❤︎ CAGED BY LOVE ❤︎
———— ★ CONTROL ★ ————
ᐅ BANG CHAN ᐊ
🔞 Mature content ahead 🔞
Controlling Husband Bang chan x Fem! Reader
warnings: toxic relaationships,psychological and emotional abuse,Intense control and surveillance,gaslighting,coercion,loss of autonomy,workplace intimidation/pressure,apearance shaming,isolation.Let me know if I missed anything.
synopsis: everyone thinks y/n is lucky to be loved by someone so charming, so attentive, so perfect. But behind closed doors, that love quietly turns into rules, corrections, and constant watchfulness that follows her from home to work. By the time she realizes the difference between being cared for and being controlled, she’s already trapped.
authors note: welcome to my first post! I hope you enjoy! Doing a straykids Red Flags series so stay tuned!!
2.0k words
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His charm was the most frightening thing about him.You loved him,of course you did.You’d been together since Freshman year, the kind of couple people pointed at in the hallways.By senior year,you were crowned prom king and queen,frozen forever in photos where everything looked perfect.
Everyone knew your relationship.Girls whispered about how lucky you were,how you’d won the lottery with someone so handsome, so charming, so respectful.Teachers trusted him.Parents adored him.He opened doors,smiled politely,and said all the right things.
And every time someone told you how lucky you were, you smiled back because how could something that looked that perfect possibly be wrong right?
But once you moved in together, everything began to shift. At first, it seemed harmless, even sweet.He'd cook dinner, handle the groceries, and remind you to rest after a long day.He said he just wanted to take care of you.Slowly, though, the gestures became rules.What time you woke up, what you ate, what you wore, even who you spoke to everything fell under his watchful,calculating eye.He called it love, concern, guidance, but it wasn’t.The line between care and control didn’t just blur, it disappeared. And somewhere along the way,the home that had once felt safe started to feel like a cage,one you didn’t even realize you were trapped in…
until it was too late.
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"Hey wake up,we're going to be late" your husband nudged you.
"huh,what time is it?" you said sitting up rubbing your eyes
"it’s 7:40 y/n,did you forget to set your alarm again? I've told you so many time to always set it before you fall asleep" he said irritated
"I swear I set it yesterday?" you said confused because you know you had made sure you double checked before fallling asleep.
"Well it says here you fell asleep at 9:30 and you usually fall asleep at 10? Maybe you fell asleep and forgot to set it"
"Hmm maybe" you responded blankly you didn't have time to argue you had exactly 20 miniutes to hurry and get ready before you had to head out.
Chan already had left to the kitchen to go ahead and start on your breakfast to save some time while you got ready.You went into your closet and picked out a black pencil skirt and a dress shirt and your flats,you thought the outfit gave off office vibes and you felt good about it.
Next up was your makeup and Chan had always told you to be natural and not wear too much because he didn't like for you to draw attention to yourself so you just curled your lashes and added a lip tint and a little blush.
you got your bag and your phone and started walking towards the kitchen seeing chan as you set your bag on the table.
"Okay I'm ready" you said smiling confidently
He turned around and looked at you up and down then scoffed "No you're not,you're not stepping out of the house wearing that."
You were taken aback by his statement.You didn't see anything wrong with what you were wearing "But there's nothing wrong with my outfit?" you said
"Go change" he said sternly "Wear those black dress pants and that white longseleve blouse I bought you,you're going to work not to a party" he said still cooking.
You blinked, unsure whether to argue. You’d spent five minutes picking something that felt professional, smart, and comfortable. But his tone left no room for negotiation.
“Fine,” you muttered, retreating to the bedroom. You slipped out of your skirt and blouse, trying not to show how frustrated you felt. Chan’s gaze followed you from the kitchen doorway as if he could see everything you did even when your back was turned. You pulled on the black dress pants and the white blouse he had bought, the fabric feeling stiff compared to your original outfit.
By the time you returned to the kitchen, Chan had already plated breakfast, a neat arrangement of eggs, toast, and fruit. He looked up as you walked in, eyes scanning you like a critic.
He handed you a napkin
"Wipe off your lipstick,it’s too bright,I don't want my wife to look like a hooker" he said as he set the plates down in your respected seats.
You froze for a moment, napkin halfway to your lap. Your stomach sank.
“I… I just put on a little lip tint,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s not… too much.”
Chan’s eyes narrowed,and he shook his head. “No.I said It’s too bright.You’re not going anywhere looking like that.Wipe it off.”His tone wasn’t just critical it was absolute.No room for discussion
You swallowed and obeyed,dabbing at your lips as he watched,arms crossed.The air felt heavy,like every movement you made was under a microscope.He set the plates carefully in front of you and himself, every action deliberate. Even the simple act of sitting down to eat became another test.
“Sit up straight,” he added before picking up his fork. “You don’t want to slouch in front of people. It looks sloppy.”
You bit your tongue, sitting as rigidly as possible. The toast tasted dry, the eggs bland,but you didn’t dare complain.He glanced at you occasionally, making small corrections,“Don’t pick at the toast with your nails like that… hold your fork properly… your elbows off the table.”
By the time you finished eating, your hands and posture were tense, your mind already counting the minutes until you could escape to the office.Even that didn’t feel safe,he was your boss too, and there, his control followed.
As you cleared your plate, Chan leaned back in his chair, eyes still scanning you. “Good,” he said finally. “Now, bags, coats, shoes.I don’t want us leaving even more late than we already are."
You slung your bag over your shoulder, trying not to think about how every step toward the door felt like walking a tightrope. Chan’s gaze followed you, unblinking.
“Wait,” he said, stopping you. “Phone.”
You frowned. “What about it?”
“Out of your pocket. Let me see it,” he said sharply. “Notifications cleared? Don’t want you distracted on the way to work.”
You hesitated, feeling your patience fray. “Chan… I—”
“No arguments,” he interrupted. His tone wasn’t just stern anymore it carried a weight that made your chest tighten.You handed over your phone,and he thumbed through it quickly, as if verifying your every unread message, every lingering alert. “Good. Now. Let’s go.”
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The car ride began the moment he shut the door.
No delay. No easing into it.
“Sit properly,” Chan said, eyes forward as he pulled onto the road.
You straightened immediately, back stiff against the seat, hands folded in your lap the way he liked. Your heart was already pounding, and he hadn’t even looked at you yet.
“Good,” he said. “Now listen carefully.”
His words weren't loud. They didn’t need to be.
“You’ve been careless lately,” he continued. “This morning proved that. Late. Disorganized. Making choices without thinking them through.” He paused. “That’s not acceptable,you know that right?.”
“Yes,I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“I didn’t ask for an apology,” he replied. “I asked for attention. Apologies don’t fix patterns.”
You nodded quickly,your throat becoming tight.
“Tell me,” he said, “what time we were supposed to leave.”
“Eight,” you answered.
“And what time did we actually leave?”
“…Eight twenty.”
He nodded once. “So you understand the problem.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I made us late.”
“Wrong,” he said calmly. “You made me late.”
Your breath hitched. “I made you late,” you repeated.
“That’s better,” he said. “Accuracy matters.”
The car turned onto a main road. His posture never changed straight, controlled, deliberate.
“When I corrected your outfit,” he went on, “did you hesitate?”
You swallowed. “…Yes.”
“Why.”
“I thought mine was okay.”
“That,” he said evenly, “is the issue. You thinking something is okay doesn’t make it correct.”
Your fingers trembled, and you pressed them harder together to hide it.
“You don’t need to decide what’s appropriate,” he continued. “That’s my responsibility. When you push against that, even quietly, it creates problems.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” you said softly.
“Intent is irrelevant,” he replied. “Outcome is what matters.”
Silence filled the car again, thick and heavy.
“Look at me,” he said.
You turned your head slowly, afraid of moving too fast, too slow afraid of doing it wrong.
“You don’t look focused,” he observed. “You look scared.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out.
“That’s not a bad thing,” he added. “Fear means you understand the mistakes you make.”
You nodded, eyes dropping back to your lap.
“From now on,” he said, “when I correct you, you respond immediately. No hesitation. No questioning. That’s how we avoid situations like this morning.”
“Yes,” you whispered.
“Yes what,” he corrected.
“Yes,Chan.”
He glanced at you briefly. “Good.”
The office building came into view, looming closer with every second.
“One last thing,” he said. “When we get out of this car, you are composed. Calm. Professional. Whatever you’re feeling stays here.” He tapped the steering wheel once. “Do you understand?”
Your chest felt tight, but you nodded. “Yes,Chan.”
He pulled into the parking spot and turned off the engine.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then he spoke again, voice firm, final.
“Don’t make me have to be stricter than this.”
Your stomach dropped.
You nodded again
then you both exited his car
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You entered the building alongside Chan to which you were both greeted by the receptionist.
"Good Morning Mr & Mrs Bahng" she said brightly flashing her bright smile.
You inhaled, ready to respond,but a quick, sharp pinch at your side stole the words right out of your mouth. Chan didn’t even look at you at first. Then his eyes flicked over, calm, warning.
“Morning,” he said smoothly, smiling as if nothing were wrong.
You walked beside him in silence,chest tight,fingers curled around your bag strap.Every step felt rehearsed.Every movement felt watched.
The elevator ride was quiet. Too quiet.Chan stood close, just enough that you could feel his presence without touching.When the doors opened onto the office floor, his hand returned briefly to your back, guiding you forward one last time.
“Remember,” he murmured, voice low, pleasant.“I’ll be watching.”
Then he let go.
He peeled away toward his office,leaving you standing there with the sudden, hollow realization that being alone didn’t mean being free.
At your desk,you sat carefully,adjusting your chair,setting your bag down just so.You barely had time to exhale before your phone vibrated.
"Sit up."
Your spine straightened instantly.
You opened your laptop. Another vibration.
"Slower typing. It looks sloppy."
Your fingers hesitated, then resumed, more carefully this time.
A coworker passed by and smiled. “Morning, y/n.”
You smiled back, small and polite. Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.
"Don’t smile like that. It invites conversation."
The smile faded.
When someone stopped by your desk a few minutes later, leaning on the partition,your heart jumped.
“Hey, are you free for a quick question?”
Your phone lit up before you could answer.
"No. Tell them you’re busy."
“I—uh—sorry,” you said quickly. “I’m in the middle of something.”
They looked confused but nodded and walked away.
Your chest felt tight. You hadn’t even touched your phone,yet it felt heavier than anything else on your desk.
Minutes passed.Then another vibration.
"Feet flat on the floor." You adjusted.
"You’re slouching again." You straightened.
"Eyes on the screen." You complied.
Even when Chan wasn’t visible, his presence wrapped around you tighter than when he was. Every movement became a question
Will this be corrected?
Will this be noticed?
By now, you were counting down the minutes, desperate for five o’clock to arrive. All you wanted was to escape,to step through the front door and at least pretend you could breathe in your own home, even if the comfort there had long since faded.