#it was a like a weigh lifted off my chest istg

[divinely-yourz]

it was the best thing when i accepted that i am exactly like other girls

[yinandyangyang]

locked and loaded | chan

“Is that blood?” “... No.” 

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: gangmember!chan, emr!reader

A/N: you guys stop making me soft for chan istg, i was just fine with my bias a woojin and bias wrecker as lee know but oof. y’all be wrecking my feels with some major bang chan up in here. thanks for requesting, lovely!

requests - open | drabble prompts here (x)

The sound of rapid, almost drunk knocking sounded at your door. Reluctantly pausing the most current episode you were on, you shoved the blanket off your legs and cast a careless glance at the angry red of the electronic clock sitting on your bedside table. 

It was 02:27 in the morning. A irritated sigh passed your lips. There was only one person that could be. 

“Chan...” you groaned, pressing a single palm over forehead in disbelief. You didn’t have to say anything else. Layers upon layers of exhaustion weighed your shoulders down and the deep rings around your eyes had you almost regretting opening the door. The devilishly handsome young man had the nerve to shoot your a smile from his heavy stance against your door frame. 

“y/n...” he hummed back, lips caressing the syllables of your name coyly. You bristled visibly at the sound. How could your name slide so smoothly, enticing you from the mouth of a criminal? “I’ve missed you.” 

I haven’t, you wanted to spit, tired tears grabbing at the corner of your eyes as your bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. We broke up 2 years ago and yet you still insist on coming back to me. Why?

“As expected then.” The words were forced out of your throat, hollow, dry. Fake. “Why are you here?” 

“I wanted to see you,” Chan answered simply, pulling his face mask off completely before moving closer to you. You took a step back without hesitation, not bothering to note the hurt in his dark eyes. 

“No,” you murmured, almost inaudibly. At once, you turned your back towards the man you knew loved you just as much as you loved him. Before the break happened, you thought you had known your sweet boyfriend. Chan was respectful. Chan was sincere. Chan was strong. Chan was reliant. Chan was loyal. 

All that changed when your realized how different he was from the suspiciously perfect facade he put up. When you found out his association with gangs and underground dealings, you stopped seeing him immediately. 

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop him from coming to see you. And if you had picked up anything about him over the unexpected - visit - laden - last two years, you knew Chan was hungry. 

Making your way into the dimly lit kitchen, you pulled out a pot, a packet of ramen, and chocolate milk. Yes. Chan preferred chocolate milk when he came over. 

“You only ever come to me if you need something. Never social visits.” 

Unfazed by your weak attempts of push him away, Chan removed his scuffed shoes and followed you into what was once your shared apartment, ghost of a smile still lingering on his swollen lips. 

“Well,” he smiled, sliding cautiously into the counter seat by the stove, barely able to hide the grimace that shot through his body at the sharp movement. “You wouldn’t be completely wrong.” 

At once, you stilled. Your eyes had been traveling over his slouched figure, carefully noticing the stiffening in his form when he pulled himself onto the stool. Chan was always careful. You knew that. But the more you studied him, you realized that dark spot gliding from the tip of his right collarbone to his right shoulder was not sweat or water. 

“Bang Chan,” you whispered. The male reaching towards the ramen in your hand froze. “Is that blood?” 

“...No.” 

Ramen forgotten, you shook yourself from your stupor and rushed past him to get your first aid kit. 

“Chris Bang, you imbecile, you uncultured swine, you deathly attractive hunk...” The string of curses fell from your lips while you hunted through the bathroom cabinet for that dreaded box. “Chris, your shirt better be off by the time I get back over there. You are not allowed to walk around my apartment with an open wound.” 

Your ex complied wordlessly, shirt torn from his pale skin. By the time you had found your kit, Chan had set himself up on the kitchen floor like usual. Lithe legs crossed at the knees, light hair pushed back lazily to reveal his near perfect features, discarded shirt already soaking in the sink. 

The gash running from his collar bone to his shoulder wasn’t the only one there. Pale pink scars ran all over his lean torso, tattooing him for life. Tears burned at your eyes for the second time that night and you tore your gaze away from his chest to pull on a pair of gloves. Why had you left him? What had you really gained from the break besides sadness?

“Like what you see, Princess?” Chan breathed lightly. The scowl found your lips once more and you pressed the alcohol swab roughly against his skin, perhaps more so than necessary. A rough hiss tore the cocky smirk away from his features. Though not blatantly obvious, pain swam in his dark eyes and a light sheen of sweat covered his chest. 

“Hardly. I hate it,” you scoffed, rubbing the tears away from your eyes. “I hate it.” 

The words came more easily now and the bitter tears ran down your cheeks in rivulets. “I hate it,” you spat. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

Angry tears fell from your eyes yet you continued on, oblivious, cleaning his wound with an unusually firm hand. The most inhuman sound - a mixture between a choked sob and a pained cry - burst forth from your lips and as if one instinct, Chan lifted a hand to your face, swiping your tears away with the softest touch imaginable. Behind the veil of your tears, you could see his eyes. 

There was that look, again. The look where all you could feel was the love in his gaze and all those unspoken words, praises, affirmations. And it only made you cry harder. You didn’t deserve that love. You were the one who left him anyways, you thought, trying in vain to convince yourself. 

But as you placed the last butterfly closure over the ugly laceration, Chan���s hands covered yours both in gratitude and apology. 

“I’m sorry, y/n.” 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself kneeling between his legs, curled into his chest, sobbing your heart out. His arms found purchase around your quivering frame, lips pressed firmly to the side of your head right above your temple. 

Right, you thought bitterly to yourself, only clutching his firm body closer. He was constantly in danger, constantly putting his life on the life for reasons beyond you and you were afraid. Afraid of losing him. 

His life, his identity, his being... they all could have easily dissipated as quickly as that of a bullet from a barrel of a gun freshly fired. And that was why you left him. 

And why you couldn’t seem to take him back.