confirmation that the world hadn’t ended.
when the food finally arrived, he carried everything despite you pointing out, repeatedly, that you had two perfectly functional hands.
“absolutely not,” he said. “you had a tough day. you can't be trusted carrying food containers around."
you poked his arm, laughing. “so rude, mister.”
you ate sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, sharing bites and stealing chips from each other’s containers. chan pretended not to notice every time you reached over, until he dramatically gasped.
“did you just steal my last fry?”
you blinked innocently. “no?”
he stared at the empty box. then at you. “…you monster.”
you laughed so hard you nearly choked, and chan reached over instantly, patting your back with exaggerated seriousness.
“this is why i can’t leave you unsupervised,” he said solemnly. you wiped your eyes, still smiling. “you'd be bored without me.”
he didn’t even hesitate. “absolutely.”
on the walk back, chan swung your joined hands lightly between you, humming under his breath. at some point, you caught him staring again.
“what?” you asked. he smiled softly. “nothing. just… happy.” he repeated your words from a few weeks ago. your heart did a little flip.
“same,” you said.
when you reached your place, he waited like always, until you turned to him and tugged him inside yourself.
“you know,” you said thoughtfully, kicking off your shoes, “for someone who snapped earlier, you’re being suspiciously relaxed.”
chan gasped, offended. he immediately pulled you into a dramatic hug, squeezing just enough to make you squeak.
“this,” he declared, “is called emotional compensation.”
you laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist. “i’ll allow it.”
you ended up on the couch again, legs tangled, chan stealing your blanket and then pretending he hadn’t. “chan.”
“what? you want to be under the blanket, you come iver here." he grinned wickedly. you sighed and leaned into him anyway. he kissed the top of your head, smiling to himself. and as chan pulled you closer, resting his cheek against your hair, you realised something quietly wonderful.
you weren’t just healing anymore. you were happy. and this time, it felt real.
the teasing lingered that night. little comments thrown back and forth, soft smiles that stayed a second too long.
“you’re doing that on purpose,” you said quietly when he continuously brushed over a specifically ticklish spot.
“doing what?” he asked, far too innocent, continuing.
you tilted your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “that.”
he smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made your stomach flip. “maybe,” he admitted.
you reached out, pushing at his shoulder lightly. “menace.”
chan laughed, and before you could pull your hand back, he caught it, fingers threading through yours, tugging you just a little closer.
“you like me,” he murmured. you rolled your eyes, but you were already leaning in. “unfortunately.”
his thumb brushed over your knuckles, then up your wrist, touch slow and deliberate. the air between you felt charged, heavy with things neither of you were saying out loud.
“just kiss me already,” he whispered. you didn’t need to be told twice.
the kiss started gentle as always. lips brushing, testing, familiar in the best way. chan’s hand came to your waist, pulling you closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.
you sighed softly against him, melting into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. the sound made him inhale sharply, like it went straight through him.
the kiss deepened, full of emotion bleeding into every movement. his other hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if he needed to feel you, ground himself in the moment.
you kissed him back with the same need, the same reassurance.
“i missed this,” he murmured. you smiled softly. “me too.”
he kissed you again, slower this time, his hand traced comforting lines along your back, holding you close, never rushing, never taking more than you offered.
you stayed like that for a long moment. kissing. breathing. holding on.
and wrapped in each other, with laughter still lingering in the air and love humming quietly between you, everything felt right exactly as it was.
pairing: lee minho x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
summary: working with skz is a blessing, unless it comes to minho. you think he's arrogant, with his constant bickering and rude comments. but you don't let him irritate you. quite the contrary, you fight back, which only sharpens the tension between the two of you
genre: enemies to lovers! {~6.2k words}
warnings: lots of bantering, reader is a videographer, mentions of drinks, tension, there might be a little heated kissing scene at the end
you worked at jype long enough that the building felt less like a corporate maze and more like a second home. you knew which elevators were slow, which hallways echoed the most, which editing rooms had the best lighting at night. most people knew you, too, if not by name, then by reputation.
you were the video producer and videographer who always delivered. the one who stayed late without complaint, who caught details others missed, who somehow made even the most exhausting shoots feel lighter. you joked around easily, laughed loud, swore under your breath when equipment malfunctioned, and somehow still managed to be professional when it mattered.
especially with stray kids.
you were around them constantly. comeback teasers, behind-the-scenes content, vlogs, dance practices, music videos. it was inevitable that you got close.
chan trusted you, leaned over your shoulder to watch the shots and asked for your opinion like it actually mattered. changbin hyped you up whenever you showed him a cool cut, and felix brought you snacks during late edits like it was his personal mission to keep you alive.
they joked with you the same way they joked with each other. you gave it right back, quick comebacks flying without effort. it felt natural.
everyone liked you. well... almost everyone.
lee minho didn’t. at least, that was how it felt.
you didn’t notice it at first. you weren’t exactly sensitive. working in this industry had given you thick skin, and you were used to sarcasm, teasing, people poking.
when minho first started making comments, you assumed it was just his version of humour. a dry remark here. a dismissive snort there. an offhand “are you sure that works?” delivered with raised eyebrows.
you laughed it off. fired back lightly. treated it like the same playful back and forth you shared with the others.
except… it didn’t soften. if anything, it sharpened.
his comments came more often, aimed more directly at you. when you gave instructions, he questioned them.
when you praised a take, he shrugged it off. when you joked, he didn’t laugh, he smirked. like he was always one step away from rolling his eyes.
and it started to piss you off.
you remembered the moment it really clicked. you were reviewing footage during a shoot, focused, crouched slightly in front of the monitor. you pointed something out, timing, framing, something small but important. minho leaned in just enough to invade the tiniest bit if your space and said, “you’re really confident for someone behind a camera.”
something in you snapped.
you looked up at him slowly, met his eyes, and said, “and you’re really opinionated for someone whose group asked for my feedback five minutes ago.”
the room went quiet for half a second. then han laughed, while felix choked on air. chan cleared his throat like he was trying to reset the universe.
minho didn’t say anything. he just stared at you, lips pressed together, eyes dark and his expression unreadable.
you thought that would be the end of it. it wasn’t. from then on, it was war.
every shoot became a battlefield of sharp comments and quicker comebacks. he poked, you stabbed back. sometimes you left him momentarily speechless, and you hated how satisfying that felt. sometimes he managed to get under your skin so badly you had to look away, jaw tight, pretending you weren’t affected.
and the worst part? he seemed to enjoy it.
you’d catch it sometimes, when you groaned in frustration, when you shot him a glare, when you muttered his name like it was a curse. the corner of his mouth would twitch just slightly. like he’d won something.
the others noticed, of course. how could they not? the tension followed you into rooms, crackled between you like static. felix and hyunjin liked to linger whenever you and minho were within five feet of each other, just to see what would happen. chan watched more carefully, eyes flicking between you, concern hidden behind easy smiles.
as for you, you told yourself you didn’t give a damn. you told yourself minho was just irritating and arrogant.
you told yourself that whatever was happening between you was nothing more than mutual annoyance.
and if your heart kicked a little harder whenever he looked at you, eyes bright with challenge... well? you ignored that too.
minho noticed you the first day, telling himself you were just another staff member, another face in a building full of them.
except you weren’t quiet, and you didn’t shrink when you walked into a room full of idols and managers and expectations. you moved like you belonged there. like the space adjusted around you instead of the other way around.
he watched you from the corner of his eye during that first shoot. the way you crouched by the monitor, completely focused. the way you spoke, casual, certain, like you trusted your own instincts. when you laughed, it was unrestrained, and it pulled his attention without you even trying.
it annoyed him. the problem was that he liked you too fast. faster than he was comfortable with.
he caught himself listening for your voice, glancing over when you entered a room, noticing stupid things like the way you pushed your hair back when you were concentrating. it was inconvenient.
so he did what he always did when something made him feel off-balance. he pushed it away.
sarcasm was easier than sincerity. distance was safer than interest. if he treated you like an irritation, maybe the tight feeling in his chest would ease. maybe he wouldn’t notice how naturally you fit in with the others. maybe he wouldn’t care when you smiled at everyone but him.
except you didn’t back down. that threw him.
you fired back without hesitation, eyes bright. you didn’t soften your tone. you didn’t get flustered. you met him head-on every single time, and somehow, that only made it worse... better? both.
every comeback you landed felt like a hit and a thrill all at once.
he lived for the moments he managed to get under your skin. the sighs. the eye rolls. the way you said his name like it tasted bad. he told himself it was victory, but it felt too warm in his chest to be that.
when you shut him down in front of everyone, he had gone quiet not because he had nothing to say, but because he had too much. something dangerous sat on his tongue then. something honest. he swallowed it down.
it was easier to be mean than to be vulnerable. easier to be your enemy than to risk wanting to be something else.
so he kept the wall up. sharpened his words. smirked when you glared at him. pretended he didn’t notice how well you did your job, how everyone trusted you, how effortlessly you belonged.
because the truth was simple, and minho hated simple truths. he didn’t dislike you. he liked you far too much.
working with minho was unavoidable. it wasn’t like you could ask to be reassigned every time he was on the call sheet. he was in stray kids, and you were the video producer assigned to half their content.
so you did what professionals did. you showed up. you focused. you ignored the tension buzzing between you.
most of the time.
today's shoot was supposed to be simple. a performance-style video, clean lighting, minimal cuts. you stood behind the camera, headset resting loosely around your neck, eyes focused. the room was quiet except for the music and the soft sound of movement.
“that was insane,” hyunjin said when the take ended, walking over to peek at the playback. he leaned closer to the screen, eyes wide. “no, seriously. the way that shot moved. this isn’t just filming. it’s like… an art of its own.”
you blinked, surprised, then laughed softly. “don’t let the managers hear you say that, they’ll start raising expectations.”
hyunjin grinned. “i’m serious. you make us look unreal.”
minho stood a little farther back, towel draped around his neck, pretending to stretch. he didn’t look at you, but his eyes flicked briefly to the monitor. the framing was perfect. the timing seamless. exactly how you’d envisioned it.
hyunjin was absolutely right, but he’d rather choke than say it out loud.
“positions again,” you called, clapping once. “same marks, but tighter on the turn.”
they reset. music started. you watched closely, tracking every movement, every angle. when minho turned, his body hit the mark perfecty, but his gaze didn’t.
“minho,” you said, keeping your tone even, professional. “eyes on the camera. after the turn. i told you.”
he sighed, long and dramatic, rolling his shoulders like the weight of the world had just been placed on them. “i know. i just don’t like looking at what’s behind the camera.”
there it was. that tone. way too casual, completely dismissive, and absolutely irritating.
you dragged a hand down your face. “you’re insufferable.”
a few snickers sounded from the side.
minho tilted his head, lips curling slightly. “that’s a strong word for someone who just yelled cut in the middle of a perfectly good take.”
“perfectly good?” you scoffed. “you missed the most important part.”
“or,” he countered, stepping a little closer, “maybe the camera should work harder to keep up with me.”
you laughed once. “oh, trust me. the camera’s doing all the work perfectly here.”
his eyes flicked down to you, amused. “so harsh.”
“so forgetful,” you shot back. “should i write my instructions down next time? maybe in a cute font?”
he leaned in just enough to be annoying. “as long as it’s legible.”
you met his gaze, unblinking. “as long as you actually follow them.”
for a moment, neither of you moved. the air felt thick, charged. then chan clapped his hands from across the room, far too cheerfully. “alright! let’s reset before someone gets murdered.”
you broke eye contact first, turning back to your camera. minho stepped away, jaw tight, smirk firmly in place.
behind the camera, you muttered under your breath. in front of it, minho smiled to himself.
because even if he’d never admit it, not to you, not to anyone, every time you called him out, every time you challenged him like that, it felt dangerously close to losing control.
a few nights later, you were barhopping with friends. it was the kind of night where time blurred softly around the edges. laughter spilled easily, conversations overlapped, drinks kept appearing in your hand before you remembered finishing the last one. the city felt alive, warm despite the late hour, music bleeding out of open doors as you moved from place to place.
you were mid-story, hands moving as you talked, when you spotted familiar faces near the entrance of the bar. chan and hyunjin.
your expression lit up instantly. you waved without thinking, arm raised high above the crowd. “hey!”
they noticed you a second later, chan’s smile breaking wide as he nudged hyunjin. they made their way over, weaving through people, greetings exchanged easily.
then you saw them. felix first, bright grin already forming when his eyes met yours. and behind him... minho.
your smile faltered for half a heartbeat. his did too. barely noticeable, but you caught it. his eyes flicked over you, took you in, then rolled skyward like he’d just walked into a minor inconvenience. you sighed.
felix hugged you without hesitation, squeezing tight. “fancy seeing you here!”
“i could say the same,” you laughed.
minho stopped just out of arm’s reach. close enough to feel, far enough to avoid. no hug. no greeting. just a glance and a flat, unimpressed look.
“wow,” you said dryly. “hello to you too.”
"don’t strain yourself,” he replied, deadpan.
your friends watched the exchange with immediate interest.
the group merged around a table, drinks rearranged, introductions made. everything flowed easily, except the space between you and minho, which felt deliberately charged. you were still standing in the same spot.
"the music is way too loud here." he said to chan. "maybe you're just getting old." you countered. he raised an eyebrow, shot back that at least he wasn’t shouting over it. you smiled sweetly and suggested a hearing test.
the table grew quiet for a second. hyunjin pressed his lips together to suppress a grin. felix looked between you like he was watching a tennis match.
you were still standing in front of minho, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, delivering one sharp line after the other.
minho opened his mouth. then closed it. for a split second, he had nothing.
several people bit the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing.
your friend leaned closer to felix, voice low. “seriously, how do you bear that? are they like this when you’re working together as well?”
felix’s grin widened. “they’re worse then.”
minho finally recovered, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk. his eyes met yours, dark with challenge. “you done?”
“oh, i’m just getting started,” you said lightly.
before he could respond, chan stood up. the movement was calm, protective in that quiet way only he managed. he placed his hands on minho’s shoulders and steered him gently but firmly away from you, to the other end of the table. “enough,” he murmured, voice low.
minho didn’t fight it. he let himself be guided, jaw clenched, eyes flicking back to you once. the look he gave you wasn’t playful.
you exhaled slowly and sat back down, forcing yourself to relax. you could still feel his gaze on you from across the table. when you looked up, he was already watching, one corner of his mouth lifted, eyebrows raised like he was daring you to say something.
you held his stare. neither of you backed down. chan broke the tension first. "alright,” he said, clapping his hands once. “next round’s on me.”
a collective cheer went up around the table. he moved easily through the crowd towards the bar after gathering orders. the moment stretching just enough for everyone else to breathe again.
the night softened after that.
conversations splintered and reformed naturally, people shifting seats, leaning closer, voices lowering as the bar grew louder. laughte came easier now. stories were shared, some ridiculous, some nostalgic. drinks kept arriving, glasses clinking, ice melting slowly as time slipped past unnoticed.
you found yourself talking with felix for a while, listening to him animatedly describe something that had gone wrong during practice earlier that week. hyunjin drifted in and out, dramatic as ever, describing parts of the story with exaggerated gestures.
across the table, minho was deep in conversation with chan, posture relaxed now, one arm slung over the back of his chair. he looked different like this. looser. less guarded. peaceful. you hated that you noticed that, that you couldn't seem to look away.
“you know,” you said to felix, raising your glass slightly, “if he put half as much effort into following directions as he does into complaining–"
“i can hear you,” minho cut in without looking at you. you smiled sweetly. “good. then i don’t have to repeat myself.” felix choked on his drink, while chan sighed into his glass.
the conversations shifted again. this time you were leaning close to one of your friends, voices low, talking about work frustrations.
“at least you’re good at what you do,” your friend said. “people notice that.”
“some people,” you replied pointedly.
“oh, i notice,” minho said from somewhere behind you. “it’s just… hard not to be distracted.”
you turned slowly. “by what, exactly?”
he met your eyes, unbothered. “the constant talking.”
you scoffed. “funny. i was thinking the same about you.”
hyunjin slapped a hand over his mouth. “will this ever stop?” he whispered to chan.
time passed like that, full of half-finished conversations and overlapping laughter. sometimes you were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt. sometimes you found yourself staring into your glass, listening to someone talk about things that mattered a little too much.
and every now and then, without fail, you and minho collided again. a comment overheard. a remark thrown over a shoulder. a glance followed by a sharp reply.
“are you always this loud?” he asked at one point.
“only when people are being particularly irritating,” you shot back.
he hummed thoughtfully. “must be exhausting for you, then.”
you raised your glass in mock salute. “i manage.”
despite yourself, you were smiling. he noticed. you noticed that he noticed.
the edge between you dulled, just slightly, softened by alcohol and the hum of the night. the hostility didn’t disappear, but it shifted, less defensive, more charged. like the banter wasn’t just a weapon anymore, but something else neither of you wanted to name.
eventually, people started checking their phones, glancing at the time. some said their goodbyes, hugging, promising to meet again soon. the bar felt quieter now, the crowd thinning, the music less intrusive.
you leaned back in your chair, stretching slightly, exhaustion settling into your bones. the night had been long. full. minho watched you from across the table.
eventually, you decided it was time. your head was light in that way that told you one more drink would be a bad idea. you pushed your chair back and stood, smoothing your jacket down as you scanned the table. minho wasn’t there, bathroom, you assumed, and you took the opportunity without hesitation.
quick hugs followed. felix pouted dramatically, whining about you leaving already. hyunjin wrapped an arm around your shoulders, mumbling something about looking forward to tomorrow. chan pulled you into a warm hug.
“text when you got home safe,” he said quietly.
“will do,” you replied, smiling.
you turned towards the entrance, weaving through the pub, already mentally halfway out the door.
you made it only a few steps. minho appeared in front of you like a bad habit.
you stopped short, blinking once before regaining yourself.
“bye, meanho,” you said smoothly as you passed him in the middle of the bar.
“thank god you’re leaving,” he replied instantly, eyebrows raised.
you turned around, walking backwards for a step just to face him. “you’re welcome. you’re the main reason for it.”
he let out an exaggerated breath, hand pressing to his chest. “am i really? i feel honoured!”
“no,” you said flatly. then added, “but in case you forgot, we have a video shooting tomorrow.”
his face fell immediately. “damn.”
you snorted, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. the expression was worth it. you turned again, intent on finally escaping.
“hey,” he said suddenly. you paused despite yourself, glancing back. “what.”
“is your taxi there yet?”
“i’m walking.”
his expression shifted just slightly. eyebrows knitting together before he smoothed it out, like he’d caught himself doing something he didn’t mean to.
“should you be walking alone this late at night?”
your eyebrows shot up. “yes. don’t worry, i’m perfectly capable of doing that, minho.”
he clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “i wouldn’t be so sure of your capability, but good luck.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “goodnight.”
you didn’t wait for a response. you turned and pushed through the door, the noise of the pub fading behind you as cool night air hit your skin.
inside, minho stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching the door swing shut.
minho walked back to the table slowly.
it was only chan, hyunjin and felix left now. they leaned in towards each other in quiet conversation. laughter drifted between them, the kind that came at the end of a long night. minho took an empty seat without a word. he didn’t join in.
his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, eyes unfocused, mind somewhere else entirely. the faint ring left by a glass. a scratch in the wood. anything but the door you’d just walked through.
“you okay?” hyunjin asked after a moment.
the question cut through the fog, snapping minho back to reality. he blinked, lifted his head. “yeah.”
he pushed his chair back abruptly. “i’ll be right back.”
before any of them could respond, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and headed for the exit.nthe door swung shut behind him.
the three of them stared after him for a second. then felix grinned. “what were your bets again?” he asked, voice low but amused.
chan shook his head, already resigned. “before the next comeback.”
“end of the year. you?” hyunjin added confidently.
felix’s grin widened, eyes sparkling. “before christmas,” he said. “looks like my chances of winning are getting higher.”
outside, the night air was cool. minho pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over the screen as he opened maps. he knew which apartment complex you lived in. he just needed to figure out which direction you would have gone.
after a brief glance, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and started down the street, pace quickening as he went.
you’d always liked walking home at night. the streets felt different then, softer around the edges. the city hummed instead of roared. you passed restaurants with warm light spilling onto the pavement, voices drifting out in laughter. it usually always felt safe.
so when you felt a presence behind you, you didn’t panic at first. “shouldn’t be walking around alone at night.”
you spun around, heart jumping despite yourself. recognition followed quickly. an acquaintance. a friend of a friend. someone you’d run into a handful of times before, always in passing. he stood just outside a bar, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air.
“god, you scared me,” you said, exhaling. he laughed, holding his hands up. “didn’t mean to. saw you and figured i’d say hi.”
you talked for a minute. small things. you mentioned being out with friends, named a few people he recognised. he pretended to be offended you hadn’t invited him, grin a little too wide, laugh lingering a second too long.
then he stepped closer. you shifted back instinctively, the unease settling in your stomach. he didn’t take the hint.
“let me get you a drink,” he said. “or i can walk you home. my place is close too.”
“i’m good,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. “really.”
his hand brushed your arm lightly. you stepped back again. “hey– stop it.”
he didn’t.
he moved closer instead, crowding your space, the smell of smoke thick now. “i’ve always thought you were so goddamn beautiful,” he murmured, arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you in.
panic flared sharp and sudden. you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, stronger than you expected. “let go,” you said, voice firmer now. “i mean it.”
“jagi?” the voice came from behind you. the arm around you disappeared immediately.
“there you are,” minho continued, stepping into view. relief hit so fast it almost made you dizzy. he moved to your side without hesitation, arm wrapping around you in a way that was protective and sure. practiced, even.
it should have felt wrong. but it didn’t.
the guy raised his hands quickly, backing off. “oh– shit, man. sorry. didn’t know there was a boyfriend involved.”
minho didn’t look at him. “now you do.”
the guy muttered another apology and disappeared back into the bar.
the silence afterward felt loud. minho dropped his arm almost immediately, stepping back like he’d crossed a line. “sorry,” he said, quieter now.
you shook your head, still catching your breath. “no. thank you.”
he nodded once, jaw tight, eyes scanning the street like he was checking for threats that were already gone.
then you looked at him properly. “what are you doing here?”
he hesitated, then reached into his pocket and held up a scarf. “you forgot this.”
you frowned. “that’s not mine.”
“oh,” he said, far too casually. “one of your friends’, maybe?”
you both knew it wasn’t. it was felix's.
before you could argue, he waved down a passing taxi. it pulled over quickly.
“now,” he said, opening the door, “you better take the fast way home. video shooting tomorrow, remember?”
you sighed, exhaustion washing over you. you didn’t have the energy to fight him on this. “fine.”
as you slid into the back seat, you looked back at him. “thank you. really.”
he shrugged like it was nothing. you huffed a tired laugh. "just don't be insufferable about saving me."
minho grinned, "no promises.”
he tapped on the driver’s window, leaned in long enough to give your address, then paid in cash before you could protest.
the door closed and the taxi pulled away.
minho stood there on the sidewalk, watching until the car disappeared from view, heart still pounding harder than he liked to admit.
the next day felt heavier than it should have. your head still ached faintly, not from the alcohol but from everything else. the memory of last night lingered in flashes. the arm around your shoulders, the way his voice had cut through the fear, the quiet concern he’d tried so hard to hide.
so you decided to try something different. when you arrived on set, you greeted everyone like usual, coffee in hand, clipboard tucked under your arm. when minho walked in a few minutes later, hair still damp, expression neutral, you didn’t brace yourself. you smiled.
“morning,” you said with a voice that sounded too sweetly. “thanks for yesterday.”
his steps slowed. he looked at you like you’d just spoken a different language. “for what.”
“you know,” you replied, softer than usual. “the taxi.”
a beat passed. then his lips curved, “wow,” he said. “are you sick or something?”
you blinked. “what?”
“you’re being weird,” he continued, eyes narrowing slightly. “where’s the attitude? did i finally scare it out of you?”
there it was. you let out a quiet breath. “never fucking mind.”
so much for being nice to him today.
during the first take, you were focused, tracking the movement, fingers adjusting settings by instinct. halfway through, his voice cut in.
“are you sure this angle’s right?” he called, loud enough for the room to hear. “or should i look away again so you can yell cut?”
a few heads turned. you ignored him, jaw tight. “keep going.”
the music resumed. you counted the beats under your breath. just as the formation shifted, “wow,” minho muttered, noticing you were just off-mark. “guess we’re improvising now.”
your fingers slipped. “cut,” you said sharply.
reset. again.
you repositioned the camera, double-checking marks you’d already gone over. “same thing,” you reminded them. “eyes forward on the turn.”
minho met your gaze, eyes bright with something unreadable. “yes, boss.” the word grated.
the take started. this time, he did look at the camera, but exaggeratedly, chin tilted, stare almost mocking. it ruined the mood of the shot completely. ruined the vision you had.
you closed your eyes for half a second. “cut.”
a sigh echoed through the room. minho stretched his arms above his head lazily. “what now?”
“what now,” you repeated flatly. “you know exactly what.”
he shrugged. “just following instructions.”
“don’t play dumb.”
“i’m not,” he said lightly. “you just seem a little… distracted today.” heat crawled up your neck.
the shoot dragged on. every take felt like walking through a minefield. comments slipped in under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. timing remarks. exaggerated reactions. a raised eyebrow every time you corrected something.
once, as you adjusted focus, he leaned towards felix, whispering something.
you snapped your head up. “focus, minho.” he smiled. “you first.”
something in your chest tightened painfully. this wasn’t the usual back and forth. this was deliberate. pointed. like he was trying to push you until you broke. and slowly, you did.
your concentration shattered piece by piece. you missed cues you never missed. your patience wore thin. the room felt too loud, every movement scraping against your nerves.
finally, after another ruined take, after another unnecessary comment, you lowered the camera and exhaled hard.
“lunch break,” you said, voice cutting through the noise. the room stilled. chan looked at you in surprise. “already?”
“yeah,” you replied, not looking at anyone in particular. “we’ll resume after.”
people filed out, murmurs filling the space as the tension followed them out the door.
you stayed where you were, hands braced on the equipment, breathing slowly. behind you, you felt him. minho didn’t leave.
the door clicked shut behind the last person. the silence was suffocating.
you straightened slowly, turning to face him. “are you done?” minho scoffed. “with what?"
“with whatever this is,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “because if you’re trying to sabotage the shoot, congratulations. you’re doing great.”
his jaw tightened. “don’t flatter yourself. i don’t want you to mess things up.”
you laughed. “right. because you were being so cooperative today.”
“you were the one calling cut every five seconds.”
“because you wouldn’t stop running your mouth.”
he stepped closer. “maybe if you weren’t so distracted–"
“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you dare put this on me.”
his eyes flashed. “why not? you’re the professional, right? the golden producer everyone loves?”
there it was. you crossed your arms, mirroring him without realising it. “what is that supposed to mean?"
he shrugged, careless. “just funny how patient you are with everyone else.”
your laugh this time was bitter. “are you serious right now?”
“am i wrong?” he pressed. “chan messes up, you smile. hyunjin misses a mark, you laugh it off. felix breathes wrong and you’re telling him it’s okay.”
you stared at him. “you want a medal for noticing basic human decency?”
his voice rose. “or maybe you just don’t bother hiding how much you prefer them.”
the words landed heavy. you stepped closer now, heat rushing through you. “i tried to be nice to you today.”
he blinked. “what.”
“i tried,” you repeated, sharper. “i thanked you. i didn’t bite back. i gave you space. and you saw that and decided to make it worse.”
“because it was fake,” he shot back immediately. “you don’t do nice. not with me.”
“maybe because you make it impossible,” you snapped. “you push and push and then act surprised when i push back.”
“you enjoy it,” he said. “don’t pretend you don’t.”
“oh, screw you.”
“hit a nerve?” he asked, stepping even closer. “you light up when you argue with me. you’d be bored without it.”
your heart was pounding now, anger and something else tangling together painfully. “you are so unbelievably full of yourself.”
“and you hate that i see through you.”
you laughed breathlessly. “see through what? that i’m tired of you acting like an asshole for no reason?”
“there is a reason,” he snapped.
“then say it,” you challenged. “for once, say it instead of hiding behind your shitty comments.”
his hands curled into fists at his sides. “you wouldn’t like it.”
“try me.”
the air between you felt charged, electric, like one wrong move would set everything off. you were standing too close now, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that his breath brushed your face when he spoke.
“you get under my skin,” he said, voice low and tight. “you always have.”
you swallowed, refusing to step back. “congratulations. join the club.”
“you think this is easy for me?” he scoffed. “watching you laugh with everyone else like i’m nothing?”
your chest tightened. “then stop treating me like i’m the problem.”
his eyes searched yours, dark and intense.
the room felt too small. the tension too thick. every breath felt like a challenge, every second stretched tight and dangerous.
you clenched your jaw, voice shaking despite yourself. “i can’t fucking stand you, minho.”
and something in his expression finally snapped.
the moment the words left your mouth, something in him broke. minho moved before you could react.
one second you were glaring at each other, breath heavy, the next his hands were on you, firm and urgent, pinning you back against the wall with a force that stole the air from your lungs. the impact rattled through you. not painful, just overwhelming. his body was close, heat everywhere, nowhere to escape even if you wanted to.
then he kissed you. hard. unforgiving. like he’d been holding back for far too long and finally gave up trying. it was neither careful nor questioning. it was claiming.
his mouth crashed against yours with all the anger and want and frustration tangled between you, like he already knew you’d kiss him back.
and you did. your hands shot up to his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric, gripping tight like you needed the anchor. the kiss was messy, teeth knocking, breaths breaking apart as if neither of you knew how to slow down. it tasted like everything you’d never said out loud.
he pulled back just enough to breathe, chest rising and falling fast. “say that again,” he whispered, voice rough, barely holding together.
your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. your lips tingled. you should have pushed him away. you didn’t.
“i can’t fucking stand you,” you breathed. something dark and satisfied flickered across his face.
“good,” he murmured. then he kissed you again.
rougher this time. deeper. like he was trying to prove something, like he needed you to feel it as much as he did. his hand slid to your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head back, his mouth fitting against yours like it had always belonged there.
“i can’t stand you either,” he muttered between kisses, the words swallowed by the way his lips kept finding yours.
there was just heat and tension and everything you’d buried under insults finally spilling over. the world narrowed to the press of his body, the sound of your breathing, the way his grip tightened like he needed you to know you were already his. always have been.
the kiss became messier, more reckless, the argument still humming under your skin even as his lips traced along your jaw, hands roaming where they shouldn't. but neither of you could stop yourselves.
you breathed out a shaky laugh against him. “you really get on my last nerve.”
“yeah?” he murmured, already kissing down your neck, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you shiver, hand grabbing your hair to hold you in place. “you’re insufferable.” he murmured.
you tilted your head back despite yourself, fingers fisting in his shirt. “you keep saying that.”
he hummed against your skin. “because it’s true.”
“if i’m so insufferable,” you whispered, breath unsteady, “then keep your lips away from me.”
his movements stilled. then his hand closed around your neck, not tight, but firm enough to demand your attention, thumb pressing under your jaw as he forced you to look at him. his eyes were dark, blown wide with want and frustration, mouth already parted like he hated the distance between you.
“don’t you think i would,” he said quietly, voice rough, “if i fucking could?”
his lips crashed back on yours. harder. deeper. like he was proving his own point, like the words had only pushed him further. your back pressed into the wall, his body fitting against yours like it had always known where to be. your hands slid up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. his hips bucked once, making you feel him. you moaned softly, and minho was about to lose it, right there in the shooting room.
the door opened. footsteps. "hyung?" a familiar voice called. luckily, you were tucked around the corner, shielded.
minho pulled away immediately, breath coming fast, jaw clenched so tightly, like it physically hurt to stop. you were both breathing hard, faces flushed.
you dragged a hand through your hair, trying to undo the damage his fingers had done, smoothing it back as best you could. your lips were swollen. your pulse was everywhere.
he watched you as you stepped away, eyes following you like he hadn’t quite accepted that you were no longer pressed against him.
you walked back towards your equipment, hands busy, anything to look normal. minho followed without hesitation, not caring how disheveled he looked, hair mussed.
jeongin stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes flicking between the two of you far too quickly. trying to piece the picture together.
“uh– chan asked me to go check where you were,” he said.
“give me five,” minho muttered, irritation sharp in his voice. jeongin nodded once and practically bolted.
the room fell quiet again, though not empty.
“will you get dinner with me tonight?” minho asked, suddenly softer, like the fight had burned itself out and left something raw behind.
“absolutely not,” you replied immediately.
his eyebrows shot up, smirk already pulling at his mouth.
“you want me to say please?” he asked. you bit back a grin and failed. “perhaps i do.”
he stepped closer again, slower this time. his hand found your hair once more, gentler now, tilting your head so you had no choice but to look at him. his lips hovered just over yours, close enough to feel his breath.
“please?” he whispered.
then he kissed you, almost teasing, like a promise instead of a demand.
you exhaled. “only if you behave for the rest of the shooting session.”
he let out a breathy laugh, “fine. i’ll try to be good. if that’s what it takes.” his kiss deepened. like the argument was over. (for now)
summary: when happiness seems just within reach for you and chan, your ex returns, and so does your fear. he's not planning to stop until he has you. will chan be able to save you once more?
healing started to come in pieces, in routines you didn’t even realise were saving you. and chan was there for all of it.
every afternoon, he waited for you outside your uni building. sometimes leaning against his car, sometimes sitting on the steps. he always looked up the moment he saw you, relief softening his features like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.
“ready?” he’d ask gently. and every day, he gave you the choice.
“my place?”
“the studio?”
“or home?”
there was no pressure in his voice. no expectation. just patience.
some days you went back with him, curling up on the couch while he worked or cooked. some days you sat in the studio, headphones resting loosely around your neck, listening to him create. and even when you said you wanted to go home, he never just dropped you off. he walked you to the door. waited until you were inside. only then did he leave.
but most days, you simply invited him in, asked him to stay with you for a while. a while mostly lasted until the next morning.
nights were the safest part. you fell asleep in his arms, back pressed to his chest, his breathing slow and steady behind you. his hand rested at your waist or over your heart, never roaming, never claiming, just there.
sometimes you woke in the middle of the night, disoriented for a second, fear prickling at the edges of your mind. and then you felt him. solid, warm and real. his arm tightened just slightly, instinctively, like he could sense your panic even in sleep.
slowly, your body began to remember what safety felt like. the bruises faded. yellow turned to pale green, then to nothing at all. your shoulders relaxed. your flinches softened into hesitations, then disappeared altogether.
your smile came back first. small but existent.
then your laugh returned. the sound startled you the first time. it was too bright, too real, but chan’s grin was wide, like he’d been waiting for it.
there were moments when you caught him watching you, eyes warm and a little awed, like he couldn’t quite believe you were still here. like he was falling for you all over again.
maybe you were too.
life didn’t feel normal yet. but it felt… possible.
you went to class. you studied. you laughed. you ate. you slept. and every day, chan was there, never ahead of you, never dragging you forward. just walking beside you. and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just surviving.
you were living again.
the routines were the most important parts. quiet mornings. slow evenings. chan existing beside you like a constant, a steady hum you could finally relax into.
one evening, he was making dinner while you hovered nearby, pretending not to watch him. music blasted from his phone on the counter, some random playlist, songs bleeding into each other. chan hummed along anyway.
you leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed loosely, watching him sway as he stirred something on the stove. his shoulders relaxed, movements easy, like he was completely at home in this moment.
it made your chest ache in a good way. you didn’t realise you were smiling until he looked up and caught you.
his grin spread instantly. “couldn’t resist joining my little party, huh?” he teased.
you snorted softly. “hard to ignore it. besides, i felt bad for you, having a–" you gestured vaguely at the music, “whatever that is all on your own.”
chan laughed, setting the ladle down with a clink. “rude,” he said fondly. then, without another word, he stepped towards you and held out his hand.
“dance with me?”
his smile was so wide, so hopeful, you didn’t stand a chance. you grinned and took his hand.
chan immediately spun you around, the sudden movement pulling a surprised sound from you. before you could protest, his arms wrapped around you from behind, your back fitting naturally against his chest as he guided you into a gentle sway.
you could feel his laughter against your shoulder.
the song changed, slower this time, and chan turned you to face him. you danced like that for a while, clumsy and uncoordinated, laughing when you stepped on each other’s feet, completely forgetting about the food quietly simmering behind him.
chan’s eyes lingered. on your smile. on the way your laughter came freely now. on your eyes, bright again, alive again.
and he knew he was so, so in love with you.
eventually, your laughter faded into soft smiles, breaths still uneven. chan’s hand lifted almost without thinking, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered and he didn’t, couldn't, look away.
neither did you. and then the words fell out of him, completely unfiltered, honest, voice trembling just slightly.
“i really want to kiss you.”
your heart skipped. lips parted in surprise. you nodded. and that was all he needed.
chan leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull back if you wanted to. his lips brushed yours softly, like he was asking a question rather than making a claim.
when you kissed him back, the world seemed to exhale. it deepened just a little, years of unspoken feelings bleeding gently into it. there was no rush, no hunger. just warmth and reassurance. a love built patiently over time.
when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “okay?” he whispered.
you smiled, breathless. "okay.”
his arms wrapped around you then, holding you close as the music played on, forgotten food filling the kitchen with the faint smell of something burning.
for a while, happiness felt easy. you held chan’s hand more often now. you leaned into him without thinking. you kissed him softly whenever you wanted to, whenever he wanted to, fell asleep tangled together, woke up to his sleepy smiles and quiet good mornings.
you started to believe the worst was behind you. that was until you saw him. it was brief, almost nothing.
just a familiar shape across the street. a posture you knew too well. a laugh that sounded wrong in a way your body recognised before your mind did.
your heart slammed against your ribs. by the time you looked again, he was gone. you told yourself that your mind was playing tricks on you. that trauma did this sometimes. still, you walked faster the rest of the way home.
it happened again a few days later. this time in a reflection. glass catching a figure behind you for half a second too long. your breath hitched, fingers curling into your sleeve as you turned sharply.
nothing. no one. you stood there shaking, pulse roaring in your ears.
when chan picked you up that day, you smiled anyway. you didn’t tell him. you didn’t want to worry him. didn’t want to undo the peace you’d worked so hard to rebuild. didn’t want to feel like you were slipping backward. so you swallowed ir down.
but fear has a way of leaking out. you started checking behind you more often. you flinched when footsteps sounded too close. sometimes you held chan’s hand tighter without realising it.
obviously, he noticed. “you okay?” he asked one night, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. you nodded too quickly. “yeah. just tired.”
chan didn’t push. but that night, when you woke suddenly, heart racing for no clear reason, he pulled you closer without saying anything, his arm tightening around you on instinct. he'd been unable to sleep. thoughts racing wild, trying to figure out where your sudden anxiety was coming from.
he held you tighter that night. as if sensing that something was already happening. something he had no control over.
you saw your ex a third time near campus. this time you were sure.
you ducked into a store and waited until your hands stopped shaking. you didn’t leave until you were certain he wasn’t there anymore.
that was the first time you considered telling chan. and the first time you actively decided not to.
because if you said it out loud, it would be real. because if chan knew, he’d worry. because you didn’t want to be yet another burden. didn't want to drag him down with you.
so you carried it alone. and fear settled back into your chest like an old scar reopening.
you were curled against chan on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, a show playing in the background neither of you were really watching. his fingers traced slow, absentminded circles against your arm.
you stared at the screen for a long moment before speaking. “i’ve been thinking about… therapy.”
chan stilled, listening.
“i think,” you continued softly, “i want to try. not because you’re not helping. you are. you really are. i just… think therapy might be a right step.”
chan turned slightly to look at you. his eyes shone with something like relief. “yeah?” he asked gently.
you nodded. “yeah. i don't want to keep carrying all of this around all the time. and i most certainly don't want you to feel obliged to carry any of this for me."
"with you. not for you." his exhale was shaky, “i’m really proud of you,” he said quietly.
you blinked, surprised. “proud?” you echoed.
“so proud,” chan repeated, voice warm. “asking for help is hard. choosing to heal is hard. and you’re doing both.” he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.
“whatever you need,” he added. “appointments, bad days, days where you don’t want to talk about it at all. i’ll be here. every step of the way.”
you leaned into him, letting his words settle deep.
for the first time, the future didn’t feel so heavy.
your day started normally. you woke up tangled in chan’s arms, kissed his cheek when he groaned sleepily, and left for uni, wearing his hoodie. he texted you halfway through your morning lecture, a simple « eat something today, okay? » that made you smile.
by noon, your head was pounding. you decided to leave early. on your way out, you passed a small place near campus that chan loved. without really thinking, you pulled out your phone and sent chan a picture of the place.
« left uni early. gonna grab you lunch and bring it to the studio :) »
the reply came almost instantly.
« really? »
« you don’t have to »
« thank you 🖤 »
your heart fluttered.
you picked up the food, the paper bag warm in your hands as you stepped back outside. the afternoon sun felt bright, almost hopeful.
you pulled out your phone again, thumbs hovering over the screen.
« almost there »
a sound behind you made your stomach drop. footsteps. and they came closer. you glanced at the reflection in a window. and froze. your breath caught painfully in your throat.
chan checked his phone again. and again.
the studio clock ticked loudly on the wall, the sound suddenly unbearable. you should’ve been here by now. even if you were walking slowly. even if you’d stopped to look at something. even if you’d changed your mind. you would have told him.
his fingers hovered over your name before he called. once. twice. no answer.
his chest tightened. maybe she’s still on her way, he told himself, forcing his shoulders to relax. maybe her phone’s on silent.
he tried again. nothing.
panic crept in, like cold fingers wrapping around his spine.
he texted you.
« hey, where are you? »
« did something happen? »
the messages stayed unread.
chan stood up so abruptly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. felix looked up from across the room, concern flashing across his face. “hyung?”
“i’m gonna go check something,” chan said, already grabbing his jacket. he didn’t wait for a response.
chan didn’t drive, he walked. fast. heart pounding so hard it hurt. he followed the route you would’ve taken. the place you’d messaged about came into view far too soon.
he pushed through the door, breathless. “hi,” he said to the person behind the counter. “have you seen her?” he pulled out his phone with shaking hands, showing them your picture. the one he loved. the one where you were smiling, eyes bright.
the cashier nodded slowly. “yeah. she was just here. picked up takeaway maybe… fifteen, twenty minutes ago?”
chan’s blood ran cold. “did she leave alone?” he asked.
the pause before the answer felt endless. “i think so,” they said uncertainly. “but she looked like she was in a hurry.” chan thanked them numbly and stepped back outside.
the air felt too thin. twenty minutes, his mind screamed. twenty minutes and you're vanished.
he slowed his pace, eyes scanning everything now, the street, the windows, the shadows between buildings.
and then he saw it. a crumpled paper bag near the mouth of a narrow alley.
his heart dropped into his stomach. chan approached slowly, dread crawling up his throat with every step. the bag was torn, food spilled across the concrete, already growing cold.
“no,” he whispered. his gaze dropped further. there it was. your phone. lying on the ground like it had been discarded.
chan’s hands shook violently as he picked it up. the screen was cracked slightly. he unlocked it without thinking.
the open message stared back at him. the unfinished text burned into his vision.
« chan? i think he is fol | »
chan sucked in a sharp, broken breath. “fuck,” he whispered, voice breaking completely this time.
fear exploded into something uncontrollable. he dialed emergency services immediately, pacing the alley like a caged animal, words tumbling over each other as he explained, about you, about your ex, about the abuse, about the restraining order you hadn’t even had time to file yet.
luckily, the scene looked convincing enough for the police that arrived to file this as an abduction. otherwise he would have had to wait 24 hours to file a missing person's report. he gave them everything. every detail. every address. every memory that might matter.
when he got home, the silence was unbearable.
chan sank down against the wall, clutching your phone to his chest like it might keep you tethered to him somehow.
please, he begged silently. please be okay.
that night was torture.
for the first time in weeks, chan lay alone in his bed, on his side, facing the empty space where you should have been, where you always were. the sheets still smelled like you, and it made his chest ache so badly he had to curl in on himself.
his mind wouldn’t stop. every time he closed his eyes, new thoughts rushed in, relentless and cruel.
where were you?
did he hurt you?
was there anything chan might have missed?
his hand slid across the mattress, fingers brushing the cold fabric of your side. instinctively, like he expected to find you there. his breathe hitched when there was nothing to hold onto.
he squeezed his eyes shut. this is my fault. the thought lodged deep in his chest, unforgiving.
he should have picked you up at uni today. or should have insisted you stay home. he had known something was off. he'd felt it.
he turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling, heart racing like it was trying to escape his ribs. the room felt suffocating, every shadow too dark, every sound too loud. his hands shook as he dragged them through his hair.
chan rolled back onto his side, curling around the pillow you’d hugged every night. he pressed his face into it, breathing you in like it might keep him tethered to reality.
he wanted you there so badly it hurt. wanted to pull you into his arms. wanted to feel your back against his chest. wanted to whisper that you were safe, even if he didn’t know if it was true yet.
that was when it hit him, devastatingly. that he was completely and undeniably in love with you. and he hadn't even told you yet.
not just in the quiet, soft way he’d always known. not just in the way that came with years of friendship and stolen glances and shared nights.
but fully. painfully. irrevocably.
and the unfairness of it all made his chest burn.
why you?
you were the kindest person he knew. the most selfless. the one who worried about everyone else before yourself. the one who loved so gently it made the world seem softer just by existing in it. you didn’t deserve any of this.
chan turned towards your empty side again, hand resting where your heart should have been, his own shattering quietly in the dark.
“please come back,” he whispered to the room.
he tried to imagine where your ex might have taken you. the streets you knew. the places you’d mentioned in passing.
suddenly, it hit him. one of the first things you’d ever told him about your ex. that his family owned a large apartment complex on the other side of town.
chan bolted upright. his hands were steady now as he grabbed his phone again.
“i know where he might’ve taken her,” he said when the officer answered. “i know where to look.”
chan must have sounded either convincing or desperate enough for the officer on thr line to send out three police officers to check the premise.
and for the first time since you disappeared, hope flickered. it was thin and fragile, but it burnt inside him.
everything happened too fast. one moment you were standing on the sidewalk, the paper bag warm in your hands, thinking about chan’s smile when you’d surprise him. the next, fear slammed into you so hard it stole your breath.
his hand closed around your wrist. your body reacted before your mind could catch up. you pulled back, heart hammering violently, but he was stronger. always had been. he dragged you towards the alley, voice sharp, words cutting into you like they used to. “don’t make a scene.”
panic exploded. you tried to scream, but your throat locked. the world blurred as he shoved you forward, fingers digging into your arm hard enough to bruise. the bag tore from your grasp. your phone slipped, clattering to the ground.
the drive felt endless. you stared out the window, every muscle locked tight. your mind raced, grasping desperately for something to hold onto.
chan. you focused on him like a lifeline. his voice. his hands. the way he held you at night. it was the only thing keeping you from breaking apart completely.
when he finally stopped the car, dread settled deep in your stomach. you recognised the building immediately. the tall concrete walls. the narrow entrance.
the apartment complex. his family’s.
inside, everything felt wrong. the air was stale. his voice filled the space like venom, every word meant to hurt.
“did you really think you could just leave?”
“after everything i did for you?”
“after everything you owe me?”
each sentence struck like a blow. you flinched when he moved too fast. your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
he shoved you forward, words spilling out in a furious rush, calling you names, tearing you down, twisting the knife deeper with every sentence.
your mind screamed at you to fight. but your body remembered. remembered how fighting only made it worse. so you stopped. or rather, didn't even start.
you lowered your gaze. softened your voice. nodded when he spoke.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered, the words burning your tongue. “i didn’t mean to make you angry.”
he froze. you felt the shift. the way his rage faltered, confusion flickering across his face.
you kept going. “i made a mistake,” you lied quietly. “i shouldn’t have left. i shouldn’t have gone to him.”
it felt like swallowing glass. his grip loosened just slightly. that was when you understood, this wasn’t about truth, or fairness. this was about survival.
if you fought him, he would punish you. if you screamed, he would silence you. but if you played along, maybe he’d stop.
so you did what you had to do. you apologised. you agreed to his every word. you became small again.
inside, you clung desperately to chan.
he’ll find me, you told yourself over and over. even when fear wrapped around your throat. even when pain blurred the edges of your vision, you held on.
because you had to. because giving up meant disappearing. and you weren’t ready to disappear. not when chan was still out there.
"he punched me, did you know that?" your eyes widened. you hadn't known that. you tried to hide the mischievous smile that threatened to form on your lips. "tried to keep me away from you. thinking he had any fucking claim on you." he snarled.
"i'm sorry he did that." you said. you weren't sorry at all.
"you know what's the funniest part? i think it was you who made him believe you were his." that's because you absolutely and completely were. entirely his. "did you do something to make him believe that?" the question caught you off guard.
"what? no! absolutely not!" you protested. in the wrong tone.
he slapped your face. hard. "fucking whore." you tried to take a few steps back but he grabbed your hair and yanked you back. "where do you think you're going, huh? you think i'm done with you?" his laugh was the last sound you heard. the last sound before the ones of his fists connecting to your body. bruising skin, breaking it.
the beating stopped eventually. not because he felt remorse. but because he was satisfied.
your body ached everywhere, pulsing pain that made it hard to breathe properly. your wrists burned where they were tied to the bedpost, rope biting into already tender skin. every movement sent sharp reminders through you.
your clothes were gone. you remembered him ripping them away, remembered the sound of fabric tearing, remembered the door opening and closing when he dumped them somewhere outside, so you wouldn't make a run for it. the humiliation clung to you heavier than the pain.
he lay beside you now. snoring. the sound made bile rise in your throat. this was nothing like chan's snoring. the one that brought you comfort. that one that made you feel safe.
you were bleeding. hurting. shaking. and the only thing keeping you tethered to the world was chan.
you pictured his face. the warmth of his arms. the way his voice sounded when he said your name like it was something precious.
"you're safe with me." chan's voice echoed in your mind. "i'm coming to find you." the imaginary version of him said. "just a little longer, baby. you're doing so well. i will find you."
tears slid silently down your temples, soaking into the pillow beneath you. you bit down on your lip, holding back sobs, terrified that even the smallest sound would wake him.
blue light flickered across the wall. at first, you thought you were hallucinating. your vision swam, tears blurring everything, but the light came again, brighter this time. closer.
your heart stuttered. you listened. voices. muffled at first. then footsteps. knocks. not on your door, but on others. doors were opening. brief conversations. police radios crackling.
hope surged so violently it almost hurt.
the sounds woke him. “what the fuck–" he muttered, sitting up abruptly.
he looked around, then towards the window. the flashing lights reflected clearly now. “shit,” he hissed.
panic twisted his features. he scrambled out of bed, grabbing clothes, pulling them on roughly. when he turned back to you, his eyes were wild.
“you keep your fucking mouth shut,” he snarled, grabbing your chin painfully. “or i swear this is the last time you take a breath.”
fear slammed into you like a wave. he released you and moved towards the door just as a firm knock echoed through the apartment.
“police,” a voice called. “open the door.”
your ex cracked it open just slightly. “yeah?” he said groggily, forcing calm into his voice. “what’s going on? i was asleep.”
your heart pounded so hard you thought it might burst. this was it. this was your chance.
your fear screamed at you to stay silent. your body shook violently. your throat felt too tight.
but you swallowed hard, pushed the fear down, and screamed. “help!” your voice broke as it tore out of you. “please, help me!”
everything happened at once. the door burst open. your ex was shoved violently aside, crashing into the wall with a shout. three officers flooded the apartment, voices commanding.
“hands where we can see them!”
“get on the ground, now!”
he didn’t make it far.
a female officer rushed to you immediately, her jacket shrugging off her shoulders as she covered your body without hesitation.
“you’re safe,” she said firmly, like she needed you to hear it more then anything. “you’re safe now. we’ve got you.”
your hands shook uncontrollably as she untied the restraints, moving carefully, explaining everything she did before she touched you.
“i’m going to untie this now, okay?”
“you’re doing great.”
“you’re not alone.”
the ropes fell away. you sobbed openly then, body folding in on itself as she helped you sit up, keeping you covered, keeping him out of your sight.
“where are your clothes?” she asked softly.
“he… he threw them away, so i wouldn't run," you whispered.
her jaw tightened, anger flashing briefly across her face before she masked it.
"we’re calling medics. they’ll take care of you.” she said and wrapped you in the bedsheets.
“you’re safe,” she repeated. “you did exactly the right thing.”
you barely registered the sounds around you, the cuffs snapping closed, your ex shouting, officers speaking into radios.
you didn’t even see chan at first. everything around you felt muffled, like you were underwater.
but then you felt it. that pull in your chest. that familiar warmth. your eyes lifted.
chan stood at the end of the hallway. his hair was disheveled, jacket thrown on hastily, chest rising and falling like he’d been running. his eyes were wild with fear, scanning frantically until they landed on you. and he froze.
for a split second, he looked like he might fall apart entirely. he walked over to where you were sitting on the bed and dropped to his knees in front of you without thinking. close, but not touching. never touching without permission.
his eyes searched your face desperately, like he needed proof you were real.
“hey,” he whispered, voice breaking. “hey… i’m here.”
your throat closed. you reached out. when your hand brushed his, chan took it carefully, like it was something sacred.
the moment your fingers intertwined, he broke.
tears spilled freely down his face, silent sobs shaking his shoulders as he bowed his head. he pressed his forehead gently against the back of your hand, holding it like an anchor.
“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracked and raw. “i’m so sorry i wasn’t faster.”
you tried to shake your head, but the movement made you dizzy. instead, you squeezed his fingers weakly. he felt it. and it undid him.
“I’ve got you,” he said, breathing hard. “you’re not alone. not ever again.”
the officer stayed close, never stepping away, never leaving you alone with yet another man, but she let chan stay there, kneeling, holding your hand as if letting go would destroy him.
the medics arrived shortly after. the blanket shifted as they prepared to move you, replacing it with a thicker one, wrapping it securely around your shoulders. chan looked away respectfully.
“can you walk with assistance?” one of them asked gently.
you nodded faintly. they helped you up slowly.
as you limped forward, chan rose too, staying just to your side but not crowding you. his eyes flicked down despite himself, and he saw it. the fresh bruises. the blood along your leg. the way you favoured one side.
something dark flashed across his face. rage. pure, terrifying rage. he forced it down with effort, breathing hard through his nose.
the female officer stepped beside him. “we’re taking her to the hospital,” she said quietly. “i’d suggest you bring clothes and anything she might need.”
chan nodded immediately. “tell me where. i’ll be there.” she gave him the name and the address.
before you were guided into the ambulance, you stopped. panic surged suddenly. you turned, eyes searching wildly. “chan,” you called, voice hoarse.
he crossed the distance in two long steps, stopping just in front of you. he didn’t touch, didn’t dare, but his presence wrapped around you anyway.
“I’m gonna get you clothes, okay?” he said softly, eyes locked on yours. “and then i’ll be right there. i promise.”
you nodded, tears spilling again. he smiled for you, reassuring you. “i'm not going anywhere.”
and as the ambulance doors closed, you held onto his words like a lifeline.
the hospital was too bright.everything smelled like antiseptic and unfamiliar hands. voices were kind but distant, each question asked carefully, like they were afraid of hurting you further just by speaking.
you answered what you could. sometimes you nodded instead. sometimes you cried without realising it.
the examinations were uncomfortable, physically and emotionally, but no one rushed you. a female nurse stayed close the entire time, explaining every step, letting you decide when to pause, when to continue.
“you’re in control,” she reminded you gently. “we’ll go at your pace.” you clung to that. the thought of chan returning to you soon anchored you.
you wondered if he’d made it home yet. if he was rushing around like he always did when he was anxious. if he was blaming himself.
you hoped he wasn’t.
the moment chan got home, he went straight to his room, opening drawers and closets with shaking hands. he grabbed the softest clothes he could find, an oversized sweater, sweatpants, your favourite socks. toiletries followed. your toothbrush, hair ties, things that had found their way into his place like they belonged there.
jeongin stirred awake at the noise. “hyung?” he murmured, stepping into the hallway, eyes still half-lidded.
chan looked up, eyes glassy. “they found her,” he said hoarsely. relief washed over jeongin. “thank god,” he whispered. “is she okay?”
chan shook his head, jaw tightening. “i don't know. i need to get to the hospital.”
jeongin nodded immediately. “text me if you need anything.”
when he arrived at the hospital, his heart nearly burst out of his chest. he asked for you at the front desk, voice barely steady, and they guided him down a quiet hallway. each step felt heavier than the last.
when he finally saw you, sitting up slightly in the hospital bed, wrapped in blankets, hair messy, eyes tired but alive, he stopped.
for a second, he couldn’t move. then your eyes met his. “chan,” you whispered. that was all it took.
he crossed the room quickly, stopping just short of the bed. he waited.
when you reached out for him, fingers trembling, he took your hand instantly, holding onto it.
“I’m here,” he said softly, voice breaking. “i’m right here.”
tears slid down your cheeks, unstoppable. chan carefully brushed them away with his thumb.
“i brought you some clothes,” he added gently, lifting the bag a little. “and… whatever else you need.”
you nodded, squeezing his hand.
chan sat beside your bed, fingers laced carefully through yours like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip even a little, you might slip away again. his thumb brushed slow, grounding circles against your knuckles, a silent reminder that he was here. that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“they said they’re just waiting for my blood results,” you murmured softly. “they want to make sure he didn’t drug me.”
chan’s jaw tightened for a brief second, but he nodded, forcing himself to stay calm for you.
“once those come back,” you continued, voice wavering slightly, “they said i'm allowed to leave.”
his eyes softened immediately. “that’s good,” he said quietly. “we’ll wait as long as we need to.”
and he meant it. there was nowhere else he could possibly be. because nothing mattered more to him right now. ...and because it was bloody 5 in the morning.
uncertainty sat heavy in his chest. he didn’t know what you needed right now. didn’t know whether to talk, or ask questions, or let the silence hold you both. every option felt risky, like he might say the wrong thing and shatter something fragile.
so he stayed quiet, until you spoke again. “tell me about your day.”
the words caught him completely off guard. chan let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at your joined hands. a single tear slipped free before he could stop it, landing silently on the back of your fingers.
“you’re unbelievable,” he murmured hoarsely. after everything, after what you’d endured, you still cared enough to ask about him.
he took a shaky breath, then answered anyway, because you asked, and because maybe a tiny bit of normalcy was exactly what you needed right now.
“i was at the studio this morning,” he said softly. “felix was there. we were recording some stuff, trying out a new sound.”
your lips curved into a small smile. “yeah?” you asked. “i’m looking forward to hearing it.”
chan squeezed your hand gently. “i think you’ll like it,” he said.
a soft knock came at the door. the nurse stepped inside, her gaze flicking immediately to chan. there was a moment of assessment there, like after hearing what happened to you, she didn't like seeing a male present by your side. but it softened when she saw the way you leaned into him, fingers tightening instinctively around his.
“your blood work looks fine,” she said gently. “no signs of any substances. you’re free to leave whenever you feel ready.” relief washed over you both at the same time.
when she left, chan stood carefully and turned back to you. "okay,” he said softly. “slowly.”
he helped you sit up, keeping one hand steady at your elbow without gripping, without rushing. your legs trembled slightly as you swung them over the side of the bed.
“i think,” you admitted shyly, eyes wobbly, “i might need a hand." chan nodded immediately. “of course.”
he moved with deliberate care, turning his gaze away as he helped you out of the hospital gown. his hands never strayed. he passed you your underwear first, then the sweatpants, then the oversized jumper he’d brough.
once you were dressed, once you were steady again, chan couldn’t hold himself back anymore. he pulled you into his arms gently, mindful of every bruise, every sore place.
he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and stayed there, lips resting in your hair as if grounding himself in the fact that you were really here.
your tears soaked into the fabric of his hoodie as you nodded against his chest, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
"let's go home, baby." he whispered.
he guided you to his car slowly, never rushing, his hand warm and steady around yours.
the sun was already creeping up over the horizon, painting the sky in pale pinks and soft gold. you stopped walking for a moment, drawn by it, turning your face towards the light. you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply.
the air was cold and sharp in your lungs. it burned in the best way.
chan watched you quietly. the way the morning sun touched your skin, the way your shoulders lifted with the breath you took, the way you stood there after everything, still here, still breathing, still you.
he had never seen anything more beautiful.
when you opened your eyes again, he smiled softly and helped you into the car, careful with every movement.
he drove you to your place and walked you inside, his hand never leaving yours.
inside, the quiet wrapped around you gently.
“you probably have to go to the studio soon, hm?” you asked softly, glancing up at him.
“absolutely not,” chan replied immediately. "they can manage without me today."
you raised your brows slightly. “can they?”
he let out a quiet laugh. “probably not. but they know they can call me. i’m not going anywhere.”something in your chest loosened at that.
when he asked what you needed, the answer came easily. “i really want to take a shower.”
chan nodded without hesitation. “i might need your help again,” you added quietly, eyes dropping for a second. he didn’t say a word, just followed you into the bathroom.
he turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. your stance was unsteady as you undressed, the room tilting slightly, but chan was right there. he held out his hand. you took it immediately.
he helped you step into the shower, staying just outside the spray. you grabbed the loofah, poured some body wash onto it, and began cleaning yourself. halfway through, dizziness washed over you. you braced your hands against the cold tiles, breathing unevenly.
“are you okay?” chan asked softly. you tried to nod.
he stepped closer and gently took the loofah from your hand. “may i?” he asked. you nodded again.
chan moved so carefully, as if every touch mattered... because it did. the loofah skimmed over your skin, pressure almost non-existent. whenever he reached a bruised spot, his movements softened even more, like he was afraid of hurting you with anything stronger than air.
his chest tightened painfully as his eyes traced the marks on your body. broken. hurt. but still here.
he swallowed hard, setting the loofah aside before pouring shampoo into his hands. he washed your hair gently, fingers massaging your scalp with slow, soothing motions, grounding you. comforting you. rinsing away not just soap, but the weight of everything you’d been carrying.
he rinsed the rest of the body wash away, his hands resting on your back, rubbing small circles there. steady. reassuring. you leaned into it without thinking.
when the water finally turned off, he helped you step out and wrapped you in a large towel, cocooning you in warmth before pulling you into his arms.
you let out a small chuckle, breath still shaky. “channie,” you said softly, “your t-shirt is getting wet.” your damp hair pressed against the white fabric.
he didn’t let go.
the sound of your soft chuckle hit him like both a wound and a balm. it broke him and healed him all at once.
you hadn’t lost your spark. it had been dimmed, buried, bruised, but not destroyed.
chan cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes as he searched your expression.
“okay?” he whispered.
you knew exactly what he was referring to, what he wanted to do.
“okay,” you replied softly.
his lips brushed yours, the kiss barely there, feathery-light and of utmost carefulness. when you kissed him back, melting into him, he deepened the kiss.
and in that quiet bathroom, wrapped in his warmth, you felt it again.
you were safe at last. you were home.
you changed into soft clothes, fabric that didn’t cling or press or remind you of anything unpleasant. chan watched you from the doorway, careful not to stare, careful in the way he always was now. when you were done, he held out his hand and you took it without thinking.
the couch welcomed you both like it had been waiting. chan settled first, then gently guided you down with him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders, the other pulling a blanket over the two of you. it was warm. heavy in the right way. grounding yoi.
you leaned into his chest. he adjusted instantly, arm tightening just a little, chin resting against the top of your head. every touch was deliberate, mindful, as if he was constantly asking without words: is this okay?
it was.
you breathed him in. felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. the quiet certainty of his presence.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered, barely louder than your own thoughts. his hand traced slow, reassuring lines along your arm, avoiding every tender place by instinct alone.
“whatever comes next,” he murmured, “we’ll take it one step at a time. together.” you shifted slightly, fitting closer. he smiled against your hair.
“i’ll be there for all of it,” he continued softly. “the hard days. the quiet ones. the days where getting out of bed feels impossible. you won’t do any of it alone.” his voice wavered just a little.
“i’m really proud of you,” he said. “for holding on. for surviving. for being here.” your throat tightened.
“you’re stronger than you know,” chan added, thumb brushing gently against your sleeve. “and i’m… i’m so grateful for you. for your heart. for your kindness.”
he pressed a kiss to your temple and left it there, breathing you in like he needed the reminder too.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “i promise.”
you curled closer, your tears soaking quietly into his hoodie as your body finally, fully relaxed.
a/n: unfortunately tumblr wouldn't let me add some blogs, it kept saying no blogs found so i hope you found part 2 anyway, despite me being unable to tag you ♡
