No Fighting - (Bang Chan, Lee Know, Han Jisung)
summary: your child interrupts an argument between you and your husband
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader, lee know x fem!reader, han jisung x fem!reader
genre: angst, fluff, comfort
a/n: based on this request
Dad!SKZ Masterlist
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Bang Chan
(475 Words)
It was a Sunday morning. You and your husband were both in the kitchen. Chan was by the counter and you were by the fridge when the mild annoyance started.
“Chris,” you said, holding up a carton of oat milk, “you left the fridge open again.”
He looked up from his phone, confused. “What? No, I didn’t. I wasn’t even in the kitchen this morning.”
You turned, giving him a look. “You made a fruit smoothie, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I swear I closed it.”
You sighed, setting the carton down a little louder than necessary. “You always say that.”
He set his phone aside and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but you’re not exactly innocent either. Remember when the laundry sat in the washer for two days?”
“Excuse me? That’s not the same thing!”
“Still seems the same.”
You stared at him, half annoyed, half trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”
Before he could respond, a small, sleepy voice broke the silence.
“Mommy? Daddy? Are you fighting?”
You both turned.
Your daughter, Juliana, was standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, hair sticking up in all directions, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny.
Chan immediately softened, walking over to crouch beside her. “No, baby,” he said gently. “Mommy and Daddy are just talking a little loud, that’s all.”
She looked at both of you suspiciously, clearly not convinced. “You sound mad.”
You sighed and crouched down too, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “We’re not mad, sweetheart. Daddy just thinks he’s right all the time.”
Chan let out a quiet laugh. “That’s because I usually am.”
Your daughter looked between you both, then pointed at Chan. “I think Daddy’s right.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
Chan grinned, trying and failing to hide it.
You placed a hand over your chest dramatically. “I carried you for nine months, and not only do you look exactly like your daddy, but now you side with him too?”
Your daughter giggled and wrapped her little arms around Chan’s neck. “Because Daddy always gives me extra whipped cream in my pancakes."
You sighed. “Ah, I see. Betrayal from my own flesh and blood.”
Chan stood, still holding your daughter, and said with a smirk, “Guess it’s two against one.”
You gave him a playful glare. “You’re teaching her bad habits.”
He laughed softly. “Teamwork isn’t a bad habit.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Fine, but team traitors can make breakfast today.”
Your daughter gasped. “Can we make pancakes?”
You exhaled a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, go ahead. Just don’t burn the kitchen down.”
As Chan carried her toward the counter, she leaned close to his ear and whispered loudly enough for you to hear, “Daddy, I think Mommy’s jealous.”
Chan snorted, and you couldn’t help smiling, warmth settling into your chest seeing your little family.
Lee Know
(956 Words)
It was 11:07 p.m. when you finally heard the front door click open.
You were sitting on the couch in the dim light of the living room, arms folded over your chest, the television long turned off. The clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have, each second adding fuel to the frustration building in your chest.
Your husband, Minho, stepped in, pulling down his hoodie, exhaustion written across his face. “You’re still up?”
You looked up at him sharply. “Hard not to be when you come home this late again.”
He sighed, dropping his keys onto the table. “I told you, the meeting ran late. I can’t just leave in the middle of work—”
“Minho, it’s not just today. It’s been months,” you cut in, voice strained. “The kids barely see you. You promise you’ll be home for dinner, and every time, it’s another excuse.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s not an excuse, Y/N. It’s my job.”
You shook your head, eyes stinging. “And what about us? What about our family? I feel like I’m raising them alone while you—”
“Don’t say that.” His tone was sharp now, the edge cutting through the quiet.
You stood up, arms trembling slightly. “Then what do you want me to say? That it’s fine? That it doesn’t hurt watching you drift away from us?”
“I’m doing this for us!” he snapped. “For you, for the kids—so they have a better life—”
“I never asked for that kind of life if it meant losing you in the process,” you said, voice breaking slightly.
He stared at you, chest rising and falling fast. The air felt heavy, thick with all the words neither of you had said for months.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N! I just–” he started to raise his voice before you quietly cut him off.
“Minho,” you said firmly, “just… keep it down, please. Mingi and Minjung are asleep upstairs.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, like he was trying to keep himself together.
You exhaled shakily. “Look, I’m tired. Let’s take a breather, okay? I’ll just stay at my mom’s place for a few days—”
His head snapped toward you. “No,” he said immediately, voice sharp.
“Minho, please—”
“No, Y/N.” His voice rose without meaning to. “You’re not leaving. Because if you walk out that door, what’s next? You send me divorce papers? You decide we’re done?”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the panic in his tone. He wasn’t angry anymore, he was scared.
“Minho…” you started, softer now.
But before you could continue, a small, shaky voice came from the stairs.
“Eomma? Appa?”
You both turned.
Your son, Mingi, stood there in his pajamas, holding onto the railing, his little face pale and eyes glistening. “Are you… getting divorced?”
Your heart dropped instantly.
Minho froze for a second before rushing over, crouching down so he was level with his son. “Hey, hey… no, no, no, baby. Appa and Eomma just had a small conversation, okay? Just talking too loud.”
Mingi sniffled. “But my friend from school… Chaemin said his mom and dad fought like that, and then they got divorced. He said it means they don’t love each other anymore.”
You felt your throat tighten as you knelt beside them, placing a gentle hand on your son’s back. “Oh sweetheart, no. Eomma and Appa love each other very much. Sometimes grown-ups just… get tired. But that doesn’t mean we’ll ever stop being a family.”
Minho nodded, voice low but steady now. “You have nothing to worry about, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”
Mingi’s eyes welled up again. “Promise?”
“Promise,” Minho whispered, pulling him into a hug. You joined in, wrapping your arms around both of them, the tension from earlier dissolving into quiet sniffles and warmth.
Once you’d tucked Mingi back into bed and checked on Minjung, who was still fast asleep, you both returned to the hallway in silence.
You turned toward your bedroom, still drained, when you felt his hand gently wrap around your wrist.
“Jagiya…” His voice cracked.
You turned slowly. His eyes were red, glassy, but not from anger this time, instead it was filled with guilt and regret.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to leave just to breathe. I just—” he swallowed hard, “the thought of you walking away scared me. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose what we built.”
You exhaled shakily, your own heart heavy. “Minho… if you don’t want me to go, then you need to start showing up for us. Not just with your job, not just with money but you. The kids need you. I need you.”
He nodded quickly, a tear finally slipping down his cheek. “I know. And I swear—I’ll do better. I’ll make time, I’ll come home earlier, I’ll… I’ll fix this. Please, just don’t leave me, I can’t live without you.”
You looked at him for a long moment before finally whispering, “Okay. But this has to change.”
He nodded again, then reached forward, cupping your face gently. “It will. I promise.”
And then he leaned in to kiss you with desperation as if it’s a silent plea to make things right. His hands trembled against your cheeks as if he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I love you,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, whispering back, “Then keep showing me that.”
He nodded softly, pulling you into his arms and you clung to him silently, the kind of hold that said please don’t make me regret staying.
Han Jisung
(848 Words)
It had been one of those days where everything felt like a never-ending loop of chaos. Spilled juice, crayons on walls, toys everywhere, and your three-year-old twins, Jisoo and Minsoo, deciding that today was the day to fight over every little thing.
By the time evening rolled around, your patience had worn thin. You’d just managed to get them to sleep when you heard the front door unlock.
Han stepped in quietly, shoulders slumped, looking drained. He kicked off his shoes, muttering, “Hey, babe.”
You looked up from the sink, trying to keep your tone even. “Hey. You’re late.”
He sighed, setting his bag down. “Yeah. Studio was a mess today. Nothing sounded right.”
You just hummed, washing the last glass, except when you turned, he’d already picked up another glass to drink water and left it half-full on the counter.
“Jisung,” you said tiredly. “Can you at least finish the water before leaving it there?”
He blinked at you, confused. “What? I was gonna drink it later.”
“Right, like the other two you ‘were gonna drink later’ sitting in the sink,” you muttered.
He frowned slightly. “Okay, seriously? It’s just a glass, Y/N.”
“It’s not just a glass, Jisung. It’s everything. The mess, the noise, the twins fighting all day—”
“Then why are you taking it out on me?”
“Because you don’t see how hard it’s been!” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “You come home tired, but you don’t realize how exhausting it is here too!”
He dropped his voice, frustrated. “And you don’t realize I’m doing this for us!”
Your chest tightened, and for a second, the air went thick.
“Forget it,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead.
He scoffed, voice raising without meaning to. “No, I’m trying to talk to you, but you’re shutting me—”
A loud wail cut through his words, and both of you froze.
The twins’ cries echoed down the hallway, high-pitched and panicked.
You turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “Thanks a lot, Han Jisung.”
“Y/N—”
But you were already walking away, down the hall to the kids’ room.
When you entered, both Jisoo and Minsoo were sitting up in their tiny beds, tears streaming down their cheeks.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay, Mommy’s here,” you whispered, rushing to scoop Minsoo into your arms as Jisoo clutched your sleeve. “Mommy’s here, okay? Go back to sleep, it’s okay—”
But the tears didn’t stop. One cried harder, setting the other off again. You tried singing softly, but your voice cracked halfway through. Your own tears finally spilled over.
You sat there between their beds, holding them both, crying quietly into their hair. The exhaustion, the noise, the arguments — it all came crashing down at once.
Then, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see your husband leaning over and looking at you softly with guilt heavy on his face.
He crouched down beside you, gently taking Minsoo from your arms and setting her back into bed. Then he reached over and cupped your face, brushing away your tears with his thumb.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice shaking a little. “Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. Go rest, I got this, yeah?”
You wanted to protest, but he shook his head, eyes pleading. “Please, baby. Go lie down. Let me handle it.”
You nodded weakly, pressing a kiss to both the twin’s foreheads before slipping out of the room.
Behind you, you could hear Jisung humming the same silly lullaby he used to make up for the twins when they were babies. His soft voice carried through the hallway, low and soothing, and after a few minutes, the crying quieted down.
When he finally came back to your room, you were sitting on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He walked in quietly and sat beside you.
“Hey,” he said gently, reaching for your hand. “They’re asleep.”
You nodded silently, eyes still red.
He sighed, then leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “For raising my voice. For not being there more. For being… me.”
You let out a soft, watery laugh. “You’re not that bad.”
He smiled a little, lifting his head. “You sure? I literally made our toddlers cry tonight.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “You and me both.”
He squeezed your hand. “Still… thank you, baby. For everything you do. For them. For me.”
You looked at him and saw how tired he was too. The dark circles, the worn-out eyes, the guilt. You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “We’re both tired, huh?”
He wrapped an arm around you, kissing the top of your head. “Yeah. But at least we’re tired together. So romantic.”
You chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, “I’ll take over. You sleep in, I’ll do breakfast, cartoons, the whole chaos package.”
You laughed quietly. “You sure you can handle that?”
He grinned. “Nope. But I’ll try.”
You leaned in, brushing your lips against his softly. “That’s enough.”
And for the first time that day, the house felt quiet and just peaceful.
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