#chansbrook

Warning: reader being depressed, stray kids trying to “cheer” her up, clingy and childish I.N, etc

Note: Again, this is a dark, fictional take on a yandere scenario. It explores obsession and control, which are not healthy behaviors in real life. Please remember that Stray Kids, or anyone in reality, would never act this way. This is purely for entertainment within the boundaries of fiction. If themes like manipulation, obsession, or disappearance make you uncomfortable, it’s okay to skip this one. Take care of yourself first.

Summary: Things are even more unhinged because nothing screams “healthy coping” like eight men treating one girl like she’s oxygen.

The dorm had grown… quieter. Too quiet. Darling still wore that haunted look, the grief in her eyes sharp enough to cut glass. She was eating less, smiling less, pulling her sleeves down over her hands like maybe she could disappear into the fabric.

The boys hated it.

Chan started micromanaging her day—when she woke, when she ate, when she rested. His gentle tone never faltered, but the leash he kept around her life grew shorter with every sunrise.

Felix filled every silence with his sunshine voice, giggling in her ear, cooking her favorite foods. But behind those bright eyes, he was screaming. Screaming because how dare she look so broken over someone else.

Minho’s patience wore thin. One night, he cornered her in the kitchen, voice low. “Do you miss him? More than us?” His smile was sharp enough to slice skin. “Careful how you answer.”

Seungmin sat at her side whenever she cried, tilting her chin up, whispering, “He’s gone. We’re here. Don’t insult us by clinging to a ghost.”

I.N became clingy—childish almost—resting his head on her shoulder, grabbing her wrist whenever she tried to walk away. “Don’t look sad. I’ll cry too. Do you want to see me cry?”

Han cracked nervous jokes, but his hands shook when he handed her water. The fear in his laughter wasn’t for her sadness—it was that she might one day realize the truth.

Hyunjin painted her face one afternoon, his brush gentle against her cheek. “See? Beautiful again. Stop mourning him. It ruins the masterpiece.”

And Changbin… Changbin simply wrapped his arms around her, caging her in, his breath warm against her hair. “Forget him,” he murmured, almost pleading. “You belong here. With us.

Warning: Yandere themes, Kidnapping/confinement, Obsession/possessiveness, Manipulation & Gaslighting, also reader referred to as Jackson’s girlfriend

Notes: This is a work of fiction and does not reflect the real Jackson Wang. The following contains dark/yandere themes meant purely for storytelling purposes. Please read responsibly and know your comfort levels before continuing.

Summary: At midnight, his girlfriend thought she finally had her chance to slip away, creeping toward the door with freedom in her grasp. But Jackson was already awake, leaning in the shadows with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He caught her easily, pulling her back into his arms, reminding her in a voice equal parts soft and dangerous that no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t going anywhere—because she was his.

The house wasn’t just quiet — it felt aware. Like the walls knew you were sneaking across the floor. Jackson’s arm had been thrown over your waist all night, warm and heavy, but you’d finally managed to slip out from under it. Your toes barely made a sound on the wood as you crept toward the door, every nerve screaming go.

You were two seconds from the lock when a voice floated through the dark. Low. Amused. Awake.

“Where you running to, baby?”

Jackson was leaning against the doorframe you’d been reaching for, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess from sleep but eyes glinting like polished glass. He hadn’t even raised his voice — it was soft, teasing — but it stopped you dead like a hand around your throat.

He stepped closer, each movement slow and deliberate, like a lion playing with something that had tried to escape the cage. “You thought you could just walk out on me?” he asked quietly, tilting his head. “Middle of the night? No shoes?”

He reached you before you could retreat, one hand bracing the wall beside your head, the other sliding around your waist. His smile looked boyish, but his grip was iron. “I’m not mad,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I just don’t like being lied to. You tell me you’re mine, then you try this?”

Warning: implied stalking, Chaotic Tarzzan, unhealthy behavior, obsession, “Romantic” intensity, etc

Note: i’m new to this so if there’s any spelling errors, don’t come for me.

(Arta is NOT a real person just an OC)

Summary: Their not dating yet, but Tarzzan is down bad and absolutely determined to make Arta his.

He sees her once. That’s all it takes.

Backstage at Inkigayo, Tarzzan is drinking water, sweat still slick on his neck from ‘ALLDAY PROJECT’ explosive performance. He’s too hyped to sit down, too wired to think straight—until she passes him.

Arta. Main dancer of UNIS. Silky brown hair pulled up, lip gloss shimmering like a death sentence, stage makeup still clinging to her like warpaint.

His heart implodes.

He stares after her like she hung the moon. Then the stars. Then hand-picked the entire galaxy just so it could orbit her. “Who is that?” he breathes out loud, voice almost trembling.

Bailey laughs, thinks he’s joking. “That’s Arta. Don’t even try, she’s cold as hell.”

Tarzzan doesn’t hear a single word. He’s already opening Instagram. Already clicking follow. Already texting his manager:

“Schedule every single show UNIS is attending. I want to breathe the same air.”

⸻

Stage interactions become intentional.

At first, it’s eye contact.

Then it’s waving.

Then it’s Tarzzan dropping his water bottle at Arta’s feet during pre-recordings and grinning like it’s fate.

Arta side-eyes him hard. But he doesn’t flinch.

“You blink a lot when you’re nervous,” he teases one day, cornering her near the vending machines. She scoffs.

“I blink because I have eyelids, freak.”

He falls harder.

⸻

The fans notice.

📸 Tarzzan seen clapping like a seal after UNIS’ performance.

📸 A blurry photo where it might be his hoodie slung around Arta’s shoulders after her outfit ripped post-show.

📸 A video where he mouths “mine” when she walks past.

DAYONE’S and EverAfter’s start shipping them. Hard.

#TarTa. #TarzanisWhipped. #ProtectArtaFromTarzzan

He lives for it.

He reposts fan edits of her on his stories. Adds captions like:

“angel.”

“don’t look at her, she’s allergic to ugly.”

“me when I see arta breathe: 😵‍💫”

UNIS fans start getting nervous. But Tarzzan? He gets bolder.

⸻

One night. Midnight. A rainy Seoul street.

Tarzzan shows up outside the UNIS dorm building. Umbrella in one hand, his hoodie in the other.

He texts her:

come down. pls. I’ll go crazy if I don’t see you.

Arta doesn’t reply for 5 minutes.

Then she walks out.

Hair up in a messy bun. Hoodie swallowing her frame. Barefaced, annoyed, beautiful.

“What do you want now?” she mutters, arms crossed.

“I think I’m obsessed with you,” he says. Dead serious. Eyes wild. “Like, mentally unwell. Like, write-a-song, steal-your-perfume, make-a-fanaccount-just-for-you obsessed.”

“…You’re not normal.”

“I’m not,” he admits. “But you still came.”

Arta opens her mouth to retort—but Tarzzan is already pulling her into a hug. Tight. Desperate. Like he needs to hold her to stay upright.

“I dream about you even when I’m awake,” he whispers against her neck. “And if I can’t call you mine soon, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

⸻

Bonus: Behind Closed Doors

Once they’re secretly dating, Tarzzan’s even worse.

• Buys her 8 phone cases. “Each one matches a different mood you have.”

• Leaves sticky notes in her makeup bag with notes like “I miss you” or “Saw a pigeon that looked like you. Beautiful. Cold. Judgy.”

• Throws hands with backup dancers who flirt too long.

• Has a private burner Twitter where he posts poetic thirst tweets like:

Warning: Mild Flirting / Teasing, Introversion & Social Anxiety Themes, Minor Power Imbalance, (Fame/Charisma) y/n is a female.

Note: Let me know if you want a part two where she finally speak up… or maybe he catches her watching him for once

Summary: A shy trainee just wants to go unnoticed—until her loud, flirty labelmate Tarzzan keeps showing up, breaking down her walls one late-night practice at a time.

Next

You liked the practice room at night. The lights were dimmer. The echo of your sneakers against the floor didn’t sound as sharp. No one asked you questions or commented on how quiet you were. It was peaceful.

So of course—he had to ruin it.

The door burst open like a scene from a drama, and in walked Tarzzan. Neon hoodie, baseball cap backwards, headphones hanging around his neck like an accessory instead of an actual tool.

“YO—oh,” he paused, seeing you in the middle of your freestyle.

You froze mid-spin, panic spiking through your chest.

“Ohhh, my bad,” he said, dramatically covering his eyes. “Didn’t know it was reserved for angels tonight.”

You blinked.

He grinned.

You turned back to the mirror, face burning, praying he’d leave.

But Tarzzan didn’t know how to leave. Not when he was interested.

⸻

The next time you saw him, it was in the building’s kitchen. You were quietly making tea when he leaned next to you, impossibly close.

“You’re like a little ghost,” he said, staring at your side profile. “Always floating around, barely speaking. Kinda cute.”

You nearly dropped the mug.

He laughed like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

⸻

It became a pattern.

You’d be practicing late, earbuds in, focused and determined—suddenly Tarzzan would slink in with a dramatic sigh.

“Guess I’ll just have to share a room with the prettiest girl in the company.”

You never responded. Not verbally.

But you did start wearing your hood up, trying to hide how red your ears got whenever he spoke.

⸻

And still, he kept coming.

Sometimes with snacks (“Trainees gotta stay alive, y’know?”), sometimes with dumb jokes, sometimes just to sit near you and hum while scrolling on his phone.

You didn’t understand why he wanted to be around you. You barely said more than three words per conversation. But that didn’t seem to bother him.

One night, he surprised you by not saying anything.

He just walked in, dropped a water bottle next to you, and plopped down against the mirror, stretching his long legs out. You caught glimpses of him watching you between moves.

Then, in a soft voice that didn’t match his usual energy, he said:

“You dance like you’re trying not to be seen.”

You paused.

“But I see you anyway.”

Your breath caught.

He offered you a lazy grin. “That freak you out?”

You nodded.

He laughed again, head tipping back.

“Good. I like girls who get flustered. Makes it easier for me to know I’m doing something right.”

Warning: Yandere behavior, (controlling) implied kidnapping/disappearance of a friend, Emotional manipulation & Gaslighting

Note: This is a dark, fictional take on a yandere scenario. It explores obsession and control, which are not healthy behaviors in real life. Please remember that Stray Kids, or anyone in reality, would never act this way. This is purely for entertainment within the boundaries of fiction. If themes like manipulation, obsession, or disappearance make you uncomfortable, it’s okay to skip this one. Take care of yourself first.

Summary: Your male best friend ends up disappearing with a trace

The ninth member of Stray Kids was their darling—literally. She could barely breathe without eight pairs of eyes following her, every laugh and every frown memorized like sacred scripture.

Then her friend went missing. Just some ordinary guy from outside the industry. She sat in the dorm living room with her hoodie pulled tight, scrolling his socials, face pale. “He didn’t even text goodbye…” she whispered

The boys exchanged silent glances.

Chan crouched in front of her, soft voice hiding steel. “You don’t need him. You have us.” His hand lingered on her knee, too firm to be comforting.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, smirking just enough to cover how thrilled he was. “Friends disappear. We don’t.”

Felix slid onto the couch beside her, his smile almost angelic. “You won’t even remember his name soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Meanwhile, Han tapped his phone like a madman, muttering, “He shouldn’t have been around you anyway. Too dangerous.” Dangerous, as in: for the guy.

The missing friend’s face stared back at her from a “last seen” post online. Her throat tightened. Tears welled up.

I.N knelt beside her and brushed them away, almost reverent. “Please don’t cry. We fixed it. For you.”

Seungmin chuckled low, the sound not matching the words. “What a shame he vanished, right? Almost like he never existed.”

Minho draped an arm across the back of the couch, eyes sharp. “We’ll keep you happy. You don’t need outside distractions.”

And Changbin, crouched at her other side, murmured, “Smile for us, darling. That’s all we want. Just stay with us forever.”

For context, Gyaru is a Japanese fashion subculture. The term gyaru is a Japanese transliteration of the English slang word gal. The term for gyaru was introduced in Japan by the American jeans company Lee, who introduced a new line of jeans to their brand Wrangler

💋✨“Too Gyaru for This Stage” — ALLDAY Project x Gyaru Reader

Note: Absolutely!

Summary: The sixth female member of ALLDAY Project, who proudly embraces the gyaru aesthetic — from her dramatic lashes to her tanned skin and bold fashion. It captures how others react to her vibe, especially idols who don’t quite get it… while she stays unbothered and iconic.

She stood out like a sequin in a sea of neutrals.

Bronzed skin. Platinum-blonde hair in loose, voluminous curls. Thick dolly lashes. Glossy lips with a perfect gradient pout. Her schoolgirl skirt was dangerously short, her socks were scrunched low, and her phone case dangled with plush keychains and rhinestones. Nails? Glossy, heart-tipped acrylics clacked every time she tapped her screen.

She was the sixth female member of ALLDAY Project, and she wasn’t just any girl —

She was Y/n.

Or as she called herself on Instagram: @gal.y/n/n.chan 💋

They were backstage at a music show, and even among idols, Y/n drew stares.

“Is she… wearing colored contacts?” a rookie idol whispered to their bandmate.

“She looks like an anime character,” another one mumbled behind a plastic water bottle.

Y/n caught it. She always caught it. She’d been catching it since middle school.

“Wanna take a pic?” she said without looking up, flipping her hair with a manicured hand. “I charge per blink.” She gave them a wink, then snapped a selfie — filter, tongue out, peace sign.

Bailey leaned over to Tarzzan. “I think I love her.“

Tarzzan, chewing gum, nodded. “She scares me. In a good way.”

The makeup staff didn’t know what to do with her at first. “Can we, um, tone down the lashes for the stage lighting?”

“Nope,” she chirped. “These babies are imported from Shibuya and blessed by gyaru ancestors.”

Woochan came over mid-touchup. “You always look like you walked off the set of a 2007 J-pop video.”

“Thank you,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

Youngseo tried to be polite, but even she was confused. “So… it’s like cosplay?”

Y/n slowly turned to her. “Did you just say cosplay?”

She froze.

She leaned in, smiling sweetly. “Honey, this is the lifestyle. I don’t play dress-up. I am the dress-up.”

Despite the whispers, side-eyes, and occasional “Is that allowed on Korean TV?” comments from other idol groups, Y/n never once flinched. She danced in platform boots. She spoke in a mix of cutesy Japanese and valley girl slang. And when fans first saw her fancam, they went feral.

[@ALLDAY_Miyu: Y/n slayed like a real gyaru queen 💅🔥

#She doesn’t fit in. That’s why she wins.]

Later, in the green room, as staff cleared away drinks and cords, Tarzzan whispered, “They all thought she was weird.”

Bailey grinned. “Now they’re copying her nails.”

Y/n was curled in a chair, mirror in hand, applying blush in little pink hearts under her eyes.

“I told you,” she said, not even looking up. “One day, they’ll all want to be like me. But by then, I’ll already be onto the next trend.”

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, Stalking & invasion of privacy, mentions of fear and paranoia, Implied kidnapping, Psychological manipulation

Notes: This is a work of fiction and does not reflect the real Heuning Kai. The following contains dark/yandere themes, including obsession, stalking, and psychological manipulation, meant purely for storytelling purposes. Please read responsibly and be aware of your comfort levels before continuing.

Summary: “Caught In His Web” follows a seemingly sweet Heuning Kai whose affection slowly becomes suffocating obsession. From small acts of care to invasive stalking, the story shows the chilling escalation of his yandere tendencies as the reader struggles with fear, confusion, and the realization that they are trapped in his intense attention. It’s a tense, psychological exploration of obsession and control, told from the victim’s perspective.

The first time you met Heuning Kai, it was like stepping into sunlight after a long night. He was tall, kind-eyed, and a little awkward—his laugh always a beat too long, his smile too genuine to doubt. He remembered your name after one introduction. He remembered your favorite drink after one conversation. He remembered your birthday without ever asking.

You thought he was sweet. That’s how it always starts, isn’t it?

⸻

At first, the gestures were harmless. A coffee waiting at your desk. Your phone charged when you swore you left it dying. That one time you got home late and your porch light flickered back on, you didn’t even question it. You assumed luck. But luck doesn’t hum your name like a prayer when you pass by.

Heuning Kai did.

You caught him one day—just outside your apartment building. He looked startled, holding a bag filled with groceries that weren’t his. Your groceries. The ones you meant to pick up. He smiled, that same soft, lopsided grin that used to make your heart melt.

“Thought I’d save you the trip,” he said, voice low and warm.

But his eyes… didn’t blink.

⸻

After that, things changed. Slowly, like a spider weaving silk around something fragile. You’d wake up to small gifts: a flower on your windowsill, your favorite snacks stacked neatly at your door, a note written in looping cursive:

“I hate when you forget to eat.”

When you asked him how he knew where you lived, his expression flickered—something dark slithering behind the soft boy facade.

“Why wouldn’t I know?” he murmured. “You’re important to me.”

You laughed it off. You shouldn’t have.

⸻

One night, you came home to find your door unlocked. Everything inside was neat—too neat. The air smelled like his cologne. You froze, staring at the tiny black camera tucked between your bookshelf and the wall.

Your hands shook as you ripped it out.

And then your phone buzzed.

Kai: Don’t do that.

Kai: I can see you.

⸻

He came to your place the next day. No knock. Just the sound of the lock turning, and then his voice—gentle, coaxing, almost pleading.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” he said, walking toward you as you backed away. “The world doesn’t deserve you. People stare at you, talk to you like they know you. They don’t. I do.”

“Kai, please—”

He smiled again, eyes wide and wet like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or laugh.

“Don’t say my name like that. You sound scared.”

You were.

But he reached out anyway, brushing your hair from your face with trembling fingers. His touch was careful—too careful, like he thought you might break.

“I’d never hurt you,” he whispered. “But if you keep running… I might have to.”

⸻

The police never found him after that. The apartment stayed empty for months, but sometimes, the lights would flicker on around midnight.

And if you listened closely—too closely—you’d swear you could hear him singing your favorite song from somewhere just outside the window.

Soft. Patient. Waiting.

Because spiders don’t chase what’s already caught.

Warning: Yandere behavior, possessiveness, psychological tension.

Note: a chilling blend of obsessive devotion, sudden shifts in tone, and that vivid tension that keeps you readers on edge!! (I also wrote this in class 😼)

Summary: An evening with Bang Chan turns sinister when he sees another guy’s name on your phone, becoming possessive, smashing your phone, and insisting you’re his before forcing you into unconsciousness.

You’d known Chan for years, and what started as casual hangouts—watching movies, sharing dinner, laughing at inside jokes—had become the best part of your day.

Tonight was like any other: you settled into his plush couch, the soft glow of his TV flickering across the room. He offered you your favorite snack without a word, just that familiar, comforting smile.

But then your phone buzzed.

You glanced over—and recognized the name. It was Jisung. Your heart fluttered. You hadn’t texted him in weeks, yet there it was.

“Who’s that?” Chan asked casually, leaning in—but his voice was too smooth. Too calm.

“Oh, just a friend.” You said lightly, picking up the bowl of popcorn.

Chan’s lips curled—but not with sweetness. With a slow, cold edge that made your skin crawl.

“A friend, huh?” He repeated, eyes narrowing. He rose and twisted the lights lower. The room felt smaller, shadows creeping over the walls.

You swallowed, gaze flicking from his expression to the door. Say “sorry”, you thought. It’ll be okay.

Chan sat closer, his breath warm against your neck. “Why him?”

You froze. “He’s not—he’s just a friend.”

“Just a friend,” Chan echoed softly. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear—but his fingers brushed your cheek, tracing a line that felt electric.

“No one else matters,” he whispered, voice low enough only you could hear. His hand slipped under your chin, tilting your face toward him. Fear and desire coiled in your chest.

You tried to pull back—but his grip held firm. “Chan…”

He leaned in close—close enough for your heart to pound in his ear. “I’m not sharing you. Not with anyone. You only belong to me.”

Your phone buzzed again. You looked down—Jisung’s name flashing insistently on the screen.

Chan’s face twisted—not angry, but something darker. He swiped the phone from your lap and smashed it gently into the coffee table. Glass rattled. You gulped.

“Stop crying,” he murmured, voice soothing. But you shook your head, so scared you couldn’t form words.

He leaned down, brushing your lips with his. “I love you,” he breathed.

Your heart twisted—thrilled and terrified all at once.

Before you could think, Chan pressed something damp and cool to your face. You blinked. The world swirled.