After accidentally walking away with the phone of world famous idol Christopher Bang, you expect a quick return - until distance, bad timing, and unexpected meddling from the other members turn it into a globe-spanning game of phone tag.
Chan x Reader
Strangers to Friends to Lovers, SMAU, Crack, Cursing, slightly suggestive phrasing/names used
✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️
Prologue
(please ignore the mistakes it’s past 1am here and i’m running low so this was not proofread 😭 💔)
Updates on this series might be a bit more leisurely, as i am still also releasing AotL, and Authors Note. I just wanted to get this out as I haven’t posted in a while, nor have I posted a quick and easy read in a minute either. I needed a bit of an escape tonight too so I thought releasing this would be fun. I hope you guys enjoy!
i just read your 9th member angst au where the reader makes gifts for the boys, and was wondering if you could write a part 2? i love a good angst fic but my heart needs closure 😭😭
The sun had already risen high, casting sharp lines of light across the dorm's wooden floors. The A/C buzzed faintly in the background, and a gentle breeze made the curtains sway, brushing against the window panes like fingers trying to shake someone awake. The apartment smelled like sleep and coffee and burnt toast- all the usual signs of a typical day beginning. But something was different.
Something was missing.
Felix was the first to trudge into the kitchen. His hair was a sleepy mess, and his hoodie sleeves dragged over his palms as he rubbed his eyes. He grabbed a loaf of bread with a low groan, tossing in slices like muscle memory. Predictably, he burned the first round. The acrid smell filled the room.
Chan appeared next, still in pajama pants and nursing a chipped mug of lukewarm coffee. His eyes were glued to his phone screen as he navigated a flurry of texts from staff. The usual groan escaped his throat as he read through corrections to an unfinished track.
Jisung stumbled in shortly after, snatching the last banana from the fruit bowl.
"Dude, seriously? That was mine," Seungmin said without looking up from his phone, already perched at the counter.
"I called dibs in my head," Jisung replied, taking a giant bite.
Someone laughed. Another muttered a complaint about the lack of hot water in the shower. Feet shuffled, voices rose and fell. The dorm carried its normal rhythm: chaotic, sluggish, familiar.
"Y/N, did you want anything from the convenience store?" Jeongin called as he grabbed his wallet off the counter.
No answer.
No footsteps down the hall. No sassy retort. No yawned-out complaint about having to get out of bed.
But no one paused.
No one turned.
They just assumed.
You were still in bed. Or already at the company. Or holed up in a practice room. You always floated around. You filled in the gaps before they even noticed they were there.
You were reliable. Predictable. Present.
And that was the problem.
You were so tightly interwoven into their world that they mistook you for part of the backdrop. A given. Like the hum of the fridge or the ticking of a clock. Comforting, constant, and taken for granted.
So when you weren’t there, it didn’t register as an absence.
Not yet.
They didn’t notice your mug wasn’t in the sink.
They didn’t notice the bathroom counter was cleared of your toiletries.
They didn’t notice your favorite hoodie wasn’t on its usual hook.
Because they didn’t look.
Because they didn’t think to.
Because they were used to you being there. Always. Silently. In the background.
They had gotten so used to your presence they didn't think to seek it.
--
The boys had been split up all day, trying their best to tackle as many things as they could. Some worked on choreo, others on the social media videos, the rest in the studio. Those who had managed to finish their task met up in the break room.
It was already occupied with a girl group- still glowing from their successful international tour- lounging near the vending machines, unwrapping colorful gift bags, completely oblivious to the presence of the guys.
"She remembered I love panda gummies. I mentioned it once during a water break," one of them said, holding up her bag like a trophy.
Another pulled out a carefully folded note. "She complimented my stage outfit from showcase week and even referenced the detail I added to the cuffs. I didn't even think anyone would notice."
One girl blinked at her reflection in a new compact mirror. "She got me a charm to match the bracelet I wear on my lives. I had thought it looked bare and this is the perfect thing!"
They giggled, voices high with affection and disbelief.
"Y/N is just... unreal," another added, cradling a bag of imported lemon cookies. "She remembered I was nervous about our comeback and texted me that morning. And when I got to my dressing room I saw she had gotten me my favorite snack from back home. I cried."
"I swear I'll have to like marry her to steal her away from the guys."
"Our honorary member."
"Everyone's honorary members. Chan-Sunbaenim is so lucky his group got her."
Nearby, the boys were scattered around the couches, half-listening. Jisung pouted. "I want a bag...must be a feminism thing."
"Favoritsm." Seungmin countered without missing a beat.
"Looks like she only gives them to girls though."
"Shes given them to Enhypen on numerous occasions." Felix chimes in. "I'm pretty sure that's why she's so close with them."
"Maybe she just hates us." Jisung said jokingly with a fake pout and a clutch to his heart.
Felix chuckled. "Nah, she’s just like that. Remembers everything. Makes people feel seen."
Seungmin looked up from his phone. "Still...something small would be nice you know. Maybe even like a pack of gum or something stupid like that." He mumbled.
Chan who had been sitting there quietly opened his mouth to speak, then paused. Something nagged at the back of his mind. A memory, just out of reach.
But he said nothing. Let the thought go and the conversation move on.
--
Evening draped itself over the city in a heavy hush.
The practice room lights were dimmed. Their coach had given them a rare break, sensing the breaking point of their exhaustion in their bones. They had the space to themselves- no schedules, no drills. Just time.
But none of them could focus.
Jisung lay sprawled on the floor, munching on snacks, littering the wrappers over the studio floor telling an irritated Seungmin he'd toss them away later. Chan flipped through his notes aimlessly. Felix scrolled on his phone, expression blank. Hyunjin sat in the corner with his eyes closed, head resting against the wall.
Jeongin paced in a small circle before flopping onto a mat.
"Y/N-ie do you watch to learn a TikTok dance with me?" He asked, turning to you.
Except you weren't there.
"Huh?" Jeongin said sitting up. "Hyungs where did Y/N-ah go?"
All the boys looked around.
"Maybe the bathroom?" Changbin said, getting up to peek his head out the hallway.
"Now that I think about it, Y/N wasn’t at vocal drills," Hyunjin murmured. "We harmonize together at one point but now that I think about it I was solo in there."
"Or choreography check-ins," Minho added. "She's the center during the dance break but we didn't even go over that today since we were split."
"She wasn’t in the car this morning either," Felix said. "I assumed she had ridden with someone else..."
Everyone shook their heads.
"I didn't see her at breakfast." Jisung noted.
And slowly, the unease grew claws.
Something was off.
Seungmin stood to throw away Jisung’s snack wrappers, turning to cleaning As he often did when anxiety ridden.
But as he opened the trash bin he froze.
"What the hell..."
He pulled out a crumpled paper bag. Lavender ribbon. Smudged handwriting.
Hyunjin pulled his open: a sketchpad. On the inside cover a sticky note: "Your solo lines last week gave me chills. Don't beat yourself up about them. You're amazing."
Felix’s bag had a plush chicken wing. Cute. Ridiculous. Perfect.
Jisung pulled out a cowboy stress ball.
Minho found his photo keychain- the one with his cats. Then the one of you two.
Chan found the fountain pen. Cracked. Yet still so sophisticated.
Jeongin unfolded a note. Ink-smudged. Soft handwriting:
"I know things have been hard. Just wanted to say I love you. I’m proud of you. You’re doing better than you think. Love, Y/N-ie."
They stared.
And then it clicked.
Chan was the first to speak.
"Last night. She had these with her. I told her 'not now.' Jisung snapped at her. Minho said to read the room."
Minho looked away. "We were tired. I didn’t mean it like that."
"But you still said it." Jisung whispered. "We still were unkind."
"So she threw them out because of that?" Seungmin said, quietly.
"I would have too," Hyunjin murmured. "She must have felt terrible..."-
Chan opened the group chat. No messages from you since yesterday.
He called. Voicemail.
"Text her," Jeongin said.
They all did.
No reply.
Chan messaged your manager.
The response came fast:
"She asked for a personal day. Said she needed rest-
I assumed you all knew?"
She hadn’t told them.
Because they hadn’t asked.
Because they made her feel like her love was too much. Her presence a burden. Her kindness annoying.
--
They went home, arms full of snacks, blankets, and guilt.
Chan held the bag of bags. Jeongin carried your favorite ramen. Hyunjin brought your favorite drink.
The dorm was quiet.
No shoes.
No hoodie.
No charger.
Chan knocked on your door. "Y/N? We...We wanted to talk. Movie night? Please."
No answer.
Changbin pushed the door open.
Bed made. Fan unplugged. No signs of life.
They searched the whole dorm.
Kitchen.
Bathroom.
Rooftop.
Nothing.
Felix looked at the empty coat hook. "She didn’t come back."
The mug you used every morning was unused- clean. Untouched. No yogurt that you had at least once a day in the trash. Your room spotless. Too spotless.
"Y/N-ah...don’t you think that’s just a little dramatic..." Sunghoon ventured carefully, standing at the kitchen island with his third glass of water and a look that wobbled somewhere between concern and exasperation.
You didn’t even look up. You just took another bite of your cereal, hunched over the living room table like a gremlin. The blanket over your legs was fanned out as if you were wearing a grand skirt, and Ni-ki’s hoodie hung off your shoulders, sleeves dangling far past your hands.
"Just a tad bit?" Heeseung pressed. "They’re probably freaking out right now-"
You had decided to head to Enhypen's dorm after leaving out in the middle of the night. It had startled Ni-ki slightly after he had sent a good night text, just for you to facetime him moments later asking if you could crash at Enhypen's dorm for a few days.
"Good," Sunoo cut in, not even pretending to be neutral. He flounced over and dropped his chin dramatically on your shoulder as he threw his arms around you, kneeling and sighing with theatrical flair. "They deserve it. They should be pacing the walls and crying in the practice room."
When you had told them what had happened- Sunoo was quick to side with you.
"Sunoo." Jay warned quietly, seated across from you with a mug between his hands, "You know you’re welcome here as long as you want. No one’s saying otherwise. But Y/N, maybe... let someone know where you are? You’ve got the whole group thinking you disappeared completely. Eventually that's gonna trickle down to the fans too."
You pouted, childish and stubborn, and turned your face into Sunoo’s hair.
"Y/N-ah," Jay tried again, more firm now.
"Hmph."
Ni-ki let out a slow sigh from where he was lying stretched out a long the floor, head tipped toward your lap. "Y/Nieeeee," he groaned. "Don’t be like this. We’re not kicking you out. We just... want you to feel better, not bottle it all up. Maybe there’s a way to make peace, yeah? You know they didn’t mean to hurt you like that."
You finally turned your head slightly, just enough to make eye contact with him. "Riki Nishimura, if you say one more word, I will personally text your mother and tell her you’ve been throwing away the vitamins she's been shipping you."
He blinked. Paused. Sat up and raised his hands in immediate surrender.
"Sorry hyungs- Y/N is 100% right. No drama. No fault. Nothing to question here," he mumbled, slinking back down and curling into your side like a puppy, cheek brushing against your thigh.
You huffed in triumph.
Sunghoon tried not to smile. Jay just shook his head.
"You’re ridiculous," Jake mumbled amused.
"Ridiculous indeed." Sunoo whispered with delight. "I love it."
"I'm hurting," you corrected, softly.
The mood shifted instantly. Still light. Still familiar. But rawer.
"And you’re allowed to," Jay said. "But you're hurting because you love them. But Y/N...does it make you feel better to know you're purposefully hurting the people you love out of anger?"
By day three, the Stray Kids dorm was a minefield.
Shoes were out of place. No one had vacuumed or did any sort of pick up. No one could concentrate. Every conversation circled back to you, even when no one said your name. Every phone picked up, or message answered was filled with the hope that maybe you were trying to reach out.
"She’s still not responding to anyone?" Jisung asked again, chewing on his thumbnail as the boys tried- and failed to focus on some shoe.
Chan shook his head, already pacing the living room. "I checked her location, but it’s turned off. She’s never turned it off before."
"She's really upset then." Seungmin muttered, eyes locked on the lavender ribbons by the dining room counter. He had lined them up like evidence, as if seeing them all together would make the guilt more tangible.
"No shit."
Hyunjin, who had barely spoken all day, finally said, "She’s with someone. She’s not the type to be alone after something like this."
"I tried calling her family and her manager. Even asked some of the members of other groups. Her manager seemed calm...so I'm assuming its with someone safe. No need to worry." Felix stated, quietly.
Chan flinched. "But she should feel safe with us."
"It's not a matter of safety its . We were asses. I'm sure she doesn't feel unsafe right?"
"Not that that makes this whole situation any better." Changbin says finally. "She's out youngest- we're supposed to protect her and make her feel loved but we made he feel useless. Now she's probably off getting that from others-" He sighed. "So then what does that say about us? Her band mates. Her friends. Her brothers?"
"Y/N you just said that you'd limp if you met Michael B Jordan. That's basically saying you'd say yes if he asked you out."
You and Ni-ki were on the couch, your legs thrown over his lap while Sunoo nestled into your other side, the three of you swaddled in blankets and snacking on leftover takeout. The lights were dimmed, and Creed was playing quietly on the big screen TV.
Michael B. Jordan had appeared shirtless on screen, glistening in sweat and brutal elegance. Eliciting a rather spicy remark from you that was recycled into the conversation by Heeseung.
"What I actually said was I’m walking funny just looking at him.”
Sunoo choked on his rice. "Y/N-ah!"
Ni-ki’s face snapped toward you, mock-offense, as he clutched his heart with his free hand the other rested on you. "As if that's any better!"
From across the room, Jake held up his phone with a snort. “Oh, this is going straight to the story.”
It popped up while Felix was clicking through insta to turn off his mind. He paused mid-swipe, pausing on the story Jake had posted on his secret account.
Jisung peeked over his shoulder. “Wait. Is that-?”
Felix turned the screen.
The story was grainy and dimly lit, but unmistakable.
You. On the couch. Sandwiched between Ni-ki and Sunoo, head tipped back in laughter. Ni-ki had a hand on your leg, dramatically scandalized. Sunoo looked mid-cackle.
Jake’s caption scrawled across the top:
“Y/N says she’s walking funny just by looking at Michael B. Jordan 💀”
A beat of silence.
Then chaos as Felix showed the rest of the boys.
Chan’s heart dropped.
Hyunjin stood up and began pacing. "How long have they known? Did she immediately go there and none of them even think to tell us?!"
"I don’t know," Seungmin muttered, watching the video again. "But she looks comfortable."
"She looks better," Felix corrected, quietly.
"Like herself," Jeongin whispered.
Jisung dropped onto the couch, face in his hands. "Do you think leaving? Like actually...leaving?"
Changbin shook his head. "Contracts don't work like that pabo...but there is definitely going to be a shift of some sort." He murmured.
Chan didn’t answer. He stood abruptly and went to his room.
A few minutes later, he came back dressed, shoes on, car keys in hand.
"Where are you going?" Minho asked, standing, following him.
Meanwhile, back at the Enhypen dorm, the movie was wrapping up.
You were slouched deeper into Ni-ki’s lap now, practically boneless, eyes half-lidded. Sunoo had stolen your blanket and was now half-asleep on your side like a little pile of dominoes.
A knock rattled the front door.
Jungwon opened it, blinking at the figure in the hallway.
Then immediately his eyes widened and he stiffened in immense fear.
"Chan-sunbaenim-" He croaked.
Chan bowed quickly, holding out a small, beat-up grocery bag.
"Can you give this to her? I won’t stay. Just- please."
Jungwon took the bag, brow furrowed refusing to meet his eyes. "She’s okay!" He managed to squeak. "Just so you know."
"I know. That’s all I needed."
He was already turning to go, before he stopped. "Just uh...do me a favor." He hesitated. "I saw Jake's story-" He scrunched his nose and shook his head. " Y/N is a baby, too young in my opinon." He said like a disapproving father.
"Uh...sunbaenim-"
"I can't let her go yet. Not ever."
Later that night, you found the bag on the kitchen counter where Jungwon told you it'd be.
It was heavier than expected. Not thrown together. Not a last-minute apology. This had been curated.
The first thing you saw was your favorite drink, not just the brand but the exact limited-edition seasonal one that was impossible to find unless someone really searched. Still chilled. Behind it was a familiar convenience store snack- honey-butter chips, of course- but also that weird off-brand spicy puffed rice cracker you always said tasted like regret and childhood trauma. You’d once made Felix cry laughing over it.
Next was a worn paperback book. Your copy. The one that had been missing from your shelf for months. You’d thought you lost it. Chan had borrowed it, apparently. Now returned, held together by a thin ribbon and a sticky note inside: “You always reread this when you're overwhelmed.”
There was a travel-sized bottle of your favorite shampoo, one you'd once complained the dorm ran out of too often. A tiny container of vapor rub - something you'd sworn was the cure for everything- because Chan knew how you tended to get sick and stuffy because you stopped taking any vitamins and supplements as some odd protest whenever you were upset. Your bottle of perfume and your fuzzy socks, freshly washed and still warm. Your extra charger and iPad were tucked into a pouch along with a cracked lip balm you left in Jisung's bag three weeks ago and your favorite plush you had forgotten in Changbin's room. Plus your slippers.
And then there was the photo.
An old one. A polaroid from a spring night when you guys were abroad. You, mid-laugh, squished between Hyunjin and Jeongin, as they squeezed you- Jeongin's ice cream mid fall. Everyone had had ice cream that evening. Everyone had been glowing.
Behind the photo, the folded note. Ink slightly smudged, like he had rewritten it a few times before giving up.
“If you need anything, I’ll leave the light on. No rush. Just come home when you can. We miss you. Channie <3”
You stood still for a moment.
Ni-ki noticed you staring at the counter from the hallway, towel around his neck from a shower, hair damp. He said nothing, just padded in barefoot and leaned against the doorway, letting the silence wrap around you.
You sat down at the table and traced your thumb over the polaroid.
"He stopped by?" he asked.
You nodded. Slowly. "I don’t know. But... this felt like him. Not the leader version. Just... Chan."
"That’s probably the one who misses you most."
Your fingers trembled as you picked up the note again.
"You okay?"
"Yes...nooooo-" The tears came quickly, not dramatic or heaving-just real. Sharp. Sudden.
"I’m not even mad," you sobbed, voice breaking. "I just- I just feel like I disappeared and it took a complete collapse for anyone to notice."
Ni-ki sat beside you, quiet, one leg folded under him, waiting.
"I gave so much. I memorized birthdays and favorite snacks. I learned all their coffee orders and kept track of everyone’s schedules so they wouldn’t forget things. I stayed late. I woke up early. I cleaned up messes they didn’t even know they made."
Your throat closed, but you kept talking.
"And then the one time I needed someone to notice me, I was annoying. Too much. Overbearing. I wasn’t trying to make them feel bad with the gifts. I just... I wanted them to feel seen. Like I wanted to be. But it took them being stressed- and- and in a bad mood to realize that I had even reached the edge- I-I'm not okay either- but they- they didn't even-"
Ni-ki reached over, gently threading his fingers through yours. You didn’t pull away.
"Hey-hey." he said softly. "Calm down-"
You buried your face in your arm and a broken sob ripped from your chest.
"I miss them," you cried, voice raising 10 notches. "I miss them- I miss them- I miss them."
The words came out in a loop, like if you said it enough, it would undo everything. But it didn’t. It just made it worse. Each repetition sank deeper into your chest, pulling more sobs with it- louder, messier. You couldn’t stop.
Feet scrambled from different rooms. One by one, they came.
Sunoo was first, crouching beside you with tears already brimming in his own eyes. "Oh, baby...come here. It’s okay," he whispered, rubbing your back in wide, gentle strokes.
Heeseung and Jungwon appeared next, wordless, but close. Jungwon set down a water bottle with shaking hands, then sat on the floor in front of you so you wouldn’t be surrounded- so you could still see someone’s face, someone calm and safe.
Ni-ki stayed behind you, anchoring you, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. "I know," he whispered. "I know. Let it out."
Jay knelt next to Sunoo, carefully taking one of your shaking hands. "You don’t have to hold it together for everyone, Y/N. That's not normal. And its not your job to always make sure the mood is light. You get to feel stressed- and upset too."
"I didn’t want to leave," you sobbed, gasping for air. "I just wanted them to see me. I didn’t want to go- I just- I didn’t know what else to do. I thought making them upset would make me feel better but now I just feel a million times worse!"
Jake sat down cross-legged a few feet away, his eyes glassy, whispering, "They’re gonna be so sorry. They should be. You deserve so much more than how they made you feel. But it'll all workout okay? Okay?"
Your body shook with each heave. Every inhale felt like glass. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to. It felt like every emotion you’d shoved down, every moment you’d swallowed back pain, was clawing its way out all at once.
"I miss them so much," you whispered again. "And they didn’t even notice until I disappeared."
No one argued.
No one told you not to feel that way.
They just stayed.
All of them. Around you. Near you. Not trying to fix it. Just being there.
And slowly- slowly- the sobs began to fade.
Your head was heavy. Your body sore. But you were still breathing.
You didn’t let go of the note for the rest of the night.
You sat there in the soft hush that followed, surrounded by warmth and blankets and people who had wrapped themselves around you without asking for anything in return. And somewhere, in that quiet... you began to feel it.
The ache didn’t disappear. But underneath it, something stirred.
You looked down at the note again, fingers smoothing the edges.
You missed them. Deeply. Desperately. Painfully. But more than that...
You wanted to go home.
Not just to the dorm. Not just to your room.
To them.
Even if it hurt. Even if it was messy. Even if it wasn’t the same anymore.
After accidentally walking away with the phone of world famous idol Christopher Bang, you expect a quick return - until distance, bad timing, and unexpected meddling from the other members turn it into a globe-spanning game of phone tag.
Chan x Reader
Strangers to Friends to Lovers, SMAU, Crack, Cursing, slightly suggestive phrasing/names used
prologue 1b
✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️
(I can only upload 30 images at once, so for longer parts as such, I'll labl them with A, B, C, etc. Since this is very much a crackfic of sorts, the yapping involved has amounted (and probably will again in the future) to over 30 ss, although a lot of it is due to large images within the texts themselves.)
After accidentally walking away with the phone of world famous idol Christopher Bang, you expect a quick return - until distance, bad timing, and unexpected meddling from the other members turn it into a globe-spanning game of phone tag.
Chan x Reader Strangers to Friends to Lovers, SMAU, Crack, Cursing, slightly suggestive phrasing/names used
prologue 1a
✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️
(First off thank you for all the love on the previous part oml?!?! Things are kind of hectic atm, but I plan on this being a longer smau series given the plot so I'll do my best to frequently update so you guys don't have to wait too long!!! Thank you again so much!!)
I am on my knees BEGGING for an ot8 where basically you were fighting with them and in the heat of the moment you ask if you’re just a rebound (like a rebound from their old relationship) and they say “yes.” And after you leave, whether secretely or immediately, they realized how much you actually mean to them. Like, maybe you started as a rebound but now they’ve grown to love you? Please make it SUPER angst, I’ve been hyperfixated on this idea for weeks 😭
Thank you for the request!!! I hope I was able to capture it well - I was rummaging my mind to find reasonable...reasons...(?) for them to have this kind of argument because I can't even imagine being told something like this 😭 like its so horrible oh my word?
Chan
It started small - it always did.
A late text he forgot to reply to.
Another dinner where you ate alone, food cold by the time you finally gave up and pushed your plate away.
You told yourself it was nothing.
He loved you.
He chose you.
That should have been enough. Even if most of the time he seemed to keep himself busy. And it barely felt like he paid you any mind.
But then there was that night - that one, stupid moment that tipped the balance. His laptop pinged with notifications from his phone while he was in the shower, and you hadn’t meant to look. You weren’t snooping, you told yourself. But your eyes couldn’t help but flick to the notification.
They've really moved on, huh?
There they were.
The one whose ghost you’d never been able to outrun. Smiling wide, hand in someone else’s, looking so genuinely happy it made your stomach twist.
And when he came out and saw him look at the same notification on his phone through the open door of his room Chan just… stared. Not long. Not enough for anyone to notice really. But long enough for you to see that flicker in his eyes. Long enough to make every fear and doubt you’d been burying come roaring to the surface.
So when he came home late again that night, barely looked at you, brushed off your quiet questions with a tired smile and a mumbled, “It’s just work, you know how it is,” something inside you cracked.
“Do you still love them?” The words ripped from your throat before you could swallow them down. “Just...just tell me, Chan. Am I just some rebound? Someone to keep your bed warm until you find something real?”
That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes sharp and wide, brows furrowing in disbelief. “What? No, Y/N-”
“Then why does it feel like I’m never enough for you?” Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop. “Why does it feel like you’re still living in that world where she exists and I’m just… filling the space she left? You can't even give me more than an hour of your attention a day!”
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal, the weight of exhaustion and frustration radiating off him. “This again? Really? Y/N, I’m trying-”
“You don’t get it!” Tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I’m giving you everything, Chan. Every single part of me. And you’re still halfway with her. You don’t even see me anymore!”
Something in him snapped.
“Fine!” he roared, the word raw and ragged in the tense room. “Yes, Y/N! Is that what you want me to say? Fuck!” He said, gesturing harshly.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Your lips parted, but no sound came. His chest was heaving, eyes wild, but as his gaze locked with yours and he finally registered the way you’d gone pale, all the anger drained out of him in an instant.
“Fuck...Y/N, I-”
You took a step back. Then another. Then another, until your back hit the wall and there was nowhere left to go. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice trembling, breaking. “At least now I know.”
And then you were gone, the door slamming behind you so loud it felt like it split the room in half.
Chan just stood there. Frozen. Hands shaking, throat tight, the echo of his own words ricocheting off the walls of his mind.
Because it wasn’t true.
Or at least...truth had shifted.
At first, maybe - when he was broken and desperate, when you were the only person who made him feel like breathing again. But not now.
Now you were his home. His light. His everything.
And with one careless, desperate attempt at getting you to stop questioning things, he’d just turned his world pitch black.
It didn’t happen all at once with Minho. He wasn’t the type to make it obvious. No late-night texts left unanswered. No accidental slip-ups in conversation. No stares at his phone when he thought you weren’t looking.
But you felt it.
In the way his kisses grew shorter, around certain past anniversaries, more distracted. In the way his hugs lingered less. In the way he’d get that look in his eyes sometimes - faraway, somewhere you couldn’t follow - and you knew exactly whose memory had claimed him.
You’d been patient. You told yourself that love wasn’t a competition against someone out of sight. Or at least it shouldn't be. That time would prove you were enough, even if he’d never said it out loud.
Until the night you came home and found the box.
It was small, tucked away in the back of his closet, half-hidden under a stack of old hoodies. You weren’t snooping - you were cleaning, folding laundry like you always did when your nerves got too loud - but when the lid fell open, the truth stared back at you.
Pictures. Letters. A necklace. Little pieces of his past he hadn’t let go of.
By the time he walked through the door that night, you were sitting on the couch with the box in your lap, heart pounding in your chest so hard it hurt.
“Y/N,” Minho said, his voice sharp with alarm, “Where did you-”
“Do you still love...do you...?” Your voice broke. You couldn't even finish. “Tell me the truth, Minho. Am I just… something to distract you? A rebound until you’re ready to actually move on?”
His jaw tightened, and he closed the door slowly behind him. “You went through my things.”
“That’s all you have to say?!” you shot back, shaking your head. “I’ve been killing myself trying to be enough for you, trying to pretend I don’t feel you pulling away, and you’re angry I found proof?!”
His silence was worse than any scream. He stood there, hands flexing uselessly at his sides, eyes unreadable, like you were a problem he didn’t know how to solve.
“Say something,” you begged. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t still wish it was them...”
His voice was quiet when it came, but the words were sharp enough to cut you to pieces. “Fine. Yes. Does that make you feel better Y/N-ah?”
It felt like the air had been knocked out of you. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your fingers tightening around the edge of the box until the cardboard creaked.
“Don't call me that,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady enough to get you to your feet. You took a deep breath. “Thank you for finally telling me.”
“Y/N-ah-”
"DON'T-" You swallowed. "Call me that." Your voice trailed off as you grabbed your keys, and a spare jacket hanging on the chair. The box slipped from your hands onto the coffee table as you walked past him, keys clutched tight in your palm, tears blurring your vision.
When the door clicked shut behind you, Minho finally moved. He sat down on the couch, staring at the scattered pieces of his past, and for the first time in months, they didn’t bring him comfort. They didn’t bring good times back.
They just reminded him of the only thing that mattered now - and the fact that he might have just driven you away for good.
Because maybe you had started as a way to forget. A way to keep himself from drowning in his own loneliness. But somewhere along the way, you’d become the only person who ever made him feel truly seen.
And now, all he could do was sit in the silence and wonder how he’d ever fix the mess he’d made.
The fight with Changbin was like a storm - violent, sudden, and impossible to stop once it started.
It began with something small: a joke you didn’t find funny, a jab that landed a little too close to home after the week you’d had. But with Changbin, small sparks always seemed to ignite something bigger when you both were already teetering on edge.
“You don’t get it!” you shouted, voice trembling as frustration boiled over. “I’m trying so hard, Bin. And you’re just-”
“Oh, here we go,” he snapped, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “It’s always about what I’m not doing, huh? Like you’re perfect?”
Your chest heaved. “This isn’t about being perfect! This is about you making me feel like I don’t even matter to you! Like- like I’m just someone to keep you busy until you find what you actually want!”
He froze, jaw tightening, eyes blazing. “So what if you are?”
The words cracked through the air like thunder. Sharp. Cruel. Unforgivable.
"W...what?"
For a moment, the room went silent except for the ringing in your ears. You stared at him, chest tight, waiting for him to take it back, to tell you you’d misheard.
But he didn’t. He just stood there, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in harsh, angry breaths.
“Okay...” you whispered, your voice small but steady, holding your broken heart together with sheer will. “Then you can figure out what you want… without me.”
You turned to leave, but he finally moved, panic flashing across his face. “Hold on-”
The door slammed before he could finish, leaving him in the empty apartment, the echo of his own anger suffocating him.
It took minutes - maybe hours - before the rage drained from his body and the reality of what he’d said sank in like poison. His knees gave out, and he collapsed on the couch, hands over his face, replaying every word.
Because it wasn’t true. Not anymore. Maybe in the beginning, when his heart was still in pieces, you were a way to feel wanted, to feel less hollow. But somewhere along the line, you’d become everything. The thought of you walking away for good made his chest ache so sharply he could hardly breathe.
And now, all he had were four walls, his own guilt, and the silence left behind where your laughter used to be.
The apartment had been quiet all morning, Hyunjin holed up in his studio like always, soft music floating through the half-open door. You were just looking for a spare vase for some flowers you had picked, rummaging through the storage closet at the end of the hall, when your hand brushed against a canvas shoved to the back.
You pulled it out, dust catching in the sunlight, and froze.
It was them.
Not just a sketch, not some abstract impression. No - it was them. The tilt of their smile, the curve of their jaw, their eyes captured in the way only Hyunjin could. And it was beautiful. Breathtaking, even.
But it wasn’t you.
Your throat tightened as your fingers traced the dried paint, the faint smudge of his signature in the corner. How many nights had he spent pouring himself into this? How many times had he thought of them while you sat in the next room, blissfully ignorant?
By the time Hyunjin found you standing there, the painting in your hands, your tears had already dried to salt on your cheeks.
“What are you doing?” His voice was sharp, defensive, like a blade. He crossed the room in quick strides and yanked the canvas from your hands.
“I was just looking for-”
“You had no right to touch this,” he snapped, setting it aside like it was something precious you’d defiled. His jaw was tight, eyes cold, and it cut deeper than you thought possible.
“I had no right?” Your voice trembled with anger and hurt. “You’re still painting them, Hyunjin. Still thinking about them. And I’m- what? Filling the space until you get them back?”
His laugh was sharp, humorless. “Maybe you are.” He wouldn't meet your eyes as he spoke, but the words were so harsh you convinced yourself the regret you saw in his features was just your way of trying to keep a bit of your heart in tact.
For a moment, you couldn’t even breathe. You just stared at him, at the stranger standing in the skin of the man you loved.
“Oh um,"” you mumbled finally, the quiet steadiness of your voice shocking even you blinked furiously. “Then they must be really worth it huh?”
You brushed past him before the tears could return, before the weight of what he’d said could crush you completely. The door slammed, and then you were gone, leaving Hyunjin standing in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you’d been.
The studio felt suffocating now, the painting an accusation propped against the wall.
He sank to the floor, head in his hands, the anger bleeding out and leaving only raw, gnawing regret.
At first, painting had been his way of holding on, of pretending he hadn’t lost everything. But you - God, you - had become so much more than a distraction. You were the only thing that made him feel like he had a future.
And now, staring at the canvas that started it all, he watched it all come crashing down.
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Please ignore the typos/editing mistakes guys I got too excited and realized too late they were there 😭
prologue 1a 1b pt2 pt3
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Seungmin never minded staying out of the spotlight in the shipping wars- until it came to you. Tired of seeing you paired with everyone but him, out of equal parts frustration and longing, he does the unthinkable- he writes a fanfiction. Anonymous, harmless, just a way to spill feelings he can’t say out loud. But when his words ignite the fandom, going viral overnight, Seungmin’s private fantasy becomes a public storm. The company wants him to lean into the ship, the fans can’t stop dissecting every glance, and you…you’re suddenly obsessed with the mysterious “author” who seems to know Seungmin a little too well. Now he’s trapped in his own story- juggling staged moments, a dangerous secret, and a love that feels more real with every passing day. Because what started as fiction might just become the truest confession he’s ever made.
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Seungmin x 9thMember Fem!Reader
You knew when you became an idol, shipping was something that came with the contract. Especially being the ninth member of Stray Kids, and the only girl, you couldn’t help but be prepared to face the inevitable onslaught of fan theories and fantasies that more often than not made you second-guess every action you took. You’d seen it before with all of your elders in the group, even going as far as to take tips from Han and Minho and eventually Hyunjin and Felix, when fans heavily pressed and implied such relations with you and Jeongin. Fanservice and feeding into the narratives so many believed in was all publicity, and any publicity was good publicity when it came to your life.
But it didn’t take away the exhaustion of it. The way even a casual laugh, a glance, or a shared inside joke could be twisted into a story you never agreed to star in. The way the world could rewrite your intentions with a few words, a well-chosen image, and a sultry song. You had learned early on to guard yourself, to separate what was public from what was yours, and to treasure the moments that remained untouched by expectation.
It was rare, but it existed. Those small pockets of normal, unmonitored, unexamined interactions were everything. That was what you clung to - the friendships that weren’t spectacle, the quiet corners of your life where you could be ordinary, just for a moment.
That’s why the relief you felt when you were beside Seungmin was different from the rest of the boys. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for them all- it was just that with Seungmin, you didn’t have to worry.
You didn’t have to worry about laughing too hard and having it twisted into an inside joke no one else understood. You didn’t have to worry about a fleeting glance being read as a warning or a sign of jealousy. The simple reaching of his wrist was never misinterpreted; it was steady, grounding, never more than it needed to be. Wearing his hoodie wasn’t a statement or a hint- it was warmth, comfort, something quiet he offered without thought. None of that pressure existed here, the way it did with everyone else.
How many reels had you scrolled past that pinned you as the third wheel in the Minsung or Hyunlix ship? How many forum threads had you avoided, dismissing the speculation about how tender Chris seemed with you? Not because of age, not because you were the only female member, or because you reminded him of his younger sister he didn't see regularly- but because fans insisted on reading romance into everything.
And then there was Jeongin. The ship around the two of you had grown rapidly, as if every shared moment was being scooped into the internet before you could even blink. The stories about you and Changbin were no different, escalating after that night he had carried you when you rolled your ankle at an award show.
It wasn't that you were angry at the fans, you didn't blame them for having fun. You were a fangirl once doing the same thing, but every one of these moments was a reminder that nothing in your life could remain ordinary.
Except for Seungmin.
For some unknown reason, fans didn’t find anything romantic about the two of you. Which, granted, gave you a tiny bubble of normalcy you could hold onto. And for that, you were grateful. So much so that you never imagined anyone would see it differently, or even notice the lack of push for the two of you. Anyone, least of all Seungmin.
But, Seungmin, of course, noticed. He noticed how to the fans you filled chapters and chapters of the other boys’ lives- the teasing, the laughter, the shared routines- moments onlookers adored and dissected. But to him, you weren’t a story sprawling across pages.
And it seemed no one noticed that rather than chapters, you were a single word in the sentence of his life, one he hadn’t expected to need, and yet the meaning of everything shifted the moment it existed.
Every glance, every brush of your hand, every quiet conversation rewrote the rhythm of his world. You made the ordinary feel deliberate, the mundane feel significant. You were the punctuation to his scattered thoughts, the word that altered the tone of his heart without him ever saying it aloud.
But feelings like that didn’t belong anywhere real. Not onstage. Not online. Not in the world that sold illusions for a living.
He had been in the industry long enough to know how to take things like this with a grain of salt. How many times had he stoked the fires himself- teasing, nudging, tossing hints that sent fans into a frenzy? A Han and Minho joke here, a 2Min reference there, Hyunjin and Lix whispered into a livestream, each nudge adding another gallon of gasoline to the speculative blaze. All in good fun, all harmless, all part of the game.
But he couldn't deny that somewhere along the line, it changed.
You became the exception to the fantasies woven. While the others could be teased, analyzed, and debated endlessly without a second thought, you hadn’t remained untouched from his edges of his mind.
The ships, the rumors, the endless “what-ifs” pinned on you- they bothered him more than he cared to admit. At first, he told himself it was nothing personal. Why was he so concerned. What were the odds of any of it becoming real? None of the other ships bothered him so why was was it such a problem when it came to you?
He convinced himself it was only because of how uncomfortable it made you. Because he hated seeing you second-guess your laughter, your gestures, your words. Because he hated the way your brows furrowed or your lips pressed into a line when ordinary moments twisted into scandalous theories. That had to be it.
But then, quietly, in the back of his mind, he found himself with a prickly annoyance hearing your name paired with another one of the boys. The melody of your name with anyone else's made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with probability or comfort.
So what was it, then?
He decided it was something he hadn’t intended to name: a little thing called love, sprouting like weeds in the cracks of pavement. Unseen at first, unremarkable to the untrained eye, but impossible to ignore once it had taken root.
And just like weeds in the pavement, one moment it wasn’t there- and the next, it was. So vibrant, so stubbornly alive, a contrast to everything orderly around it, invasive in the most beautiful way. It pressed against the corner of his mind, refusing to be ignored, turning every ordinary moment into something that felt unbearably sharp and achingly delicate all at once.
He tried to push it down, rationalize it, tell himself it was impossible, absurd, or just another fleeting distraction. But it clung anyway. In the way your laugh lingered in his ears, in the way your hand brushed his, in the quiet ease you brought into the chaos around him. It was everywhere and nowhere, both subtle and undeniable, and he couldn’t stop noticing it.
And perhaps the scariest part of all? He didn’t want to.
Even if it was something you tried to avoid. Something you had quietly confided to the boys- the way it hurt, the way it frustrated you- that the world seemed to question every small act of closeness you shared with them, the people you trusted as older brothers, as anchors in a life built on performance and expectation.
Even if it was something you could forget, even momentarily, when you were with him. That was exactly why he stayed silent. Because the way fans twisted simple acts of kindness into elaborate fantasies…he was doing the same thing, only in reverse.
He wove a story of you and him, made from quiet glances, the brush of your hands, the casual moments no one else would ever see. Moments that meant nothing more than the surface but created a story that belonged to him and him alone.
And the truth was, he never intended to share it.
But things had the tendency to build up until they led to restless nights, which led to tossing and turning, to sheets that were a tangled mess around his legs, to hair sticking out in every direction.
It led to thoughts of you slipping through every crack in his resolve, uninvited and relentless. He’d close his eyes and still see you- your laughter echoing from some recent clip, the easy way you leaned into Jeongin’s shoulder, the warmth in your expression that made it impossible to tell where performance ended and sincerity began.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was harmless. Just fanservice.
But the more frequent the nights became and the longer he stared at the ceiling, the more his chest burned with a restless, gnawing ache that refused to fade.
It finally came to a head late one night.
With a low sigh, he pushed himself upright, rubbing at his face before reaching for the glow of his laptop across the room. The cursor blinked back at him, patient, expectant. Almost accusing.
He typed into the search bar:
"Seungmin x Y/N fanfiction."
There were a few results. Clumsy titles. Mischaracterized dialogue. Versions of you that didn’t sound like you at all.
He clicked one open, skimmed a few lines, and scoffed softly to himself.
"That’s not Y/N-ah at all…"
Another one- too dramatic, too exaggerated, too wrong.
"She wouldn’t say that." He murmured under his breath, his lips twisting into something between amusement and irritation.
He sat there for a moment longer, fingers hovering above the keyboard, the cursor blinking again, as if waiting for him to do something.
He tapped the mouse pad slowly contemplating the turning of gears in his mind.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the frustration of seeing everyone else write your story and get it wrong. Or maybe it was the simple truth that he couldn’t keep all of this locked inside anymore.
Before he could think twice, he opened a blank document.
And then- he began to type.
At first, it was mechanical. Just words. Just a scene. But soon, the sentences started to breathe, to take on the rhythm of his thoughts, the cadence of your voice, the quiet moments that only he seemed to notice. And the more he wrote, the lighter he felt, like every word was a confession disguised as fiction.
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It wasn’t supposed to matter.
But it did. More than he wanted to admit.
And that was how it started.
He pieced together a story of you and him that existed only in the soft glow of his screen and the quiet hum of his thoughts.
A world where the lines between reality and wishful thinking blurred- where the schedules weren’t endless, where cameras didn’t follow, where every smile didn’t need to mean something to someone else because it was fact. It was more than speculation. A world where it didn't bother you because you wanted everyone to know how much you loved Seungmin. And how it wasn't even compared to how much he loved and adored you.
A world where it was simple. Ordinary. Just you and him.
He wrote until the clock on his wall slipped past midnight, then one, then two. His fingers moved faster than his thoughts could catch up, shaping versions of you he’d memorized without meaning to- the way you furrowed your brows when you concentrated, the way your laughter tilted higher when you were really happy, the way your eyes softened when you felt safe.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was honest.
For once, he wasn’t an idol and you weren’t someone who had to watch themselves all the time. You were just two people, existing in the same small story, away from the noise, away from the lights.
He pieced together a world where love wasn’t a liability.
Where he could look at you without restraint.
Where he could reach for you and not have you worry who might see.
And when he finished that first chapter, sitting there with tired eyes and a hollow ache in his chest, he stared at the words for a long time.
He hadn’t meant to write any of it.
He hadn’t meant to feel any of it.
But it was too late now.
The document blinked back at him- his confession disguised as fiction, every line something he could never say aloud. It was ridiculous, he thought. Stupid, even. Just something to get out of his system.
His head drooped forward, exhaustion dragging at him. The cursor pulsed patiently, waiting for him to save the draft, to tuck it away where no one would ever see it. His finger hovered over the trackpad, the haze of sleep making his movements sluggish, uncoordinated.
And then-
A soft click.
The wrong one.
The post button.
He didn’t notice, not really. Not as his eyelids fluttered shut, the dim glow of the laptop washing over the room, not as the screen refreshed quietly with a notification at the corner:
“Published successfully.”
By the time sleep finally claimed him, Seungmin’s confession had already left the safety of his drafts unknown to him- sent out into a world that would devour it whole by morning.
