falling asleep in a time machine ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : mafia au; fluffy angst; hurt/comfort; female reader insert

❖ word count : 6,9k.

❖ warning : swearing, implied major character death, mention of arson, depictions of vomiting, killing, blood, death, can be brutal (!!!), delusional happy ending. 

❖ summary : four times you try to go back in time and save chan; or alternatively, you keep dreaming about chan to see if there is a way to undo his death when in reality there isn’t — from the world of illicit & priceless.

❖ author’s note : just finished my first term of uni (like actually the first term ever) and I’m so dead inside so here’s a silly little something. I can’t use pts anymore so pls bear with the banner *cries and dusts off this old blog* also I try to explain here why Chan was so attached and pissed off when mc stole his mother’s ring even though it’s accidental.

first attempt —

There are three missions that have altered the course of your and Chan’s relationship.

The first mission goes back to when you were still going on heists and Ryujin had foolishly put a piece of Chan’s mother’s sentiments into your pocket. Neither you nor Chan have come to know or like each other much before it.

The second one is the mansion with a bomb planted in the basement and Chan got locked inside a conference room with a three-layered door, one of them made from the same metal as the fucking Titanic. The third mission involves a casino where the Germans and Italians came together to push Chan toward a dead-end they had cultivated for the Devil himself, to his ultimate demise. They are all too arrogant to admit that Chan will take over the entirety of the East Asian market before any of them can start rolling in their graves.

Three missions of importance and not long after that, you and Chan have agreed to never go on a mission without each other. An unwritten contract. An unspoken promise. Nothing that the mafia engages in is legal so everything runs on trust, on how much faith you are willing to give those who you keep close.

However, there is a fourth mission that the Underworld records will fail to keep because even only a minuscule part of the Bang family is informed about this—how their precious heir has been summoned to bring home the girl he loves.

“Would you do laundry and taxes with me?”

「 lee minho, (god)father at 800 years old 」

⤷ from the world of ‘your heart & your headache, too.’

◦ tw : slight swearing, chaos that comes with babysitting, mc sort of passing out at the end (out of exhaustion and anger)

It’s Lee Minho’s first day on his job as a babysitter. He sounds stressed when you pick up the phone. 

“Y/N, what am I supposed to do with these little demons,” Minho says, he’s starting to sound near tears now. “I haven’t got any sleep for three days already.”

If you were nicer (less tired), you might ask him why and sit up to drive over to his place to help. You might even laugh because for someone like Minho, who used to and still exorcises demons for a living because he’s quite literally a god who was banished from Heaven, to call Hyunjin and Felix little demons and make no attempt to hide his fear for them is laughable. 

However, you spent the entirety of last night finishing marking all of the midterms for your professor’s psych course, fueled by sheer spite and caffeine. You think you might suffer from a heart attack if you move the slightest inch right now. 

“They won’t let me sleep yet somehow they still get more sleep than I do, how is that fair!!” Minho is on the verge of pleading for mercy, you can feel it.

“Sounds tough on your end,” you hum, curling up on the couch while Jisung makes popcorn in the kitchen. “Maybe lay down and take a nap?”

“Felix broke a light bulb and Hyunjin tried to glue it back together and now he’s got glass in his fingers—“

“Y/N!!!” Jisung’s voice is suddenly coming from the bathroom now. “There’s no more toilet paper on the roll!”

your heart & your headache, too ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : stray god (?) au; fluff; humor; angst; action

❖ word count : 9,6k.

❖ warning : swearing, mentions of violence, blood, injuries, stitches

❖ summary : a self-proclaimed god shows up at your door in the middle of the night for a place to stay. you let him and hope the unconventional encounter doesn’t become a regular thing. of course, it becomes a regular thing.

❖ sequel blurb : read it here!

❖ dedicated to @poutylino​ : happy birthday robi! i hope you’ll like this mess of a fic ♡

There is a stranger in your living room.

There is a stranger in your living room.

There is—holy shit...you need to call the cops.

“Out of the way,” the stranger spats calmly. 

“Show me your face.”

He is unfortunately very good-looking; the kind of face that all beings envy for God only has one favorite and that’s him, the kind of face that makes the most expensive diamond look dull in comparison, the kind that screams ‘tougher in body and nobler in heart than any creature in the world’ like any novel’s protagonist. Oh yeah, did you mention that he has a really nice physique too?

“I said, move.” He stumbles forward, heavy and inconsistent breaths.

In any case, he’s someone you’ve never met before in your life. Therefore, your brain is overworking itself to figure out what the fuck is going on (as if it’s not overworked on a daily basis already). One moment you were minding your own business on the couch and stressing over your homework. The next, there’s an explosion of light and there he was. Meaning, this absolutely skeptical, worthy-of-being-reported man can’t just expect you to simply move.

“Last time I checked, this is my living room, which you’re not supposed to be in,” you tilt your head curiously at his silhouette being cast on the white wall. “You should move.”

burn out the stars ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : college au; radio dj au; idiots to lovers au; traveling to another dimension au

❖ word count : 21k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of alcohol & infrequent fourth wall breaking 

❖ summary : will jisung stop hiding behind the shadow of J.One and confess his feelings for the girl he likes as han jisung and not the radio dj she’s deeply infatuated with?

❖ a/n : happy birthday, Jisung! thank you for being my Sun, Moon, stars and the sole reason why I’m constantly smiling at my phone like the biggest idiot ♡ please give this mess lots of love everyone :D

one.

Hwang Hyunjin can sleep through earthquakes. 

Han Jisung can’t relate. Not even after eight consecutive shots. 

Because when you kick his door open and place a single (very violent) stomp onto the carpet of his apartment’s living room, he’s already woken from his slumber, rolling on his side lazily to check what time it is. It’s Tuesday so  Hyunjin is probably off to dance practice. Which also means it’s Taco Tuesday and they’re going to ditch their low carb diet once again. 

Then, Jisung proceeds to go back to bed and buries himself deeper in his fuzzy blanket. His head hurts a little from those concoctions that he downed last night when Changbin threatened that their friendship is over if Jisung doesn’t finish those shots. 

God knows, god knows the poor boy was trying his best because the host ran out of orange juice for chasers. 

Jisung initially plans to actually go back to sleep but his eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling like a confused animal. Didn’t you just enter his apartment? Usually, you’d be barging into his room right away with Hyunjin’s megaphone (he doesn’t know why his friend has that either-) to drag his lazy ass out of bed. What’s taking you so long? 

Suddenly, a muffled conversation can be heard outside. And panic slowly rises inside his chest, causing him to jolt upright. Did someone break into his house?  Hyunjin didn’t give someone other than you the keys, did he?

“Jesus, does that lady always walk into your apartment out of nowhere?”

「 love someone back to life ↠ seo changbin 」

⤷  from the world of Countless Skies Upon Me

“Hey,” Changbin smiles sheepishly. “I got you flowers.”

He knows flowers and surprises weren’t your thing but still brings a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums. It’s a special occasion, after all, you wouldn’t mind. 

“And if you still absolutely hate me for this,” Changbin gets down on one knee and chuckles, the grass underneath still wet from the rain earlier. “It’s Minho’s idea, actually. You would love to see us being civil again.”

Sunlight cuts through the morning clouds, giving them almost a sepia tone, casting the gravestone before his eyes in that nostalgic hue. It’s not one that belongs to the rich, hunks made of marble with fancy gold lettering. 

The cold concrete ages slowly, unlike the bones that most likely have turned into nothing but sheer dust. In this place, Changbin can feel you’re so close yet so far away at the same time. His eyes stinge at the immediate thought. 

“I did it, Y/N. I forgave the bastard.”

Raw tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face and drenching the collar of his shirt. Changbin can feel the muscles of his chin tremble like a child, dropping the bouquet in his hand, knees growing weak. A tiny lapse lets him pull away, blinking lashes heavy with salty droplets before he collapses again as agony rips through his body. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his voice trembles “I should have saved you, I should have told you to stay back when we went to the dungeon but I- I..” 

Waves of pain cut off his words right there, making him shake unceasingly. Changbin sobs loudly in complete dead silence, feeling his spine go numb. He can never seem to stop this constant bitterness and urge to mourn whenever he kneels in front of your grave. And even one of the astutest warriors to graze this kingdom, he still feels more helpless than ever. 

But how can he not when you’re everywhere he goes, in everyone he sees? How can he escape the past when nightmares keep gnawing at his soul, creeping up inside to remind him that he can never bring you back? 

“I’ve become such a big crybaby,” Changbin mumbles. 

A whistle of wind passes by, drying the streaks of tears on his face. He clenches his eyes shut and gives in to the gentle touch of the breeze; it feels as though you’re caressing his face with a small “it’s fine this way” because knowing the person he is, he’d blame everything on himself. So Changbin smiles at your name being engraved on the concrete one last time, wipes his cheekbones with the back of his hand and stands up. 

“You know, I was going to offer you dinner but you’re looking pretty miserable already.”

“Shut up, Minho,” Changbin laughs a little at his friend’s remark, sniffling. “You’d be nibbling on stale bread every day without your girlfriend’s cooking.”

Minho corrects him with a raised eyebrow, “You mean my wife?”

“You guys act like an old married couple either way,” Changbin scoffs. “Married or not, same thing. And I don’t know about you but I’m going home.”

They say home is where your heart is but what if Changbin’s heart is buried six feet under the ground… with you?