genre: fluff, comfort, humour, domestic, slice of life
warnings: cursing
wc: 0.5k
synopsis: Contains a very sleepy and hence grumpy reader with a playful and sweeter than honey bf chan. Honestly, just filled with fluff and jokes.
fake texts m.list | written fics m.list
The air smelled faintly of vanilla, warm and cozy. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside, the glow of lights from the skyscrapers beyond the floor-to-ceiling window seeping through the clear glass.
Your eyes were droopy, chin resting on your hand as you sat curled up on the couch, ready to hit the hay and call it a night.
The sound of the bathroom door clicking is what brought you back to reality when you saw Chan get out of the shower, hair wet, dressed in a worn white tee and sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
A soft, loving smile formed on his face when he saw you, covered by what seemed like a pile of endless blankets, pressed into the corner of the couch.
"Long day?" he asked, amused at your grumpy expression.
"Don't even ask."
"You look like you could sleep for a million years."
"Totally planning to. If only you could get your ass out of the shower a bit faster next time, I won't have to suffer from sleep deprivation."
"Hey!" Chan replied, mocking offense. "It's not like I took that long. It was only 15 minutes."
"15 minutes too long of swinging between the path of sweet sleep and waiting for you to get out of that shower."
"Hate to break it to you, but you're not Spiderman, baby. You can't swing. Even in the children's playground," Chan laughed, while you rolled your eyes.
Though his laughter transformed into a playful protest as a pillow hit the back of his head. You get up from the couch, heading for your bedroom, when Chan tugs at your arm, causing you to fall right back onto the soft pile of blankets. He followed right after, his body landing on yours when the couch made a loud squeak.
You let out a groan, the weight of your boyfriend's body pressing you into the couch.
"You're too heavy. Even the couch agrees."
"You'll be fine as long as you're breathing," he jokes.
"Well, I can't right now. I would actually really appreciate it if you could just bear the pain of having to reposition yourse—"
He moves before you can even complete your sentence, and soon you're lying on top of him, your head just above his heart.
"Better?" he asks, his tone suddenly soft.
"Mhmm," you hum as an answer, suddenly too tired to speak. You nuzzle into his chest, while his arms wrap around you and pull you impossibly closer.
Chan's fingers find your hair, gliding through the strands as his second hand traces comforting patterns on your back.
"Sleep, baby."
And you did just that, as the feeling of his arms around you and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear pulled you into dreamland.
| Part 1 |
Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here.
Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit.
Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov
WC: 5119
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites.
Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.
Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)
You
Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman.
Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked.
You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name.
It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust.
Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words.
You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.
The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power.
You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled.
She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.
Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making.
“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.
Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade.
The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune.
Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.
You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals.
It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station.
Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence.
Did you want that level of power?
Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?
Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?
These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case.
The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo.
As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time.
Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother.
The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned.
Prince Minho
Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors.
She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice.
The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned.
Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on.
As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.
It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.
Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly.
It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been.
Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune.
He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea.
They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him.
He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away.
The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he.
His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return.
The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body.
There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him.
And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him.
It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye.
“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts.
“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself.
“My name: Talia,” she repeated.
“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement.
“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly.
“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.
“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”
“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for.
“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot.
“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”
“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing.
“Are you going to join my fanclub?”
“I'll be the leader.”
At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture.
“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender.
“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”
“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Are you avoiding my question?”
“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own.
“Then answer.”
“Is that a command, Your Highness?”
“Would you obey if it were?”
His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him.
“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.
Prince Christopher
As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station.
Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying.
The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered.
It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else.
Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry.
It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others.
Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.
In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.
The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human.
The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others – a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim.
It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed.
But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else.
“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort.
“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well.
He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man. Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure.
“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested.
“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”
“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve.
The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.
Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end.
“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.
“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated.
“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”
“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”
“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat.
“Plea–”
“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”
“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”
“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.
It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action.
“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”
“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one.
“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”
“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”
“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied.
“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”
As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher.
The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life.
“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”
It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child.
She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor.
Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all?
She’d been sipping cranberry fizz near the floral arch, avoiding eye contact with a finance bro who kept circling back to talk about "cultural fusion weddings,” when her gaze caught a black suit—nothing remarkable—until she followed the neckline to a soft jaw, pierced ear, and the kind of posture that didn’t try to look confident.
Bang Chan.
Kath froze.
He was standing just a few feet away, listening intently to a grandma describing her arthritis. Of course he was.
Her throat went dry. She looked away too fast. Then forced herself to look back, casual, like she hadn’t just internally choked.
He wasn’t looking. Thank god.
Her heart said run. Her pride said walk. Her legs? Stuck.
Ariya, ever the demon, appeared behind her like karma.
“Dance with him.”
Kath turned. “What?”
“You’re the only one not dancing, and he’s the only one I trust with your waist.”
“I am going to kill you.”
“You’re welcome.”
---
Three Inches Too Close
Chan extended a hand. “May I?”
Kath took it. Why? No clue. She hated dancing. But she hated losing even more.
They stepped onto the floor. Ariya pushed the DJ toward something slow and dramatic in both languages. Kath rolled her eyes.
Chan held her at a respectable distance—one hand on her waist, the other gently guiding her hand up. He didn’t say anything, just smiled slightly.
Kath tried to focus on the beat. One-two, one-two.
She couldn’t meet his eyes for more than five seconds.
Not because she was shy. She wasn’t.
But this man? This man had lived in her playlists for years. In her midnight journals. In the “no one’s good enough” conversations.
And now she was inches from him, and he was real.
Chan noticed it, of course. The flickering gaze. The stiff shoulders. The way she kept clearing her throat like she needed to swallow a secret.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You okay?”
“Yep.”
Lie.
“You sure?”
Her eyes flicked up to his—big, bold, and soaked in embarrassment—and then back down to his collarbone.
Chan smiled.
It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t smug.
It was soft. Pleased. A little curious.
He liked it. He liked seeing her composed and chaotic at the same time. He liked knowing she wasn’t unaffected.
He leaned in just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath near her ear. “You’ve held eye contact for three seconds now.”
She jerked her gaze up.
Mistake.
Their eyes locked.
He counted silently.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
“Okay I’m done,” she muttered, looking away, cheeks pink.
Chan laughed under his breath.
“Kath?”
“Hm?”
“…You’re nothing like I expected.”
She met his eyes again, slower this time. “You’re exactly what I feared.”
Well hi there to everyone new! HUGE thanks for all the love on Worth It, I didn't expect such a response!
A little bit about me: I'm Margot (aka Margie aka Margarine) and I'm 23 and living in the UK, so yes, English is my first language and you can feel free to judge me if I make any grammar mistakes. I'm living my best ArmyStay life, and I will write more about other people soon, but at the moment I've got Chan on the brain, so we're focusing on him !!
genre: slightly suggestive fluff !!
bangchan x female reader
warnings: none? I think?
“Oi, Felix.” You playfully punch his arm as you stroll into Chan’s hotel room, where Felix is still hiding. “You know you can’t swear like that dude.” Despite his live being over, Chan is still sitting in front of his laptop, cackling with laughter at your playfighting with Felix, who’s started punching you back.
“I’m from Australiaaa y/n, it’s just how I speak.” He drags out the words, landing gentle hits across your arms.
“So am I! Not an excuse Feels!” You’re both giggling, struggling to speak through your laughing. Adjusting his robe, Chan leaves his seat, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pulling you backwards, away from Felix’s reach.
“We’re all Australian here.” He scolds. “And y/n, you swear more than even Felix, don’t be a hypocrite.” He squeezes you tighter, moving side to side so you’re both swaying. When Chan starts placing gentle kisses on the top of your head, Felix grimaces, disgusted.
“You guys are gross. Get a room.” You manage to release one arm from Chan’s grip, pointing almost aggressively.
“This is our room! Get out, man!” Slowly, you raise your middle finger, mouthing the same word that Felix had called Chan only moments before. Felix scoffs, and points back at you, pouting.
“Chris, she just called me a bad word!” You pout back, turning your neck to look at Chan.
“No, I didn’t! Babe, you can’t really believe him over me?” Chan rolls his eyes, exasperated.
“You’re such a brat y/n! Chris, believe me!” Felix is back to poking your arms, as Chan continues to sway you back and forth, making you feel almost seasick.
“Honestly, I just tune both of you out. Felix, you’d better leave, we have a show tomorrow.” He releases you, instead trying to guide Felix out of the door. Felix walks away, only turning his head to send daggers towards you. It was all playful, you and Felix liked to imagine that Chris found your bickering endearing. Chris was less sure. You blew Felix a kiss, winking as he left.
“I know I’m only leaving so you two can shag, I get it, you just don’t want me to watch.” Felix mumbled, obviously loud enough that you could hear.
“Hey!” He sticks his tongue out at you and pulls the door shut before you can properly protest. Within minutes, Chan is back next to you, pulling you tight into a hug.
“You.” He intersperses his words with kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “Are. So. Annoying.”
“And that’s why you love me.” You reply in a sing-song voice. He only hums in response.
“Keep telling yourself that, babe.” You smack his side and he takes a step back, placing a smack to your ass in retaliation. “Did you still want to shower before bed?” You frown.
“Only if you come with me.” He’s rolling his eyes again. Sharing showers usually meant a long time in the bathroom, with very little actual washing going on. “Come on, babe, we can’t prove Felix wrong.” As you pull him into the hotel bathroom, he’s still rolling his eyes, dragging his feet.
⋅ ⎯ ✈︎ christopher bang | s. how i imagine stray kids' bang chan texts his partner ! | r. requested ! | t. @f4iryhyjin ! | g. texting ! | w. light cursing !
I called out to Bambam, who was rather occupied in something else - staring at someone.
I sat himself down, but not before knocking Bambam on his head. "Whatchu lookin at? "
"That. I don't think she's a korean, tho", he gestured at the table opposite.
I was curious, ofc. Tbh his choices has always been spot on, unlike mine. I need to learn some things from this man. So i got up to the water filter, which was an obvious excuse to catch a glance.
Oh.
A book in one hand, iced coffee in another. Dark hair. Her skin glowed from the sunlight reflection off of the table tops. Focused eyes. Are they brown —
*splash*
I tripped over the table, pouring water over her cream pants.
"Eyy" and our eyes met as she stood up, the sun rays hitting right at her, making her skin glow ethereally.
Brown. Her eyes are brown. And widened. Does she know me?
"I am so sorry, i didn't see you there.. I'm really sorry", i lied.
"It happens, it's ok", she smiled.
I can get drunk off of those eyes, get addicted to that smile.
"No what can i do.. I feel really bad", i managed to keep in my inner thoughts.
"Well.. ", she paused, looking up to meet my eyes, " You can buy me lunch ".
Tingles. Excitement. Nervousness.
"I-"
She burst out into giggles. "Hey just a joke. I get it. See don't ask what you can do to anyone like that. There are LOTS you can do".
"Dinner"
"Mm? ", her face morphed into the cutest confused face
"Dinner at 7", i said, never once breaking eye contact.
She looked down. Is she blushing?
Then picked up her bag and pulled out a card.
Y/N
Paediatrician, MD
A doctor?
"See you tonight, Chris", she handed over the card , lightly grazing her fingers against mine, before leaving the scene with a smirk on her face.
