listen i GENUINELY could not care less if y'all be posting smut about people (idols, celebs in general, i do NAWT give a shit) but PLEASE stop tagging it as fluff dude im just tryna read my tooth rotting fluff in peace đ
Itâs during times like this where you get reminded that your family isnât considered to be normal, but in a good way. Today was a half school day for your triplets which meant it was parent teacher conference day. The timing couldnât have been any better as Chan had his day off today, meaning he could be a part of this whole experience and make new memories as a parent. Once it was dismissal time, you picked up your triplets and brought them home. There waiting for them was a delicious lunch made by Chan.Â
After you all finished eating, you played around a bit though with how much the two of you work, itâs getting more and more difficult. However, the two of you do your best. The triplets continue playing with one another as you and Chan lay on the sofa in defeat, completely tired out. You rested as much as you could before your alarm told you all to get ready to return to the school. The triplets were of course a little bummed out about it, though they stopped complaining when Chan promised to get them their favorite sweets.Â
A deal was a deal.Â
You all hopped into his Ferrari, safely buckled in first before he drove off.Â
He was lucky to have found parking nearby the school as you and the triplets walked into the school. Chan quickly caught up to the four of you to then realize what an awkward position the two of you found yourselves in. In front of you were groups of parents, staring, wide eyed, in complete disbelief.Â
âOh my gosh! Thatâs Bang Chan from Stray Kids!âÂ
âAnd his wife is here too! Actress Y/N?!âÂ
âH-Hello everyone?â You politely greeted them as they all nervously greeted you back. âCome on, letâs go guys.âÂ
You, Chan, and the triplets rushed upstairs with the crowd still staring in awe. Sometimes you wonder why you didnât go with the option of having your triplets go to a private school instead. Though Chan just wanted them to experience a normal childhood, as normal as it can be. As you were walking to the triplets classroom, you stumbled across another teacher in the halls. She loudly gasps, staring at you and Chan, unable to utter a single word.Â
âShhh!â Chan quickly placed a finger over his lips.Â
âC-Can I have an autograph from both of you, p-please?âÂ
âYes, but after our meeting.â You said and she eagerly nodded.Â
Then off the five of you go again, finally reaching the classroom.Â
âHello Mr.Bang and Mrs.L/N, please have a seat.â The triplets teacher advised. âAs for you three, why donât you go play in the play area?âÂ
âYes Ms.Yoon!â The three chimed out.Â
âSo, how have they been doing?â Chan asked.Â
âTheyâve been doing amazing! Itâs quite hard to pick a top student since all three of them are the best of the best.âÂ
âIâm glad to hear that.â You sighed.Â
âIs there anything else that we should know?â Chan questions.Â
âYes ummmâŠâÂ
âIs something wrong?â You asked concerningly.Â
âWould the two of you mind being our classroom guests for the week?âÂ
âHuh?â Chan exclaimed.Â
âEh?â You blinked bashfully at her.Â
âThe triplets love to talk about the two of you and your work and since this week's topics are about careers, I was hoping ifâŠâÂ
âDone.â You said.Â
âIâd need to ask my company but Iâll be sure to be extra insistent.â Chan nodded, as the triplets came running up to the two of you. âGah!â
The ocean sings. Waves crashing loud against the rocks, the late afternoon brings forth a beautiful pinkening sky and cool, hair-fluttering breeze.
A little chilly, but you donât mind. Not when Chanâs grip is warm, fingers cupping yours as your entwined hands swing between the both of you.
Your feet sink in the sand, wet and cold against your bare feet the closer you get to the shore, leaving behind footprints and clinging to your skin.
You really donât mind, Chan hums a soothing tune as you walk, distracting you from the fact that youâve left all your belongings back there where you had spent the afternoon lounging under the sun and building sandcastles.
Though the walk is nice. Comforting, and soothing. The sun sinks lower by the minute, the kind that has both of you pause, facing the horizon to take in the glimmering sea that reflects the light like a painting. The kind of sight that has your breath hitch, has you stop, eyes shining as you take in the pink and purple sky, the bright orange sun ready to bid its farewell.
Chan seems to agree, your boyfriend squeezing your hand almost faintly before he mutters the words you would have missed between the sunset, the waves and the winds.
You donât though, not when Chan looks as if you mean the word, the same shine in his eyes as they meet yours.
ââIt would be perfect to propose here.â
You think you wouldâve laughed startled at such a random exclamation, would have agreed with such an romantic observation. Yet before you can even giggle at the idea, even agree with him with a hum and a nod, you only turn to find a sight that has you freezing.Â
Eyes widening and lips parting with shock because he doesnât even wait for his words to settle, doesnât tear his gaze away, already dropping down with a widening grin.
Chan kneels. Right there, right before your suddenly frozen form.
Heâs on one knee, pants planted over the wet sand, the seafoam left after retreating waves seeping through the material, yet even the dirt and water isnât enough to keep him from doing what he decided to do.Â
Everything continues as it was. The sun still on its descent, the waves still crashing against the rocks, rising over sand, the winds still ruffle through his hair, tousling the strands.
Yet nothing remains the same for you, not when his gaze meets yours so warm, so fond. Locked onto you with a lingering softness that shows in the way he fishes out the small box from the depths of his pocket.Â
Where had he hidden it all day? Youâre clueless. Yet he holds it before you, opening with ease, the slight tremble in his hands going unnoticed amidst the sudden emotions that surge through you. Chan holds it out before you. Offering you something youâve only dreamt of, you canât help but gasp, eyes flickering to whatâs inside.Â
Itâs a glimmering thing, dainty and elegant, the ring glints beautifully against the sunset. And he cradles it in his palms, inhaling deeply as he lets you react. Your hands fly to your mouth, pressing against your lips, as you once again gasp louder. The ocean waves are cold over your feet, wind biting at your skin, yet you feel as if you are burning up.
âIââ Chan begins, clearing his throat, a twinge of nervousness crossing his gaze but the wide smile remains.
âI love you.â He states, softly, loudly, those words coming out as easily as breathing.
His eyes dart over your shocked-still expression, at the misty haze in your own gaze as you finally grasp what is happening.
ââIs this love?ââ He whispered.
A repeat of a question youâve asked. Itâs a familiar question, one that has you break into a breathy and wet scoff-like giggle as you realize exactly what he is referring to, hands falling to your sides, shoulders relaxing as you let him continue.
Let him propose.
âThe night after our first date, after I spent the entire after of it distracted by thoughts of you, you sent me that question.â His cheeks dimpled with the way he grinned, watching you exhale with a breathless laugh.
ââGranted, it was a message you accidentally texted to me instead of your friendâimmediately followed with ten other messages of you freaking out over it, before threatening me to forget how you just embarrassed yourself.â He recalls with a chuckle, with a fondness and a grin that has you mimic the glee, though the tears now freely slide down your cheeks.
âBut how could I have ever forgotten such a question when that same night I decided that I had an answer for it. That seeing your adorable sputtering and your refusal to meet my eyes the next day made me realize that it was love. That you were it for me.â Thereâs a waver in his voice, a shine in his own eyes as he takes in the beautiful sight that is you.
But he barrels on, as if he has so much to say but not enough timeâat least not currently. Not when he has a ring to put on your finger. The recollection of your most precious moments could wait a little.
âI knew I wanted to marry you then. I knew I wanted a full life with you.â He swallows his nervousness, his emotions that threaten to crack in his voice.
You almost whimper shakily, happily, your expression soft and warm and oh-so-touched as his voice drops just a tad bit softer, just a tinge warmer.
âI want more late night adventures, more spontaneous trips, the slow strolls hand-in-hand. I want the growing birthdays to come, the wrinkles and white hair, all the way to the end. Till death do us apartâright after that first date. I want it all with you.â
You swipe the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that pool at your jaw, shuddery breath escaping your lips with a soft sob. Chan kneels patiently, as he continues to make your heart flip, your stomach swoop, your eyes prick with more happy tears.
âIâm sure you know by now how painfully obsessed I am with you.â He too chuckles wetly, his voice slightly shaky, yet dripping with something akin to adoration as he looks up at you, absolutely besotted.
âYou already know how deeply I love you, but Iâll say it again. I love you. And I will continue to do so for the rest of my remaining life. Will youââ He stutters just the slightest as he swallows, taking in a nervous breath, his eyes locked onto yours.
âWill you please marry me?â
The waves crash loud, your feet sink into the wet sand, the sunlight is moments away from disappearing, yet you only look at Chan, on his knees, his own teary eyes and that beautiful smile of his that youâre so fond of.Â
Your boyfriend awaits the answer he should know you would give him almost nervously. And even with the shock and the heart-touching words spoken, you canât help but laugh almost helplessly. The tears continue to cloud your vision yet even with blurred sight you know exactly where to find your most special person, lunging forward you canât help but wrap your arms around him, falling onto your own knees.
Chan wobbles just the slightest at the impact but he holds you firmly, pressed right against him.
âYes. Yesyesyes.â Your voice is half-choked, half a whisper as you tug him closer into your embrace.
Chanâs own voice cracks as he laughs against you, arm wrapping tight around you as he inhales your scent.
âThank you. I love you so so much.â He pulls away, just enough to gaze into your eyes, lashes wet from his tears, yet his smile remains.
âGive me your hand.â He whispers.
You donât wait another second, your hand trembling between the both of your kneeling bodies as Chan looks down to pluck the ring out, box forgotten over the sand.
It slips on easily, cool against your skin, yet even that doesnât last long, not when his hands cup your fingers in his, engulfing you in his warmth.
âYou wonât regret it, I swearââ
As much as you want to hear more of his heartfelt promises, you canât help but want to disappear in his embrace, melt into his arms. Squeeze into his chest, and make yourself home. You lean in to capture his lips, kissing him and swallowing his promises. And he easily allows you to do so.Â
Melt into his embrace, disappear in his arms.
Kissing you in that slow, careful kind of way. The one where his fingers sit just right below your jaw, cradling your face as if youâre the most delicate thing he has. And you canât help the sigh that leaves you, the way you pull him close and allow the thought to settle.
So this is love.Â
He squeezes you a tinge bit tighter, kisses you just a tad bit harder, his mouth hot against yours.
And how sweet it was.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
e n d .
take a look at my girlfriend â shes the only one I got!
or: times different skz members got hit on, and they proudly showed you off as their partner.
wc:4k (500 ish each)
warnings: none! ot8(separate) x reader, fluff, crack, nonidol!au
a/n: a little treat for hitting 2k hehe à«ź(˶á”á”á”˶)á
chan â 'she even loves the music that my band makes'
The couch at the studio has a permanent dent in the cushions from where you always slouched. You didnât plan on becoming a fixture there â it just happened. His late nights turned into your late nights, his takeout orders became your takeout orders, and when you fell asleep for the first time waiting for him to finish editing, the studio stopped feeling like his workplace and started feeling like yours too.
At first, it was just weekend visits. dropping off lunch, then lingering a while till he finished up. Then the weeknights where youâd wait past midnight, because going home alone felt lonely and wrong when he was still working.
2rachaâchangbin and jisungâ stopped asking why you were there (han occasionally slept on the other side of the couch anyway). Even the security guard waved you through without checking your badge.
Tonight was no different. You were curled under his hoodie, half watching some reality show on your laptop while Chan tweaked a vocal track for the third hour straight.
an intern had arrived an hour ago, all bright laughter and eager questions. You didnât mind at first, Chan was patient with newbies, always explaining things twice if needed. But then her chair inched closer to his. Then she started getting touchy when it wasn't necessary.
Chan didnât even look her way, just leaned back in his chair, occasionally putting space between them. You watched from the couch, the laptop screen long forgotten.
Then she asked the question, voice pitched too high, âSo, are you single, orâŠ?â
You held your breath without meaning to. chanâs fingers stilled on the keyboard. Then he turned his head, just enough to catch your eye over his shoulder, and the corner of his mouth twitched, jerking his thumb to your direction, âIâm married, actually,â he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The internâs face froze. Her gaze darted to you, then back to Chan, like she was trying to reconcile the idea of him belonging to someone with the fact that you were just⊠there. Quiet, half buried in his hoodie.
Chan didnât wait for her to recover. He tapped his wedding band against the edge of his laptop and nodded toward the door. âthat's a wrap for today, you should head out. Itâs late.â
minho â 'you got me trippin' in finesse'
you've learned to read Minho's body like a second language, he's a dancer after all. You know his tells before he even speaks.
the way his shoulders relax when heâs finally nailed a routine, the quick tap of his fingers against his thigh when heâs impatient, the slight tilt of his head when heâs watching someone else move. Itâs all punctuation in a conversation youâve been having for months without saying a word.
You met at a studio mixer last summer, back when you were still just the barback for the afterparty, refilling drinks and dodging sweaty elbows. Heâd been the one to notice you first, initiating a conversation with you over the counter.
Later, when the music switched to something slow and sultry, heâd pulled you onto the dance floor without asking, and you hadnât protested.
Minho isnât the type to flaunt things, though. He keeps his private life private, and you respect that, just a quiet understanding that some things donât need an audience.
right now, youâre leaning against the doorway of studio 3, watching him run through a new routine with the team. Sweat glinting at his temples as he mirrors the others. Youâve seen this drill a hundred times, but it never gets old.
The music cuts abruptly mid step, and Minhoâs gaze snaps toward the sound system â only to land on you instead. his expression turns into a soft smile, and you grin right back at him, raising your water bottle in a silent greeting.
One of the newer dancers, a woman with her hair tied in a tight topknot, follows his line of sight and raises an eyebrow.
Topknot leans into his space as he adjusts the music, her elbow brushing his arm. âYou always this serious during practice?â she asks, he doesnât look up from the playlist, just shrugs one shoulder.
Undeterred, she adds, âBet youâre fun outside the studio, though. You ever take anyone out after hours?â
Minhoâs fingers pause over the soundboard for half a second before he taps the play button again, letting the music swell back to life. He doesnât answer her, just steps away to reset his position in the center of the room.
But topknot doesn't get a hint, it seems. She sidles closer, her voice dropping. âCome on, do you have a girlfriend or something?â She flicks her eyes toward you, still leaning in the doorway, and adds, âOr are you playing hard to get?â
You take a slow sip of your water. Heâs never been one to entertain this kind of thing â not because heâs rude, but because he doesnât see the point in feeding into games.
Still, you can tell the moment he decides to shut it down. He turns his head just enough to catch your eye, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
ânah,â he says, loud enough for the room to hear. âI already have someone.â
Topknot blinks, then laughs, like she thinks heâs joking. âYeah? Where are they, then?â
Minho doesnât hesitate. He lifts his chin toward you, and the smirk heâs been holding back finally breaks through. âRight there.â
changbin â 'guy.exe: 6 5'6 feet tall and super strong'
a matte black dumbbell rolled from Changbinâs grip and thudded against the rubber gym floor. Heâd been at it for two hoursâ shoulders, back, arms, a relentless workout that left his top sticking to his skin in abstract patches of sweat. You watched from the bench near the water cooler, half hidden behind your phone, pretending to scroll while stealing glances at the way his muscles flexed under the lights.
Three years together, and the sight of him still made your pulse skip.
The gym was mostly empty, mid afternoon lull, just a few die hards and the staff wiping down machines. Youâd come straight from work, still in your office slacks, your hair barely holding onto its ponytail. Changbin had texted earlier with a come keep me company and a winking emoji. who were you to turn down an excuse to watch your boyfriend work out?
A woman, early twenties, in one of those matching pink gym sets, hovered near Changbinâs bench while he adjusted the weight rack. You caught the tail end of her question, something about his deadlift form, but then she made her move. "Damn tho, youâre built like a god. Single?"
Changbin snorted, wiping his forearm across his forehead.. "Do I look single?" he said, shaking his head like the idea was ridiculous. Then, without hesitation, he tilted his chin toward you standing a few feet away, there, and grinned. "Thatâs my girl."
The woman followed his gaze, blinking at you like sheâd only just noticed the water cooler, the benches, the entire half of the gym you occupied. You raised your hand in a half wave. "Sorry," he added, not sounding sorry at all.
You expected her to leave, but she just smirked, propping a hand on her waist. "Lucky girl," she said, loud enough for you to hear. then, to Changbin "You ever wanna trade up, you know where to find me." yikes.
Changbinâs smile didnât falter, but his eyebrows did a little jump, He shot you a lookâgirl you seein' this?âbefore shrugging. "Nah," he said, casual as anything. "Iâm good." He moved towards you and planted a kiss on your cheek, "Better than good."
hyunjin â 'hopelessly devoted to you'
You and Hyunjin had been neighbors in that crumbling apartment complex where the pipes groaned louder than the tenants, and your first real conversation happened because he'd left his studio door ajar.
The scent of paint had pulled you in like a lure, and there he was, sleeves rolled up, forearms smeared with charcoal, halfway through painting something that looked like a storm given human form. and you were mesmerized.
By the time you started dating, you'd learned to love the mess of him â the way his hair stuck up in every direction after hours of working, the paint streaks on his jeans, the fact that he'd forget to eat unless you nudged a takeout container into his line of sight. He balanced his chaotic creativity with a quiet steadiness that surprised you.
his art thrived on bold strokes and screaming colors, his love language was more subtle, warming your cold fingers between his palms, humming off key to your favorite songs while he cooked food for you, tracing the curve of your shoulder blade when he thought you were asleep.
The gallery showing was his first major one. You'd watched him prepare for weeks. frames piling up near the door, muttered debates about lighting choices at 3 am. When the invitations finally arrived, he'd handed yours over, "You don't have to come," he'd said, but you knew he wanted you to be there.
You'd kissed the worry from his forehead and tucked the invitation into your wallet, where it stayed until the corners softened from handling.
Now, standing near a table with a champagne flute you hadn't touched, you watched him work the room. Hyunjin moved through the crowd like water, slipping effortlessly between conversations without ever seeming anchored to any one group.
His laugh carried over the murmur of guests, and you felt that familiar warmth curl behind your ribs. This was his element, even if he'd never admit it. The way people leaned in when he spoke, how their eyes flicked toward his hands when he gestured â he commanded attention without trying, and you loved him most like this, alive with his passion.
The girl approaching him now had been circling for a while. You'd noticed her earlier, lingering near his largest piece, her head tilted in a way that suggested admiration.
When she touched Hyunjin's elbow, you saw him startle slightly before turning with that polite smile he reserved for strangers.
You couldn't hear them over the gallery's din, but her body language was clear. fingers tucking hair behind her ear, the slight lean forward. Hyunjin nodded along, hands stuffed in his pockets, already scanning the room for an exit.
You didnât move, not yet anyway, because part of you wanted to see how heâd handle it.
Thatâs when he saw you. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, and something in his face shifted, relief.
You stood from the table, weaving through the crowd, the girl hadnât noticed you yet, too busy tilting her chin up at him, one hand now resting on her collarbone.
â...really think we should discuss your technique, over some coffee?â she was saying as you slid into place beside him, close enough that your hip brushed his.
Hyunjin exhaled, barely audible, as you laced your fingers through his. His palm was warm, slightly damp from nerves, and you squeezed once, âOh, heâd love that,â you said, sweetly. The girl blinked, her smile freezing as you added, âIâll come too, Iâm his girlfriend.â
âYeah,â he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice before you even looked towards him. âshe's my muse.â
jisung â 'everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet'
"Jisung." You poked his shoulder with your socked foot from where you were sprawled across the couch. "I will perish."
He didnât look up from his phone, thumb scrolling lazily. "Dramatic."
"No, listenâ" You rolled onto your stomach, pressing your cheek against the cushions. "My stomach is eating itself."
This time, he glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "You just ate two hours ago."
"Snacks arenât food," you said gravely.
Jisung sighed, tossing his phone onto the coffee table with a soft clatter. "Fine," he said, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. "But if I'm going out in the middle of the night, you're eating the weird gummy worms I pick out."
You grinned, kicking your legs against the couch cushions. "Deal."
The convenience store felt both too bright and eerily empty at 1 AM. Jisung grabbed a basket, tossing in the usual suspects, chips, chocolate, those inexplicably neon gummy worms, and went over to the counter to pay when the cashier leaned over the counter. "You again," she said, grinning. "Third time this week."
Jisung blinked, setting the basket on the counter "Uh, yeah."
she picked up the contents, scanning each one as she went on. "I mean, you could be here for the snacks or whatever ," she said, waving a hand, "or you could admit you keep showing up for the ambiance." Her grin widened. "And by ambiance, I mean me."
jisungs mouth gaped, "Oh no, no, I'mâMarried. Very, extremely married." then he pulled out his wallet, flipping it to the clear plastic sleeve where a polaroid of both of you rested. one where you were kissing his cheek and he had a big, wide grin on his face, then pulled out his card to pay.
she blinked, her grin faltering for half a second before she leaned back, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalances as she took the card from his hand "Damn," she said, clicking her tongue. "Figures the cute ones are always taken."
The apartment was dark when he got back, you were still in your spot on the couch, waiting impatiently for him. "Finally"
Jisung let the door slam shut behind him, you barely had time to process the dramatic thud before he was crossing the room in three long strides, arms outstretched, the plastic bag dangling from one hand.
He crashed into you with the force of a man whoâd just survived a warzone, his face buried in the crook of your neck before you could even ask what was wrong. âI got hit on,â he mumbled into your skin, voice muffled.
You blinked, arms frozen mid-air around him, the crinkling snack bag pressed awkwardly between your ribs. â...By who?â
âThe cashier,â he hissed, His cheeks were still flushed, the tips of his ears pink like heâd sprinted home instead of walked. âyouâre coming with me next time. No. More. Solo. Snack. Runs.â
felix â 'the perfect pair'
the first time Felix walked into the community kitchen, he nearly dropped an entire tray of freshly chopped carrots.
You'd been there six months already â long enough to know that the dented metal tray was older than both of you combined, and that the carrots were destined for a stew that would feed sixty. You lunged without thinking, catching the edge just as it tipped, fingertips brushing against his.
"Thanks," he said, his sleeves were already rolled up past his elbows, "I swear I'm usually better at carrying things."
Felix still drops things sometimes, never the carrots again, but last month it was a spoonful of cinnamon that poofed into a cloud across the counter. You laughed so hard your ribs ached, and he grinned like he'd meant to do it, like every little accident was just an excuse to hear you laugh.
Now, twelve months deep into this rhythm â Saturday mornings at the kitchen, Sunday afternoons tangled in his double bed, it's your little routine now.
This morning, he's leaning against the fridge, peeling labels off donated jam jars while humming off key. "Mrs. eom asked if we're doing the pumpkin soup again," he says, glancing at you. "Told her we'd have to check with the boss." He winks. You're not the boss. There is no boss. But this is Felix's favorite joke, his way of stitching you into the center of his stories, even when you're just scrubbing pans in the corner.
this new volunteer has been hovering around him all morning. You recognize the tilt of her head, she keeps finding reasons to step into his space, keeps finding reasons to strike up conversations, and he's too kind to turn her down on the get go.
she might've mistaked his kindness for something else though.
He's handing her a knife to chop chilis when she "accidentally" grazes his wrist. "You're always so patient with everyone," she says, he replies with a simple "thank you", polite as ever, but you could tell he was uncomfortable.
You don't move. Because Felix is already walking over to your station, he bumps his forehead lightly against your temple "Rescue me," he murmurs into your hair, and you can feel her stare burning holes in your back.
"Tell her yourself," you whisper, amused. you're already reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. Felix exhales, relieved, before turning back to her with that easy smile.
"Oh! Almost forgot," he says brightly "This is my favorite person. The reason I never miss a Saturday."
And just like that, the room tilts back into place, Felix glowing like always, you beside him, and the quiet understanding that some things, like this kitchen, like his hand in yours, aren't up for grabs.
seungmin â 'I'd risk it all for you '
stadium lights blazed down, bright enough as if the sun was still up, turning the sweat on Seungminâs skin into glitter. He wiped his forearm across his brow, smearing a streak of infield dirt in the process, and grinned at the roar of the crowd still thrumming through the stands. The mic in his hand was warm from being passed around, and the interviewer, was standing just a little too close. Her perfume was floral, aggressive.
"Kim Seungmin," she said, "Another incredible performance tonight. That last play â were you trying to give your fans a heart attack?"
Seungmin laughed, easy and practiced, the sound swallowed up by the noise around them. "Nah, just wanted to keep things interesting." He shrugged, adjusting the cap perched on his damp hair. The fabric of his jersey clung to his shoulders, heavy with sweat and adrenaline.
"Interesting is one word for it." She tilted her head, leaning in enough that the mic brushed his chest. "Youâve been on a hot streak this season. Whatâs driving you?"
Seungmin exhaled through his nose, a quick, amused breath. "Same thing as always," he said, gaze drifting past the interviewer's shoulder toward the stands. "Love of the game."
"Thatâs it? Just pure passion? No special someone in the stands tonight?"
Seungmin let the silence stretch just long enough for the tension to coil â then, he spoke again, "Actually," he said slowly, "yeah. My girlfriendâs here."
The interviewer blinked. The mic slipped a fraction in her grip.
The crowd erupted, a collective 'ohhh' rippling through the stands. Somewhere in the noise, someone wolf whistled. Seungmin didnât react, just kept that easy, knowing smile, like heâd been waiting for this exact moment.
"we've been together since college," he continued, voice carrying effortlessly over the din. The interviewer recovered quickly, professionalism snapping back into place, but her grip on the mic was tighter now.
âThatâs sweet,â she said, and it wasnât insincere, âCare to share more? The fans would love to hear.â
Seungminâs gaze flicked back to where you were sitting â third baseline, five rows up, right where you always were, and his expression softened. âShe hates when I talk about her in interviews,â he admitted, laughing under his breath. âBut sheâs the reason I donât overthink pitches. And the reason I do stretch before games.â
The interviewer opened her mouth, probably to pivot back to safer baseball territory, but the cameraman beat her to it, swinging the lens abruptly toward the stands. The stadium screen flickered, then locked onto your face, blown up fifty feet tall for thirty thousand people to see.
Your lips parted in surprise, the nacho youâd been mid bite hovering forgotten in your hand. Seungminâs chuckle echoed through the speakers, "There she is,"
A nearby fan elbowed you, grinning. "Girl, youâre famous now!" she stage whispered. Your cheeks burned, but you managed a small wave at the camera, awkward, The crowd ate it up, cooed like it was the cutest thing theyâd ever seen.
On screen, Seungminâs smile went crooked, like he was trying not to laugh at you. "See?" he told the interviewer, nodding toward the screen. "Told you she hates this." The mic caught the rasp in his voice, the one that only showed up when he was tired or fond. Tonight, it was both.
Jeongin â 'love struck girl, I'd tease her.'
"You would pick the one night weâre out of ice cream to confess you like me," Jeongin had said that night two years ago, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. Heâd been holding a half melted pint of strawberry between you like a peace offering, or maybe a shield.
The confession had been an accident, words slipping out during one of those aimless midnight drives where the radio played nothing but old love songs and static.
Youâd blamed the music, blamed the summer heat, blamed the way heâd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.
But Jeongin, ever meticulous, had pulled into the nearest convenience store parking lot, then returned with the ice cream as if that solved anything. but it only got that confession out of you that was begging to crawl out of your throat days prior.
Now, standing in the crowded glow of your friends apartment, you watch Jeongin from across the room. Heâs holding a drink he hasnât sipped yet, nodding as some woman you donât recognize â a friend of a friend, probably â talks animatedly about something.
The way she gestures tells you itâs a story, not small talk. Jeonginâs always been a good listener, the kind who leans in just enough to make people feel heard, but tonight thereâs a stiffness in his shoulders you recognize.
Hyunjin bumps your elbow with a fresh beer. "Youâre staring," he sing songs under his breath.
You take the bottle without looking. "Iâm observing."
"Same thing." He follows your gaze, then snorts. "Oh, her. Sheâs new. Felix invited her. Something about crypto startups? I tuned out after 'blockchain.'"
The womanâ crypto girl âleans closer to Jeongin, her hand brushing his sleeve as she laughs. You donât move. Jeonginâs fingers twitch against his glass, then still.
Then, clear across the room "So⊠are you single?"
Hyunjin chokes on his drink.
Jeongin blinks, caught off guard. For a second, he looks like he might laugh it off, might deflect like he used to when strangers flirted with him at bars back when you were just friends. But then his gaze flicks to you and his posture shifts.
"No," he says, quieter than usual. "Iâm engaged."
Crypto girlâs eyebrows shoot up. "Really? I wouldnât have guessed."
Before she can say more, youâre crossing the room, setting your beer down on the table beside Jeongin with a clink. "What wouldnât you have guessed?" you ask, voice light.
Jeongin exhales, something close to relief. His fingers find yours without hesitation "That Iâm taken," he says, squeezing your hand.
Crypto girlâs smile falters. "Ah. My bad." She retreats with a half hearted salute, already scanning the room for someone else to talk to.
Jeongin watches her go, then turns to you, sheepish. "Sorry."
"Youâre apologizing for existing attractively now?" you tease, bumping his shoulder.
He rolls his eyes, but his thumb traces circles over your knuckles. "Shut up."
a/n: I hope at least one person gets all the lyrical references I made in this or I might just cry
Bang Chan has a way of making everything feel lighter, softer, and just a little dangerous. A touch, a glance, a whispered word â itâs enough to send your heart racing and make the world fade away. Between soft kisses, playful teasing, and intimate moments that leave you breathless, being with him is a rush you canât resist.
Day 5 / masterlist stray-kids
Warnings:
Soft smut / mild sexual content
Fluff + intimate touches
Light language / teasing
Inspired by:"so high-Doja Cat"
The city hums outside, a distant symphony of car horns and neon lights that barely filters through the thick curtains of Chanâs apartment. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow from a single lamp in the corner, casting long shadows that dance across the walls. Youâre sprawled on his couch, one leg tucked under you, the other dangling lazily over the edge. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the airâsomething warm and musky that mixes with the faint trace of the takeout you both devoured earlier. The remnants of it sit on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of the moment unfolding between you.
Chanâs lounging at the other end of the couch, one arm slung over the back, his head tilted slightly as he watches you. His black hoodie is slightly rumpled, sleeves pushed up to reveal the veins snaking down his forearms, and his dark hair falls messily over his forehead. Thereâs a glint in his eyesâplayful, a little dangerous, like heâs up to something and knows youâre already caught in his orbit. Youâre pretending to scroll through your phone, but youâre hyper-aware of every move he makes, every shift in his posture. The air feels thick, charged, like the calm before a lightning strike.
âYouâve been quiet for, like, ten whole minutes,â he says, his voice low and teasing, cutting through the quiet. Itâs smooth, like heâs strumming a chord that resonates in your chest. âWhatâs up? You plotting something over there?â
You glance up, catching the smirk tugging at his lips. âMe? Plotting?â you say, raising an eyebrow. âIâm just sitting here, minding my business. Youâre the one looking like trouble.â
He laughs, a soft, breathy sound that makes your stomach flip. âTrouble? Nah, Iâm an angel,â he says, but the way his eyes linger on you, dark and intent, tells a different story. He shifts closer, just enough that his knee brushes against yours, and the contact sends a spark skittering across your skin.
âAngel, huh?â you murmur, setting your phone down on the coffee table. You lean forward, closing the gap between you, your voice dropping to match his. âThen why do I feel like Iâm about to get into trouble?â
His smirk widens, and he tilts his head, studying you like youâre a puzzle heâs dying to solve. âMaybe âcause you like it,â he says, voice dipping lower, a playful challenge woven into every word. âAdmit itâyouâre into the chaos.â
You donât answer right away, letting the tension build. Instead, you shift closer, your knee pressing against his thigh now, deliberate. His eyes flicker down to the point of contact, then back up to meet yours, and the air feels heavier, electric. âMaybe I am,â you say softly, your lips curving into a smile. âBut only âcause itâs you.â
Something shifts in his expressionâsomething softer, warmer, but still edged with that teasing spark. He reaches out, his hand finding your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The touch is gentle, but it lights you up, sending a shiver racing down your spine. âYouâre gonna make me lose my mind, you know that?â he murmurs, his voice husky, like heâs confessing a secret.
Before you can respond, he leans in, closing the distance. His lips brush yours, soft and tentative at first, like heâs testing the waters. But the moment you kiss him back, itâs like a dam breaks. The kiss deepens, slow but hungry, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. Your heartâs pounding, a wild, erratic beat that echoes in your ears, and every nerve in your body feels alive, buzzing with the heat of him. He tastes like mint and something faintly sweet, maybe the soda he was sipping earlier, and itâs dizzying, like youâre spiraling into a haze you donât want to escape.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing a little harder. His thumb traces slow, lazy circles on the side of your neck, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. âYou good?â he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
âMore than good,â you whisper, your voice shaky but honest. Your hands are resting on his chest now, and you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palms, grounding you even as your head spins.
He grins, that boyish, heart-stopping smile that always makes you weak. âGood,â he says, pressing a quick, soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. ââCause Iâm just getting started.â
You laugh, the sound light and breathless, and swat at his chest playfully. âYouâre such a tease,â you say, but thereâs no heat in itâjust affection, warmth. He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers, and tugs you gently until youâre straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the couch on either side of him. His hands settle on your hips, steady and warm, and the way he looks at youâlike youâre the only thing in the world that mattersâmakes your chest ache in the best way.
âTease, huh?â he says, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear. âSays the one whoâs been driving me crazy all night.â His hands slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. The touch is light, but itâs enough to make your breath hitch, to make your skin prickle with heat.
âChan,â you murmur, half warning, half plea, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.
âWhat?â he teases, leaning in to brush his lips against your jaw, soft and fleeting. âYou can handle me, right?â
You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. His lips trail lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, his breath warm against your skin. Itâs gentle, unhurried, but it sends a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair as you tug lightly. He hums against your neck, the vibration making your pulse race, and you can feel his smile against your skin.
âYouâre too good at this,â you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, gripping lightly as his lips move along your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.
âOnly âcause itâs you,â he says, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, everything slows. The city outside fades to nothing, the soft hum of the lamp the only sound in the room. His eyes are dark, intense, but thereâs something soft in them too, something that makes your heart stutter. âYou have no idea what you do to me,â he adds, quieter now, like itâs a secret meant just for you.
You donât know what to say to that, so you donât say anything. Instead, you lean in, kissing him again, slower this time, savoring the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands tighten on your hips like heâs anchoring himself to you. His fingers slip under your shirt again, tracing the curve of your spine, and every touch feels like a spark, igniting something deep in your core. Itâs not frantic, not rushedâjust a slow, consuming heat that builds with every brush of his lips, every glide of his hands.
Your hands roam too, slipping under his hoodie to find the warm skin of his back, your fingers tracing the lines of muscle there. He makes a low sound in his throat, half groan, half sigh, and it sends a thrill through you, knowing youâre getting to him just as much as heâs getting to you. His lips find yours again, and this time the kiss is deeper, hungrier, but still soft, still controlled, like heâs savoring every second of it.
When you finally pull back, both of you are flushed, breathing a little heavier. He rests his forehead against your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin as he lets out a quiet laugh. âYouâre gonna be the death of me,â he mutters, but thereâs no real complaint in itâjust a smile, warm and real.
You grin, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly to make him look at you. âWorth it, though,â you say, your voice soft but playful.
He lifts his head, eyes sparkling as they meet yours. âYeah,â he says, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. âDefinitely worth it.â
And as you sit there, tangled together in the quiet of his apartment, the world outside nothing but a distant hum, you canât help but feel itâthis rush, this warmth, this high. Itâs not just the way he touches you, the way he kisses you like heâs memorizing you. Itâs himâChan, with his teasing smiles and steady hands, his quiet sincerity and playful edge. Heâs not a drug, but god, heâs got you soaring, and you never want to come down.
vale how are you my sweetie ?? à«ź âžâžoÌŽÌ¶Ì·á· Â·Ì o̶̷̎̄ᷠâžâž àŸàœČá
IM CRYING MY EYES OUT OMGOMG
THE BOYS ARE COMING TO MY CITY WHAT THE HEEEEEEELL
it feels so unreal, like duuuude whaaaat. when i read the post i was in public and i let out a scream so embarrassing but OMG
there IS NOT a way to express this, I'm so happy and so scared for the ticket lines but whatever, you have no idea how happy I am!! I don't even know if I'm correctly writing this but anyways.
thank u soooooo much for asking baby, how r u? how is life going?
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