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kaiso-woo · 1 year ago

Text

You Stayed.

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-> Masterlist

PART 12 of my ‘Stay Series’ - a long hypothesised journey of a relationship between Bang Chan and Reader.

WC: 3.5k | Synopsis: Absolute fluff overload, but this time you're home with your husband Chris and you're trying to get some chores done.

Reimagined from @lovehyyuntold's (Guien, pronounced Gwen) "-Fluttering Between the Dusts of Our Love" - credits to her, and a nightmare I had, for quite literally inspiring this entire series; her fic is basically the base of this entire part, I merely added a few things here and there and reworked it just a little to fit my writing style and the series, and yes I have permission to upload this - honour to whom honour is due.

Notes: Fluff OVERDOSE, Angst, Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, Idol!Chan, CaféOwner!Reader, Fem!Reader, Pet Names (Jagiya, Jagi, Baby, Babe, Love... etc.)

Here for a reading marathon? Head right back to the start!

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Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition - REFERENCE NEAR END

PART 12

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

“Hey hey- no!” You chide, clutching the laundry basket tighter to swiftly step away. “I just crave your affection,” he whines, his open hands grasping the air where you stood.

Your breath comes out as a huff, eyes rolling to the ceiling with a slight shake of your head. You scamper further from the bed as he scrambles closer, like a child longing for a bite of your ice cream. “I said no,” you continue, with a sharp wave of your finger, “I’m avoiding you for that very reason Chris.”

At your increased distance, he buries his face into the bed and writhes around like a worm, hands clinging desperately to the sheets, his next words adorably muffled. “We’ve been doing this for so long…”

Your lack of response causes him to sigh exasperatedly, and you watch as he picks himself up, grabs the nearest shirt by the edge of the bed and begins to fold it, carefully flattening out the creases. Admiration crinkles the corners of your eyes, irises twinkling as he pouts, a small smile creasing your features.

He’s moved onto one of your shirts now, and he folds it with a strange fondness, his hands gently placing it onto your pile; his actions soften your soul further. Your vision blurs as it disappears into your mind, a bubble of guilt emerging as you continue to gaze at him – an unsettling, heavy weight sinking into your gut.

His time with you is limited enough already, and you decide to fill it with chores? Your slight smile turns into a strained frown, and you swivel around to hide your displeasure, making your way to the laundry.

He’s a busy man. Too busy – but that was expected from a man with the entire kpop industry in the palm of his hands, an endless schedule of music production keeping him sprinting day and night. The group had extended their contract for a little longer, deciding to bask in their success for as long as they could; and you knew it pained him that it restricted his time with you.

And yet, he didn’t complain when you asked him for help. Okay, sure, he whined and teased, but you knew he wasn’t genuinely upset, just clingy. It would have been much more difficult to soldier through the chores if it weren’t for him, especially when every particle of dust could become a bunny, silently keeping to the shadows. It wasn’t exactly your faults when your careers were the overwhelming priority of your lives right now.

From breakfast to noon this cleaning fest had occurred, and the both of you were witnesses to the sun’s bright glow – it’s soft hue of gold glimmering into orange rays through the window. You were witnesses to the slight whistle of the wind slipping past the curtains.

Witnesses, and nothing more.

Your mind numb to your environment, you hadn’t noticed the heat radiating off the recently dried clothes. It wasn’t until you stepped back into your room, eyes falling to your husband, who’s back is now turned to you (still folding clothes diligently), that the heat catches your attention.

You shift your fingers uncomfortably, eager to put the basket down, but halt as an idea formulates in your mind, eliciting a small giggle. It would be karma, for Chris distracting you each time a new chore was started.

You tiptoe further into the room, creeping over to him, eyes trained on his movements. He’s muttering something to himself, no doubt related to his work, as he folds more clothes. You struggle to contain your laughter by this point, so there’s no doubt that he hears you. As expected, he turns around at the last second, effectively colliding with the laundry basket as you dump the clothes upon his figure.

Plan failed, but still successful anyways.

“Hot!” He hisses, flinching at the contact, “You cheeky little shit.” Chris reacts violently by reaching for you, an arm snaking around your waist almost instinctively.

Your malfunctioning reduces your reaction time, clutching your stomach as you wheeze with joy. The second you realise however, you wrangle his arm from your waist and wriggle away.

“Oh no you don’t!” He barks, stretching out further to snatch at your clothes. Your eyes widen as he tugs you roughly, causing you to stumble straight into his arms and topple both of you onto the piles of clothing scattered around the bed.

“How was that allowed, yet me offering my love to you earlier wasn’t?” He hums, his tone accusing as he burrows his head into the crook of your neck, spooning you as you try to wiggle out of his grip. This was to no avail however, as his arms tighten with each attempt – prey. You had become the prey writhing under the hold of a coiling snake; one so close to being devoured, should the escape fail.

“It’s allowed! It doesn’t count!” You squeak, courtesy of his mouth nibbling slightly on your ear, nose rubbing the back of your head, “And besides- I wasn’t showing you love or being a distraction really- Chris! That tickles! Stop-”

Far from obeying your request, he continues his antics towards the back of your neck, peppering it with kisses and occasional marks – tongue swiping here and there.

“Don’t resist… it’ll only get worse if you do,” he whispers calmly. (A/N: I had to roll over and scream into my pillow when I read this line of dialogue in Guien's work istg.) His breath caused goosebumps to arise on your skin, his fingers circling on your stomach eliciting a minute shiver. After a slight squeeze of your thigh, he switches up your positions, swiftly moving his legs to your sides, trapping you below him – smiling, he places his forehead on yours.

“I can think of plenty of other ways I can show you love,” he chuckles, gently kissing your nose. “You cheeky little-” “-shit?” He interjects swiftly, his thumb lazily caressing your cheek, eyeing your lips a little too obviously. (A/N: Writing my characters likes this is not fair to me, because there is no way anyone is ever gonna be this smooth with me.)

Perhaps he had managed to stun you into silence, or maybe (this was definitely the more valid reason), you’re too busy admiring him to respond. Curls of molasses fall down slightly, the sun’s gaze highlighting pure contentment written across his features. His eyelids are scrunched in adoration, his tender love spoken in the sigh against your lips – breaths lingering in a kiss that never occurred.

Eventually, you manage to choke out a response, gaze attached to the pure bliss that are his dark eyes - “We have chores Christopher.”

He lies both his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face beneath his grasp, and softly plants another kiss on your forehead. The infinite care with which he handles your head, as if you were the most fragile thing in existence, causes your heart to melt.

This feeling must have been expressed on your face, or maybe you are enough reason for him to smile again, eyes sparkling with an indescribable joy. He chuckles again, but this time the feeling is different – it’s like warm caramel next to a vanilla cake… that’s sitting beside a hot chocolate by the fireplace (A/N: ThAt MakEs nO SenSe, I’m sorry, but yeah!), as he begins to place kiss after careful kiss wherever he can, exploring the body he has already ingrained into the depths of his soul.

“I.” A kiss on your eyelid. “Can.” Kisses for your cheeks. “Never.” A kiss on your lips, biting delicately as if his desire could be explained through the action. “Get.” One below your earlobe. “Enough.” Another on your jaw, more as he ventures to your neck – dragging out the end of each word. “Of.” Collar bones now, painfully taking his sweet time as he descends to your chest and remains there, grabbing your left hand.

His gaze bores into you as your eyes flutter open, and he must’ve looked ravished for you – there was no doubt in the world that he was in dire need for love. Your love. He’s grown absolutely frantic without-

“You.” Finally, he plants a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Christopher,” you whisper, grabbing onto his arms – somehow you had almost forgotten how obsessively rough they’ve gotten. “You say my name like that ever again and I am not at fault for what happens next,” he mumbles back, the side of his lips curling up, holding onto you tightly – the space between you disappearing as he pulls your body closer. (A/N: I am dead, Kaisowoo is dead - when I wrote this, I had to leave my room. Tell me he is not like that, go on. Tell me he does not have a name kink *coughs*.)

“The- the chores…” you stutter, internally smug at your effect on him, but still trying with all your power to stay on the right track. “Chores aren’t my priority my love. You are,” he chuckles, nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling heavily, drunk on simply just… you. As if they have their own mind, one of your hands curves around to his back, tenderly rubbing there, while the other tangles itself into his hair.

“I’m off tomorrow,” he murmurs, abruptly causing you to cease your ministrations, and your body stiffens at the news. He pecks your neck with a chaste kiss, never leaving his burrowed position, and you slowly resume your affectionate drawings on his back and tangling of his hair.

You knew he was scheduled to leave for a tour tomorrow. He told you months prior and hadn’t mentioned it again – but the date was engraved in your mind regardless. It was torturous, but he didn’t have a choice.

He chose this as his career, and these responsibilities and sacrifices came with it. Besides, his boys need him. He needs them. They rely on each other, care for each other – and all you could do, and will do, is support him. If you didn’t… you weren’t deserving of his love.

In the silence, the world around you crumbles, piece by piece, each slipping moment sending a fraction of your mind, your heart, tumbling into a darkness; the upcoming loneliness and longing for him due to his absence arriving early – even though he’s snug in your arms. His ability to casually sneak this into conversation dumbfounds you; too casual, especially when you grow miserable beyond compare without him.

Your minds at that moment must have been wired together however, so attune to each other’s thoughts; the following conversation reminds you that you aren’t the only one in pain.

“It hurts,” his whisper shatters the remaining fractures of your heart, and your eyes begin to sting with the threat of tears. “What hurts?” You croak, fingers now gently massaging the back of his skull. You ask this even though you know what the answer is.

“My wife – how I miss you,” he whispers, lathering you with more kisses, still refusing to abandon the warmth of your neck, “I barely get to spend any time with you anymore. Do you know how devastated I am whenever I arrive home, and you’re either asleep or at work?”

You can feel the frown forming on his lips, and he holds you tightly as the seconds trickle, as if worried you will disappear if he doesn’t. “Baby please. There’s no need to be devastated,” you clarify, understanding how much his job truly meant to him – knowing how much your own job meant to you.

“We both know it’s not your fault… and it’s not mine either. Also I literally work downstairs,” you go on, moving your hand down to caress the back of his neck and disappear underneath his shirt slightly, his warmth flowing onto your skin, “I know it’s not the same, but sometimes, we aren’t able to spend time with each other. We’re both busy people, especially you. And that’s okay. It’s why instead, we cherish these moments.”

He jolts up, and your hands are forced to abruptly shift comfortably to around his neck. His eyes are wide as they drill into yours, and your eyebrows furrow quizzically. When he says nothing, you begin to try and get back to chores once more.

“Now, let’s-” your sentence is cut short by a hearty giggle. Chris grabs your legs and wraps them around his abdomen, “What’re you- ah!” You squeal, clinging tighter to his neck. Deftly, he secures his hands around your waist and shuffles you both to the top of the bed, onto the pillows, where he gingerly lays you down again.

He hesitates not a second before he extricates himself from you and lifts your shirt to reveal your stomach. “Christopher Bahng! Stop it!” You screech, as he nuzzles his head into your stomach, disappearing underneath your shirt, continuously placing kiss after kiss.

“Mmhmm… not happening sweetheart,” he presses a longer kiss to your skin, and you understand everything he wishes to convey in that moment, he doesn’t need any words. “It’s cosy down here,” he sighs, carefully tucking his arms underneath you – clingy.

At this point, the only way you can think to overpower him is by tickling, and eventually you manage to reposition yourself on top of him, straddling his chest (amidst his cursing and begging you to play fair – which was inconsiderate, considering he literally never did). You yank the pillow out from underneath his head and pretend to suffocate him with it. His mocking screams for help eventually satisfy you, and you chuck the pillow to the side.

“That was mean,” he pouts, and you don’t resist the urge to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, “That was really mean,” he grins and you offer one more kiss on the lips to apologise, “What if I said that was really really mean?”

You raise your eyebrows and boop his nose with a shake of your head and a quiet chuckle, before you relax on top of him, clinging like a koala to your special tree. He sighs dramatically and whispers, more to himself than anything, “Worth a shot,” then proceeds to hum to a slowed tune of one of Stray Kids’ songs, “Silent Cry”.

After a minute of silence and Chris’ peaceful lullaby, he grabs your chin softly and tilts your face up to gaze at him. “I love-” he begins, but your hand darts up to his mouth to stop him.

“I love you. You don’t even understand how much I love you. If I could pluck every single flower in this world, I would do so. I would spend my hours, my days, my years, taking the time to pick every single one, just for you.”

His eyes widen and his breath tickles the palm of your hand, but you continue, “Sometimes I don’t deserve your love. Your love cannot compare to- to anything- to-” you begin to break down as the thought of him leaving you trespasses your thoughts again and Chris’ eyes soften. Carefully, he pulls your hand away from his mouth, but only enough so he can pepper your palm with soft kisses.

“You know… that’s something that I’m supposed to say.” He chuckles. “Yeah? Well too bad, I said it,” you smile at him, as he wipes away the stray tear on your cheek. “God you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, gazing at you as though for the first time in his life. (A/N: I swept my own breath away, the suddenness of his words, my lord.)

“Language,” you quietly whisper back. “Shut up you,” he grumbles, pulling you down to hug him again, “Who made you my wife?” “Bang Chan did,” you laugh, the sound causing a small smile to quirk his lips.

“Why’d he do that?” He moans, rolling his eyes mockingly. “Because he loves me?” “That’s right darling. I love you. I fucking love you. And I would gladly fuck-”

You cut him off before he gets the chance to start anything again, “I love you too Chris.” His eyes twinkle as he watches you snuggle into him further, hiding the stain blooming across your face.

He wishes, more than anything, that you understand the weight of those words. It’s his desperation, his goal, to make sure that you never live without knowing his love.

I love you too, Chris. I love you too.

In this moment, all worries have been forgotten – temporarily of course. There will come a time when you wake up the next day to the sound of him shuffling around, gathering his things before he leaves. There will come a time, where you cling to his arm at the airport, unwilling to let him go, despite his efforts to prise you from him.

There will come a time when he smiles at you brightly and offers a final wave, but then pulls down his beanie to cover his eyes, shimmering with salty tears as he turns away, leaving you struggling to deal with visibly seeing him in pain.

In this moment… however, it is currently 2.23pm. Your chores have been forgotten – the piles of clothes laying dejectedly on the bed, the dust bunnies breeding for all you care, because it’s just you, and your husband, frozen in a capsule of time, drifting off into sleep, and there’s no place you’d rather be.

-- from here on, it is completely my own writing

You wake to the smell of sizzling food, and in a moment of dazed sleepiness, struggle to comprehend the lack of warmth by your side. It takes you even longer to process the lack of clothes on the bed, and dimly struggle to recall if you managed to finish folding them earlier.

The curtain has been pulled shut, leaving the room in darkness, and with a slight moan you roll over to check the time on the digital clock by your bedside.

7.56pm.

“Chris?” You call out, tumbling out of bed and haphazardly dashing straight towards the only source of light you can see – the kitchen. As soon as you stumble into the room his eyes snap up to meet yours, lowering the knife he was using to focus his attention on you.

Your breath hitches as a memory, unbidden, returns to you. A bridge. A railing. An idiot draped in black, his eyes sparking in shock at the sight of you, then relaxing as though he understands, and has complete control over… everything… in his life.

“Hey honey, you okay? Did you have a good sleep?” You blink slowly at him, trying to string your thoughts together and remind yourself that he’s not like that anymore.

“Yes. I- did you fold all the clothes?” You waddle over and eye the food he’s preparing, obviously for dinner. “Mhm,” he hums, returning to his vegetables.

“You didn’t do anything else did you?” You question, turning to wash your hands in the sink. Chris doesn’t respond, so you prompt him again, “Chris?” “No.”

Lies.

“What else did you do Chan?” He sighs, knowing that the use of his alternate name means you’re not playing anymore, and scrapes the vegetables into a bowl effortlessly, “I vacuumed the apartment, tidied the studio, decluttered the office and pulled the weeds out of the garden.”

You slowly turn the tap off, a familiar bubble of guilt sidling into your stomach. He did all that while you slept? You slide over to him and tap his shoulder demandingly, “Let me finish up here, what are you cooking?”

He glances at you, but refuses to move out of the way, diligently moving on to the next set of vegetables. You huff impatiently, then duck underneath his arms and wriggle your way in between, carefully easing the knife out of his grasp.

“What are you cooking?” You ask again, over the top of his amused laughter. “You’re so cute,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his head on your shoulder, swaying slightly to a non-existent tune.

“I won’t be cute in a minute if you don’t tell me what you’re cooking.” You hiss, which only causes him to laugh more. “A dish you don’t know the recipe for,” he responds haughtily, to which you roll your eyes. “I know every single dish you’ve ever cooked.”

“Not your favourite dish; the one my Mum makes. We’ve never shown you how to make that,” he giggles, before he picks you up bridal style, causing you to yell and dangerously wave around the knife. He dumps you onto the couch in the living room and plucks the knife from your hands.

“How’s this? I’ll finish cooking, you can clean the kitchen after,” he places a kiss on your forehead and makes to return to the kitchen, but just as he’s about to disappear, pops his head back around again, “Find a movie to watch love and we can eat together, yeah?”

After a disgruntled sigh and a moment in which your gaze lingers over where he was, you scramble for the remote and flick on the TV, scrolling to find what you know to be his favourite movie.

I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

And I miss you already…

Four and a half years ago you had pulled him away from certain death.

What if… you hadn’t?

Thank fuck you did.

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-> PART 13 -> Masterlist

A/N: Thank you Guien, for inspiring this incredible writing journey :D

Feedback is always appreciated, negative and positive alike. I apologise for any editing errors, I’m forever learning.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

#go and check out lovehyyuntold's acc right now >:(#bang chan x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fic #christopher chan bang #stray kids fanfic #skz