⭐🌺🍡🎧🍞

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Part One

summary: A quiet cul-de-sac, a man who keeps to his garage, and a life that looks sealed off from the outside. Until a little girl opens the door you didn’t know was there. What starts as curiosity turns into small everyday crossings of distance, where tired hands, shared meals, and soft routines begin to blur the line between neighbor and something more. preview: Three days later, Chan learned two very important things. One: His daughter had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed. And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment. “Dad,” the toddler whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.” He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it. He barely had time to fully think and react before his daughter started waving both arms aggressively from the cart. “HI!”

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Part Two

The Uber stopped in front of a massive dark iron gate flanked by well-kept walls covered in greenery. Two serious-looking security guards checked Mina’s QR code carefully, scanned the inside of the car with flashlights, and finally let you through.

The illuminated stone driveway curved between palm trees and modern sculptures before revealing the mansion — a striking contemporary building with clean lines, floor-to-ceiling glass, exposed concrete, brushed steel, and rich wood. An infinity pool on the side seemed to spill straight into the city lights and the bay below. The music reached you muffled but insistent: sensual R&B blended with deep electronic beats that you could feel in your chest.

The moment you stepped inside the main hall, the impact hit you hard.

The space was enormous. Double-height ceilings, massive crystal chandeliers slowly turning and casting purple, gold, and soft red reflections. Entire walls of glass offered a breathtaking panoramic view of Rio at night — from Sugarloaf Mountain to Christ the Redeemer and the illuminated coastline. The air conditioning was refreshingly cool against the humid heat outside, but the scent was intoxicating: aged whiskey, fine Cuban cigars, expensive colognes, gourmet appetizers, and a faint hint of sea breeze drifting in from the open terraces.

You felt like an intruder the second your heels touched the black marble floor.

Mina, of course, walked in like she owned the place. Within five minutes she had greeted a famous lingerie model, laughed with a well-known soap opera actor, and secured two sophisticated drinks at the polished black marble bar — a perfectly balanced cosmopolitan for you and a vibrant blue cocktail for herself.

“Drink slowly, but drink. Loosen up those tense shoulders. You look like you’re about to take a college entrance exam,” Mina teased, elbowing you lightly while scanning the room. “See that guy in the white shirt over there? European football player. Filthy rich. And that blonde in the gold dress? She travels by private jet. Let’s mingle a bit.”

Mina was unstoppable. She was your complete opposite: extremely outgoing, zero filter, naturally funny in a way that disarmed everyone. As you moved through the crowd, she effortlessly struck up conversations — complimenting dresses, cracking light jokes, exchanging numbers like it was nothing. At one point she disappeared for nearly twenty-five minutes with a quick “Just saying hi to someone, don’t disappear!” leaving you standing near the bar, stirring your drink and trying not to look awkward or lost.

You felt eyes on you. Some curious, some appraising, some interested. A woman in a gold dress looked you up and down. An older man in an expensive suit smiled and raised his glass, but you quickly looked away, cheeks warming.

When Mina finally returned, her eyes were sparkling with excitement, practically bouncing in her heels.

“Girl, you are NOT going to believe what I pulled off! Come with me right now!”

“Mina, wait… I’m fine here at the bar—”

It was useless. She grabbed your wrist and pulled you through the crowded room, weaving between dancing couples, loud laughing groups, and waiters carrying silver trays of colorful drinks and canapés. You climbed a few steps to a more elevated, semi-private area — a beautiful open terrace with an even more spectacular view of Christ the Redeemer and Guanabara Bay glittering in the distance. A large noble wood table was surrounded by comfortable beige and black leather sofas, lit by warm indirect lighting.

And there they were.

Hyunjin, the South Korean idol who split his time between Brazil and Asia and served as a global ambassador for luxury brands, reclined with his long black hair loose, laughing softly as he swirled a glass of rosé champagne. Beside him sat Changbin, a high-performance athletic trainer and former MMA fighter, his muscular build evident under a fitted black dress shirt. Minho owned an exclusive network of dance and pilates studios. Seungmin was a renowned corporate lawyer handling multimillion-dollar contracts. Felix worked as a performance engineer for racing cars. And at the center, commanding the entire space like the world was his personal playground…

Bang Chan.

The pilot. The Australian-Korean driver dominating motorsport categories across Latin America with strong international prospects. Athletic and well-defined from intense daily training, wearing a black dress shirt with several buttons open, revealing tanned skin and a thin gold chain. Dark tailored trousers that accentuated powerful thighs. Tousled light brown hair, sharp jawline, and piercing dark eyes. He was laughing at something Felix said, his deep, slightly raspy voice carrying, but the moment Mina pulled you closer to the table, his gaze locked onto you.

And didn’t let go.

“Everyone! This is my best friend I told you about!” Mina announced proudly, with zero filter. “I practically had to drag her here crying. She hates parties, hates crowds, hates all this glamour… but I insisted. Be nice to her, okay? She’s shy, sweet, and amazing.”

Hyunjin smiled warmly and elegantly.

“Welcome to the circus. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Champagne?”

You murmured a soft “thank you” and sat on the edge of the sofa, the cool leather pressing against your thighs. Your heart raced. Mina threw herself into the group as if she’d known them forever and immediately took over the scene.

She launched into a hilarious story about the time you two got lost at a rave years ago, imitating voices, making exaggerated faces, and gesturing dramatically. The whole group burst out laughing. Changbin slapped the table, Hyunjin covered his mouth with crescent-moon eyes, and even the more reserved Seungmin laughed genuinely. Mina was unbeatable at this — she could turn any situation into her own entertaining show.

Meanwhile, you stayed quieter, smiling politely and answering only when directly asked. But Bang Chan gave you no room to fade into the background.

He leaned forward, elbow resting on his thick thigh, and studied you openly. His gaze traveled slowly and deliberately: your crossed legs, hips, waist, the way the red dress outlined your chest, your neck, your lips, and finally your eyes. When they returned to your face, a slow, confident, and dangerously charming smile curved his lips.

“So you were dragged here against your will…” His voice was low and smooth, carrying that attractive Australian-Korean accent. “Feeling like an outsider in the middle of all this luxury, huh?”

You offered a small, shy smile and shrugged lightly.

“A little. Actually… a lot. This isn’t really my kind of environment.”

“I can tell,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting higher. His eyes sparkled with amusement and something darker, more intense. “But damn… you look incredible in that red dress. You stand out from everyone else here — in the best possible way.”

Mina, catching the comment, let out a bright laugh and pointed at him.

“Oh my God, Chan! Going straight for it! He’s like that — no brakes. If he makes you uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll throw champagne in his face.”

The group laughed. Chan chuckled along, deep and raspy, but his eyes never left you.

“What’s your name?” he asked directly.

You told him.

He repeated it slowly, tasting each syllable as if savoring how it might sound in other contexts.

“Beautiful. It suits you perfectly.” He took a slow sip of his amber drink, still watching you. “I’m Chan.”

“I know who you are,” you replied softly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Do you?” His smile widened, turning more predatory and intrigued. “And even knowing that, you’re treating me like any regular guy at the party. That’s interesting. Usually by now women are trying to sit on my lap or slipping me their numbers. You barely hold my gaze. Are you challenging me on purpose?”

You turned your face slightly and met his eyes just inches away. His cologne wrapped around you — dark wood, leather, warm spices, and a distinctly masculine note that made your stomach tighten.

“I’m not challenging anyone. I’m just not the type to jump into anyone’s lap just because they’re famous.”

Chan bit his lower lip slowly, his eyes darkening with clear interest and challenge.

“Good. Because I don’t want just anyone. I like the chase. I like earning it.” His voice dropped lower. “And you… look like a very tempting prize worth every dangerous turn on the track.”

The tension between you two was already thick, electric, even as the rest of the group continued laughing and chatting around you. Mina shot you a knowing, mischievous look from across the table and raised her eyebrows repeatedly as if saying, “Go for it, don’t miss this.”

The night had barely begun, but you already felt like you’d entered a high-speed curve with no seatbelt.

Bang Chan didn’t seem like the kind of man who gave up easily on something he wanted.

And from the hungry, possessive way he looked at you now, it was clear he wanted you.

---

𝟎𝟎:𝟓𝟎,𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨

The energy around the table had settled into a comfortable rhythm, the kind that only happened when the right mix of people clicked. Mina was the undeniable star of the moment. She had launched into yet another story — this time about the disastrous “romantic dinner” the two of you had attempted two years ago. The tale involved burnt garlic bread, a smoke alarm, panicked neighbors, and an eventual visit from the fire department. She told it with perfect timing, exaggerated gestures, and voices that had the entire group laughing hard.

Changbin was nearly crying, slapping the wooden table. Hyunjin covered his mouth, eyes curved into perfect crescents, while Felix kept asking for more details in his deep voice. Even Seungmin, usually the most composed, let out genuine laughs between sips of his drink. Minho watched everything with an amused smirk, occasionally adding dry commentary that made the story even funnier.

You laughed along, genuinely entertained by your best friend’s performance. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the group, your awareness kept drifting back to the man sitting close beside you.

Bang Chan.

He lounged against the leather sofa with the relaxed confidence of someone who truly belonged in every room he entered. One arm rested along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your bare shoulder. His black shirt stretched across his broad chest and strong shoulders, the open buttons revealing just enough tanned skin and the faint gleam of his thin gold chain. He looked effortlessly powerful — the kind of man whose presence demanded attention without him needing to try.

And he was giving you all of his attention.

Not in an obvious way that would draw comments from the others. It was subtler, more dangerous. His gaze lingered on the curve of your neck when you turned to laugh at Mina. When you crossed your legs, his eyes followed the movement slowly, appreciatively. Every time you lifted your glass to your lips, he watched with quiet intensity, as if memorizing the way they pressed against the rim.

“You’re in marketing, right?” he asked during a lull, his voice low and smooth, carrying that rich Australian-Korean accent that made every word feel intimate. “Mina mentioned something about campaigns and social media. Sounds like you spend your days figuring out what makes people want things.”

You nodded, turning slightly toward him. “Pretty much. I create visuals and stories that make people stop scrolling. Try to make them feel something.”

Chan’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Interesting. You seem like someone who understands desire very well.” His eyes held yours a beat longer than necessary. “Even if you don’t always show it.”

The double meaning hung between you, light enough to pass as casual conversation, heavy enough to make your pulse quicken. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but refused to look away immediately.

“I’m better at reading what other people want than admitting what I want,” you replied softly, keeping your tone playful but guarded.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm, sending a small shiver down your spine. “That’s a dangerous answer,” he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer. His fingers brushed lightly against your shoulder — barely there, almost accidental — as he reached for the bottle of champagne to refill his glass. “Makes me wonder how hard I’d have to work to find out what you really want tonight.”

Before you could respond, Mina turned back to the group with another burst of energy.

“Babe! Tell them about the client who wanted flying pigs in the campaign! It was absolute chaos!”

You jumped at the opportunity to shift focus and launched into the story, grateful for the brief escape. As you spoke, describing the ridiculous briefing and the creative team’s meltdown, you could feel Chan’s gaze on the side of your face, tracing your profile, dropping occasionally to your lips and the neckline of your red dress. When you finished, the group laughed again, but Chan was the first to comment.

“You tell stories well,” he said, voice smooth as velvet. “Good eye for detail. That’s rare.” He paused, then added with a small smirk, “In my world, the smallest details are what separate winning from crashing at two hundred kilometers per hour. I like people who notice things… who pay attention.”

His arm shifted slightly on the backrest, now resting more deliberately behind you. The warmth of him was noticeable — the faint heat of his body, the clean masculine scent of his cologne (dark wood, warm spice, and something expensive). It wrapped around you like an invisible pull.

You met his eyes again. “And what about you? Do you always pay this much attention to… details?”

Chan’s smile turned sharper, more predatory, though still masked as friendly conversation. “Only when the details are worth it.” His gaze flicked down to your mouth for a split second. “And you’ve been very worth watching since you sat down.”

The tension crackled. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too obviously. He was good — very good. He knew exactly how to push without being overt, how to make every innocent sentence feel loaded.

The group conversation continued around you. Mina was now debating the best nightlife spots in Leblon with Hyunjin and Felix, her laughter ringing out. Changbin and Minho were trading training stories. Seungmin listened quietly, occasionally offering dry wit.

Chan took advantage of the divided attention.

“You know,” he said quietly, only for you, “most women who end up at this table spend the whole night trying to impress me. Flirting hard. Laughing at everything I say. You… you’re doing the opposite. You’re making me work for every smile.” He tilted his head, studying you. “It’s refreshing. And fucking attractive.”

The mild curse word, spoken low and rough, sent a spark through you. You turned to face him more directly, your knee brushing against his thigh under the table. Neither of you pulled away.

“Maybe I’m not here to impress anyone,” you said softly, holding his gaze. “Maybe I’m just here because Mina dragged me.”

“And yet,” he countered, voice dropping even lower, “you haven’t left. Even though I can tell part of you wants to run.” His fingers finally made proper contact — a slow, light trace along your shoulder, barely skimming your skin. “Tell me the truth. Are you having fun yet, or are you still planning your escape route?”

You hesitated, then gave him a small, honest smile. “I’m… having more fun than I thought I would.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Good. Because I’d hate for you to leave before the night gets interesting.”

Time stretched. More stories were told. More drinks were poured. Mina kept shooting you knowing glances, barely hiding her excitement. At one point, Hyunjin suggested moving to another part of the mansion or even heading to a different venue later.

Chan waited for the perfect moment, then spoke casually but clearly.

“Actually,” he said, looking straight at you while addressing the group, “I was thinking about taking the Ferrari out for a drive. The view from the top of the mountain at this hour is insane. Quiet roads, city lights everywhere.” His eyes locked onto yours, intense and inviting. “If you want a break from the noise… you should come with me.”

The invitation landed heavily. It sounded innocent enough — a scenic drive. But the way he looked at you made it clear this was anything but innocent. The tension between you had been building for nearly an hour in stolen glances, light touches, and layered words. This was the first real step.

You didn’t answer right away. You let the silence stretch, holding his gaze, feeling your heart race. Part of you wanted to say yes immediately. Another part enjoyed making him wait.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips.

Chan leaned back, but his eyes never left yours. The corner of his mouth lifted in a slow, confident smirk — the look of a man who loved the chase and was certain he would win.

“Take your time,” he murmured, voice low and promising. “I’m very patient when something — or someone — is worth waiting for.”

Mina raised an eyebrow at you across the table, barely containing her grin. The rest of the group continued chatting, seemingly unaware of the electric current running between you and Chan. But you both knew.

The night was still young, the city lights sparkled below, and the tension between you had grown into something undeniable — slow-burning, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep playing hard to get.

And Chan looked like he was more than ready to turn up the heat.

---

𝟎𝟏:𝟐𝟎, 𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨.

The laughter around the table continued, but you needed a moment to breathe. The constant weight of Chan’s gaze, the subtle brushes of his fingers, and the electric tension had started to feel overwhelming. Your cheeks were warm, your heart was racing faster than it had any right to, and you could barely focus on the conversations anymore.

You leaned slightly toward Mina and whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back.”

Mina nodded immediately, eyes sparkling with understanding. “I’ll come with you.”

You both stood up, excusing yourselves politely. As you walked away from the table, you could feel Chan’s eyes following you the entire way — heavy, appreciative, and unmistakably hungry. You didn’t dare look back.

The mansion’s bathroom area was just as luxurious as the rest of the house: marble floors, soft golden lighting, massive mirrors, and individual stalls that felt more like small private rooms. The moment the heavy door closed behind you two, Mina let out a dramatic squeal and grabbed your arms.

“Oh. My. God. Girl!” she whisper-shouted, her voice echoing slightly off the marble. “Did you see the way he was looking at you? Bang Chan was practically undressing you with his eyes right there at the table! I thought he was going to pull you onto his lap in front of everyone!”

You covered your face with both hands, leaning back against the cool marble counter. Your cheeks were burning.

“Mina, stop! I’m dying of embarrassment here,” you groaned, voice muffled by your palms. “He’s so… intense. Every time I move, he’s watching. Every time I speak, he has some double-meaning comment. I feel like I’m under a spotlight. Why me? There are so many gorgeous women here tonight.”

Mina pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at her. Her expression was a perfect mix of amusement and excitement.

“Because you’re hot, babe! And you’re not throwing yourself at him like everyone else does. That man is used to women crawling all over him. You sitting there being all shy and composed? It’s driving him crazy. I saw the way he leaned in every time you spoke. His arm was basically around you by the end. He is so into you.”

You paced a little in front of the mirror, fixing your dress even though it didn’t need fixing.

“I know he’s flirting. It’s so obvious. The way he talks… the touches… that accent. God, his voice is dangerous. I keep getting goosebumps every time he gets close. But Mina… this is Bang Chan. Famous pilot, rich, ridiculously hot, and probably has a different girl in every city. I feel so out of my league.”

Mina hopped up to sit on the marble counter, crossing her legs and grinning like she had just won the lottery.

“Exactly! That’s why you should enjoy it! It’s not every day a guy like him sets his sights on you. Most girls would kill for this kind of attention. He’s clearly interested. Like, seriously interested. The whole table noticed. Hyunjin kept raising his eyebrows at me, and Felix was smirking the entire time. Chan was eating you up with his eyes. I’m surprised he didn’t start drooling.”

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “You’re exaggerating…”

“I’m not! When you told that story about the flying pigs campaign, he was staring at your mouth the whole time. And when your leg brushed his under the table? I thought he was going to break his glass. Girl, the tension between you two is insane. Even I could feel it from across the table.”

You turned to the mirror, checking your reflection. Your face was flushed, eyes a little brighter than usual, lips slightly parted. The red dress suddenly felt tighter, more revealing.

“He invited me to go for a drive with him,” you admitted quietly. “Said the view from the top of the mountain is beautiful at this hour. Just the two of us in his Ferrari.”

Mina’s eyes widened dramatically and she let out another excited squeak.

“Yes! Say yes! Go with him!”

“Mina!” you laughed, half mortified. “It’s past midnight. We barely know him. What if—”

“What if he fucks you senseless in the Ferrari and you have the best night of your life?” she finished boldly, grinning. “Look, I’m not saying be reckless, but… live a little! This is the kind of story you tell your grandchildren someday — ‘Yeah, I had a wild night with a famous race car driver in Rio.’”

You covered your face again, laughing despite the embarrassment.

She softened her tone a bit, still smiling but more serious. “Okay, okay. Be safe, obviously. Share your location with me the whole time. Keep notifications on. If anything feels off, call me and I’ll come get you, no questions asked. Rio at night can be tricky, even in fancy cars. But Chan seems respectful enough, and he knows everyone here. I don’t think he’d risk his reputation doing something stupid.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “He’s just… so much. The way he looks at me makes me feel naked. And when he talks close to my ear… I swear my brain stops working.”

Mina hopped down from the counter and hugged you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder while both of you looked at the mirror.

“That’s the feeling you should chase tonight. You deserve to feel desired. You work so hard, you’re always so responsible… for once, let a hot, rich, talented man spoil you a little. Or a lot.” She winked. “And if you end up having sex… use protection, please. I’m way too young and hot to be an aunt right now.”

You burst out laughing, pushing her playfully. “Mina! Oh my God!”

“What? I’m being realistic! That man looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Those thighs? Those hands? Yeah… you might not walk straight tomorrow.”

You shook your head, still laughing, but the nervousness was slowly mixing with excitement. The idea of being alone with Chan in his car, driving through the dark mountains with the city sparkling below… it was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

“So… you think I should go?” you asked, voice smaller now.

Mina turned you around to face her, holding your shoulders.

“Yes. Go. Enjoy every second. Flirt back if you want. Let him chase you. Let him catch you if it feels right. But keep me updated. And remember: you’re a goddess. He should be the one feeling lucky.”

You took a deep breath, staring at yourself in the mirror one more time. The girl looking back seemed different — flushed, eyes bright with possibility, a little bolder.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll go.”

Mina squealed again and pulled you into a tight hug.

“That’s my girl! Now fix your lipstick, take a deep breath, and go make that man lose his mind. I want all the details tomorrow — or whenever you resurface.”

You both laughed as you touched up your makeup. The conversation, the teasing, and Mina’s encouragement had eased some of the overwhelming embarrassment. Now, underneath it all, anticipation was building.

As you walked back toward the table together, Mina leaned in one last time.

“And remember… if he kisses you, make sure it’s worth the drive.”

Your heart raced faster with every step. Chan was still at the table, talking with the others, but the moment you reappeared, his eyes found yours immediately. That slow, dangerous smile returned to his lips.

He already knew.

And from the way he looked at you now — darker, more certain — he could tell your answer was going to be yes.

The night was no longer just young.

It was yours to claim.

---

𝟎𝟏:𝟑𝟎, 𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨.

The walk back from the bathroom felt longer than it should have. Every step made your heart beat harder against your ribs. Mina walked beside you, still grinning like an idiot, occasionally bumping her shoulder against yours in silent encouragement. The luxurious mansion pulsed with low music, laughter, and the clink of expensive glasses, but all you could focus on was the table ahead — and the man waiting there.

The moment you reappeared in sight, Chan’s head turned. His dark eyes locked onto you instantly, as if he’d been watching the direction you’d left. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips. He leaned back against the sofa with that effortless dominance, one arm still draped along the backrest where you’d been sitting.

“Well, well… finally,” he said as soon as you were close enough, voice low and teasing, loud enough for the immediate group to hear but clearly aimed at you. “I was starting to miss you already. Thought maybe you’d escaped through the window to avoid me.”

The table chuckled. Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, amused. Felix smirked into his drink.

You sat back down, closer to him this time, the leather warm from where you’d been earlier. “Missed me in five minutes? That’s a new record,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light despite the butterflies rioting in your stomach.

Chan tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked you up and down slowly. “Five minutes felt like five laps around the track. Time moves different when the view gets taken away.” He leaned in just a little, voice dropping. “Especially when the view looks as good as you do in that red dress.”

Heat flooded your face again. You glanced away toward the glittering city lights outside the glass walls, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

The conversation picked up around you once more, but the bubble between you and Chan felt even smaller and more charged than before. He found ways to include you in every topic — asking your opinion on music, on Rio’s nightlife, on whether speed or control mattered more in life. Every question came wrapped in that smooth accent and those lingering looks.

After several minutes of this careful dance, you took a steadying breath and turned to face him properly.

“Okay,” you said quietly, so only he could hear. “I’ll go with you. For the drive.”

Chan’s eyes lit up with clear victory and hunger. The corner of his mouth curved into a dangerously attractive smirk.

“But,” you continued before he could speak, holding his gaze firmly, “if you try anything I don’t allow… I will hit you. I’m serious. I don’t care how famous or fast you are.”

For a second he just stared at you, surprised. Then he let out a low, genuine laugh — deep, warm, and genuinely delighted.

“Fuck, I like you,” he murmured, biting his lower lip. “Deal. I’ll behave… until you tell me not to.” His eyes darkened. “But I have a feeling you’re going to be the one testing my self-control tonight.”

You held his stare, heart hammering, but didn’t look away. The tension between you crackled like electricity in the air.

Chan stood up first, offering his hand to help you. His palm was warm, fingers strong as they closed around yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Shall we?”

You nodded.

The two of you said your goodbyes to the group. Mina hugged you tightly, whispering “Have fun” in your ear before pulling back with a proud, mischievous grin. As you and Chan started walking away from the table, she caught your eye from across the space. She mouthed clearly, exaggerating the words so you could read her lips:

“Take care. Text me. Don’t get pregnant."

You almost tripped. Chan noticed your reaction and glanced back, but you quickly composed yourself, shooting Mina a death glare mixed with laughter. She just blew you a kiss.

The walk through the mansion toward the entrance felt surreal. Chan kept a hand lightly on your lower back — polite, guiding, but undeniably possessive. His presence beside you was overwhelming: tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the confident stride of someone who dominated every space he entered. A few people glanced your way, recognizing him, but he paid them no attention. His focus stayed entirely on you.

Outside, the night air was still warm and humid, carrying the distant sound of waves and the scent of tropical flowers from the mansion’s gardens. The valet had already pulled up Chan’s car.

A sleek, aggressive Ferrari — deep blood red, shining under the lights like it was wet. The lines were sharp, predatory, exactly like its owner. The butterfly doors lifted upward with a soft mechanical whir as Chan approached.

He opened the passenger side for you, waiting until you were settled before closing it. The interior smelled like expensive leather, new car, and his cologne. When he slid into the driver’s seat, the space suddenly felt much smaller. His hand rested on the gear shift, dangerously close to your thigh.

“Ready?” he asked, voice lower now that you were alone. The city lights reflected in his eyes as he looked at you.

You nodded, buckling your seatbelt. “Ready. But remember what I said.”

Chan chuckled softly, starting the engine. The Ferrari roared to life with a deep, throaty growl that vibrated through your entire body.

“I remember,” he said, pulling away smoothly from the mansion. The car moved like liquid power — fast, controlled, responsive. “No crossing lines unless you draw them first.” He glanced over at you, one hand on the wheel, the other shifting gears as he accelerated down the private road. “Though I have to admit… I’m really hoping you draw a few tonight.”

The mansion lights faded behind you as Chan drove toward the winding mountain roads. The city of Rio de Janeiro stretched out below, an ocean of sparkling lights, with the dark silhouette of the sea beyond. Wind rushed through the slightly open windows, messing with your hair.

You glanced at his profile — strong jaw, focused eyes, slight smirk still playing on his lips.

This was really happening.

The night had officially shifted gears.

And Bang Chan looked more than ready to take you on the ride of your life.

────────────

𝟎𝟏:𝟒𝟎,𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨.

The Ferrari purred like a satisfied beast as it climbed the steep, curving roads leading up toward Vista Chinesa. The city sprawled far below — an endless glittering carpet of lights stretching from the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema all the way to the dark horizon where the sea met the sky. The Cristo Redentor glowed softly in the distance, watching over the sleeping metropolis. Inside the car, the world felt smaller, hotter, and far more dangerous.

You sat with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, the hem of your red dress having ridden up slightly from the movement and the way you kept shifting nervously in the leather seat. The air conditioning was on, but your skin still felt warm. Too warm. Every time Chan changed gears, the low rumble of the engine vibrated through your body, making it impossible to relax.

Chan noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“You okay over there?” he asked, voice smooth and amused, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other stayed on the gear shift. He glanced at you, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “You look like I just kidnapped you instead of taking you for a scenic drive. Breathing would be a good start, sweetheart.”

You let out a shy laugh, biting your lip as you looked out the window at the passing trees and occasional glimpses of the city below.

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just… not used to this. The car. The height. You.”

He chuckled, deep and low, the sound filling the small space between you. “Me? I’m harmless. Mostly.” His eyes flicked sideways again, lingering this time on the exposed skin of your thighs where the dress had shifted higher. He didn’t even try to hide it. “Though I have to say… that dress is making it very hard for me to keep my eyes on the road.”

Your face burned. You tugged at the hem self-consciously, but it only made the fabric slide back up again when you moved. Chan’s smirk deepened.

“You don’t have to fix it on my account,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. “I’m enjoying the view. A lot.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing. The tension inside the Ferrari was thickening with every passing second. The scent of his cologne mixed with the leather and the faint night breeze coming through the cracked window made your head feel light.

“Do you… actually know where you’re going?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground. “I don’t want to end up lost in the middle of nowhere at almost two in the morning.”

Chan laughed again, genuinely amused this time. He took a smooth curve, the car handling it perfectly, as if it were an extension of his body.

“I know Rio like the back of my hand,” he reassured you, glancing over with a reassuring yet still dangerously attractive smile. “This road leads up to one of the best viewpoints. Quiet. Private. Perfect for… talking.” The pause before the last word made it clear talking wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

You nodded, trying to calm your nerves. “Good. Because I really don’t want to become a headline: ‘Marketing girl disappears with famous pilot after leaving fancy party.’”

He grinned, shifting gears again as the road got steeper. “Nah. If anything, the headline would be ‘Lucky pilot spends night with the most beautiful girl at the party.’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the shy smile that escaped. “You’re very smooth. Too smooth.”

“Only when it’s worth it.” His eyes drifted again — slower this time — tracing from your knees up to the hem of your dress, then higher, appreciating the way the red fabric hugged your body. When he looked back at the road, his hand tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “You nervous because of me, or because you’re actually enjoying this more than you want to admit?”

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching the lights of the city flicker below as the car climbed higher.

“Both,” you admitted softly.

Chan hummed in approval, clearly pleased with your honesty. “Good. I like honest girls. Especially when they’re as pretty as you.” He reached over and turned the music down a little, letting the low sensual R&B fill the background instead of overpowering the moment. “Tell me something… why were you so hesitant back at the party? Most girls would’ve been all over me the second they sat down.”

You shrugged, still playing with the hem of your dress. “I’m not most girls. And you’re… a lot. Famous. Confident. The kind of guy who probably has girls throwing themselves at him every weekend.”

He nodded slowly, not denying it. “True. But none of them make me want to drive up here at 1:40 in the morning just to be alone with them.” His voice got quieter, rougher. “None of them make the dress look that fucking good either.”

Your breath hitched. The compliment was direct, heavy with want. You crossed your legs, which only made the fabric ride up even more. Chan noticed immediately. His jaw flexed and he let out a slow breath.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna have a very hard time focusing on driving,” he said, half-joking, half-serious.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, cheeks flaming, quickly adjusting the dress again.

“Don’t be sorry.” He glanced over once more, eyes dark. “I like when you get shy. It’s cute. Makes me wonder what else makes you blush like that.”

The silence that followed was loaded. The Ferrari hugged another curve, the city now even farther below, the lights looking like scattered stars. The road was almost empty at this hour — just the occasional distant car far behind them. It felt like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this luxurious, vibrating cocoon of leather and tension.

Chan kept the conversation going, asking about your job, your favorite places in Rio, what you did for fun. But every answer you gave seemed to fuel him more. He listened intently, responding with teasing comments and flirty observations that slowly chipped away at your defenses.

“You have a really pretty laugh,” he said at one point. “Soft. Genuine. I want to hear it more tonight.”

And later: “Your legs look incredible in that dress. Especially when the light from the city hits them like that.”

Each compliment, each lingering look, each low-spoken comment made the air inside the car feel heavier. Hotter. Your shyness only seemed to encourage him. The more you fidgeted and blushed, the more obvious his desire became — in the way his hand kept drifting closer to your thigh on the gear shift, in the way his eyes kept dropping to your chest and legs, in the way his voice got rougher every time he spoke directly to you.

“You’re killing me here, you know that?” he muttered during a straight stretch of road, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Sitting there looking all innocent and nervous while wearing that dress… it should be illegal.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just looked out the window again, heart pounding, thighs pressed tightly together.

Chan noticed that too.

The Ferrari continued climbing, the road twisting higher into the forested hills. The tension between you two was no longer subtle. It was thick, undeniable, and growing with every minute that passed.

---

𝟎𝟐:𝟎𝟓, 𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨.

The Ferrari continued its smooth ascent through the winding roads of the Tijuca Forest, the dense trees creating tunnels of darkness broken only by occasional glimpses of the city far below. The further you climbed, the quieter the world became. No more distant party music, no more background chatter — just the low growl of the engine, the soft R&B playing through the speakers, and the heavy, charged silence between you and Chan.

You were starting to relax. Slowly. The initial nervousness that had made your hands tremble was giving way to something warmer, bolder. Maybe it was the way Chan kept looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d seen in months. Maybe it was the low compliments he dropped so casually. Or maybe it was simply the thrill of being completely alone with him.

You turned in your seat to face him more directly, letting your dress ride up a little on purpose this time.

“You keep saying I’m killing you,” you said softly, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips. “But you’re the one who can’t stop staring. Eyes on the road, pilot.”

Chan let out a surprised laugh, deep and raspy, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. “Oh? Look who’s getting brave now.” His hand left the gear shift for a second to rest lightly on your thigh — just above the knee, warm and heavy. “Careful, sweetheart. I might start thinking you actually like the attention.”

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you placed your hand over his, not pushing it off, just resting there. “Maybe I do,” you admitted, voice quieter but steadier than before. “You’re not as scary as I thought you’d be.”

His fingers flexed under yours, squeezing your thigh gently. “Scary? That’s a new one.” He took another curve with perfect control, the city lights sparkling like jewels beneath you. “Most people find me charming.”

“You are charming,” you replied, growing bolder. “Dangerously charming. That’s the scary part.”

Chan’s smirk turned into something darker, more satisfied. The tension inside the car had shifted. You were no longer just reacting — you were playing along. And he was loving every second of it.

A few minutes later, he slowed the Ferrari and turned onto a narrower, less traveled road. “We’re almost there,” he said. “I wanted to bring you here because… well, most girls want the loud places. Clubs, parties, the spotlight. But I figured you’re different. You seemed like someone who appreciates quiet beauty. Real beauty.” He glanced at you meaningfully. “Plus, up here, no one interrupts. No cameras. No expectations. Just the city and us.”

The car finally came to a stop in a small, secluded parking area near the **Vista Chinesa** — one of Rio’s hidden gems. A Chinese-style pavilion sat gracefully on the edge of the hill, surrounded by lush greenery, offering one of the most breathtaking panoramic views of the entire city. At this hour, it was almost completely deserted. Only the soft glow of distant streetlights and the moon illuminated the scene.

Chan killed the engine. The sudden silence was intimate.

“Come on,” he said, stepping out and rounding the car to open your door. He offered his hand again, and this time you took it without hesitation. The night air was cooler up here, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of earth, leaves, and the distant sea.

He led you toward a stone bench near the pavilion, partially hidden by some trees but still offering the full spectacular view. Rio stretched out beneath you like a living painting — the Christ the Redeemer lit up in white, the dark curves of the mountains, the glowing beaches, and the infinite lights of the neighborhoods. It was stunningly beautiful.

You sat down side by side. Chan stretched his long legs out, one arm resting behind you on the back of the bench. This time he didn’t pretend it was accidental — his fingers lightly traced your shoulder, then played with a strand of your hair.

“Worth the drive?” he asked, voice low.

“Very worth it,” you whispered, looking at the view for a moment before turning to face him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He studied your face in the moonlight, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?” The words came out rougher than before. “Not just the dress. You. The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. The way you blush but still flirt back. It’s driving me crazy.”

You turned your body toward him, knees brushing against his. The boldness you felt earlier grew stronger. “Then maybe you should do something about it,” you said softly, surprising even yourself.

Chan’s eyes darkened instantly. He cupped your face with one hand, thumb brushing over your lower lip slowly, deliberately.

“You sure about that?” he murmured, leaning in closer. His breath warmed your skin. “Because once I start, I’m not going to want to stop at just a kiss.”

Instead of answering with words, you closed the remaining distance.

The kiss started slow — a soft press of lips, testing, savoring. But the hunger that had been building for hours exploded almost immediately. Chan groaned low in his throat and tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a hunger that took your breath away. His hand slid into your hair, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer. His tongue traced your bottom lip before slipping inside, tasting you, claiming you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was passionate, messy, full of pent-up desire. You kissed him back just as fiercely, one hand fisting his shirt, the other gripping his shoulder. Chan pulled you half onto his lap, strong arms wrapping around your waist as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. He sucked on your lower lip, then bit it gently, earning a soft whimper from you that made him smile against your mouth.

“Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled between kisses, his voice hoarse. He kissed you again, deeper, more demanding, tongue dancing with yours while his hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against his chest.

The city lights blurred in your peripheral vision. All that existed was the heat of his mouth, the firm grip of his hands, the way he kissed like he was starving for you. You melted into him, matching his intensity, fingers threading through his hair and tugging lightly. Chan responded with a deep, approving groan that vibrated through his chest.

When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were breathing hard. His forehead rested against yours, eyes half-lidded and dark with want. Your lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, and the hem of your dress had ridden dangerously high on your thighs.

Chan brushed his thumb over your wet bottom lip again, breathing ragged.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice rough. “Since the moment you sat down at that table looking all shy and untouchable.”

You smiled shyly, still catching your breath, but didn’t pull away. “Then don’t stop now.”

His eyes flashed with heat at your words. He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss — slower this time, but no less intense. His hands explored your waist, your hips, pulling you even closer until you were fully straddling his lap on the stone bench.

The night air, the breathtaking view, the distant sound of the city far below — everything faded into background as the chemistry between you two finally ignited.

And neither of you seemed in any hurry to put out the fire.

----

𝟎𝟐:𝟐𝟓 𝐀𝐌, 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐚, 𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨.

Minutes had blurred into what felt like an eternity of heat.

You were fully straddling Chan’s lap on the stone bench, knees on either side of his powerful thighs, your red dress bunched up around your hips. The kiss had turned filthy — tongues sliding hungrily, lips wet and swollen, occasional bites that made you both groan. Chan’s hands gripped your ass firmly, pulling you down harder against him with every roll of your hips.

You could feel him.

He was rock hard beneath you. The thick, heavy outline of his cock pressed right against your core through his tailored pants, throbbing every time you ground down. The size was impossible to ignore — long and very thick. The realization made your stomach tighten with a mix of nerves and raw excitement.

Chan pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing as he spoke.

“Fuck, baby… you’re driving me insane,” he growled, voice hoarse. One of his hands slid up your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, moving dangerously higher. His fingertips grazed the edge of your panties, teasing the lace.

You shivered hard, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he kissed you again, deeper, more desperate. His fingers were just about to push the fabric aside when you suddenly broke the kiss, grabbing his wrist gently but firmly.

“Chan… wait,” you breathed, chest heaving. “I’m not doing this here. Not in the middle of the woods like this. It feels… strange. What if someone sees us?”

Chan froze, eyes dark with lust, lips parted and swollen. For a second he looked almost dazed, like he was fighting his own body. Then reality seemed to hit him. He let out a heavy, frustrated breath and rested his forehead on your shoulder, chuckling lowly.

“Shit… you’re right,” he muttered, voice rough. “Sorry. Got carried away. This view makes me forget there’s still a world out there.” He kissed your neck softly, almost apologetically, before pulling his hand back. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

He helped you off his lap, adjusting your dress for you with surprisingly gentle hands. But when he stood up, it was impossible to miss how painfully hard he was. The bulge in his pants was obvious, straining aggressively against the fabric. He didn’t even try to hide it as he walked you back to the Ferrari, jaw clenched, breathing still uneven.

Once inside the car, the tension became almost unbearable. Chan started the engine, the low roar filling the silence. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary.

You watched him for a moment, biting your lip. The drive to his place was going to be long.

“Where do you live?” you asked softly.

“Barra da Tijuca,” he answered, voice still husky. “Apartment in a gated community near the beach. It’s a bit far from here… around 40-45 minutes depending on traffic. Why?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you reached over and rested your hand on his thigh, feeling the hard muscle tense under your touch. Chan glanced at you, surprised.

“You ’re really hard,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the massive bulge. “It looks painful.”

He let out a breathless laugh, shifting again. “Yeah… it is. Been like this since you started kissing me back like that.”

The car began descending the mountain road. The city lights grew closer again. You felt a surge of boldness — the same one that had made you flirt back earlier.

“Keep your eyes on the road and drive carefully,” you said quietly, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Chan looked at you, confused. “What are you—?”

You leaned over the center console, hands working on his belt. His eyes widened.

“Baby… you don’t have to—”

“Shh. Just focus on driving,” you murmured, pulling his zipper down. When you freed him from his boxers, his cock sprang out heavily.

He was big. Thick. The head already glistening with precum, veins prominent along the impressive length. You wrapped your hand around the base and Chan hissed sharply, hips twitching.

“Fuck…” he groaned, one hand tightening on the steering wheel while the other rested on the back of your head, not pushing, just holding.

You started slow — licking a long stripe from base to tip, tasting the salty precum. Chan let out a deep, guttural moan that made your core clench.

“Shit, that feels so good…” he breathed.

You took him into your mouth, lips stretching around his thickness. He was heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth completely. You bobbed your head, taking more of him with every movement, using your hand on what didn’t fit.

Chan was incredibly vocal.

“Fuuuck… just like that,” he moaned, voice breaking. “Your mouth is so warm… so fucking wet.”

The car sped up slightly before he forced himself to slow down, breathing ragged. Every time you sucked harder or swirled your tongue around the head, he let out another broken groan or curse.

“Goddamn… you’re gonna make me crash if you keep doing that,” he panted, fingers tightening in your hair. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby. So fucking pretty.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. The obscene wet sounds mixed with his moans and the low purr of the Ferrari engine created an incredibly erotic atmosphere. You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, eyes watering slightly as you pushed your limits.

Chan’s breathing grew louder, more desperate.

“Holy shit— slow down a little or I’m gonna cum too fast,” he warned, voice strained. “You’re too good at this… fuck, I didn’t expect this tonight.”

You didn’t stop. You wanted to push him. Wanted to hear more of those wrecked moans. Your head moved faster, hand stroking in rhythm, saliva dripping down his length.

Chan kept one hand on the wheel, eyes fighting to stay on the dark road while the other gently guided your head.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned deeply, hips twitching up slightly into your mouth. “Such a good girl… taking me so deep. Just like that— ah, fuck!”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Chan groaned, his voice already wrecked.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you took him deeper, relaxing your throat as much as you could, sucking him with pure hunger. Your head bobbed steadily, wet, obscene sounds filling the interior of the Ferrari as you worked him. Your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his thick cock, tracing every vein while your hand stroked the base in perfect rhythm.

Chan’s grip on your hair tightened, not forcing you, but holding on like you were his only anchor. The car was moving, but his focus was clearly split.

“Fuuuuck… baby, your mouth—” He cut himself off with a deep, guttural moan as you sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks. “Just like that… holy shit, you’re sucking me so good.”

You poured everything into it — eager, messy, and greedy. Saliva dripped down his thick shaft, coating your hand as you twisted your wrist on every upstroke. You pulled back for a second to catch your breath, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cockhead, before diving back down, taking him as deep as you could.

Chan’s moans were getting louder, needier, more desperate.

“Ahh— fuck, fuck, fuck… you’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he panted, hips twitching up slightly into your mouth. “So warm… so fucking wet. You’re taking me so deep, baby. Such a good fucking girl.”

The road to Barra da Tijuca felt endless. Every time the car took a curve, his cock shifted in your mouth, and you adjusted eagerly, sucking harder. Chan’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. His free hand stayed on the steering wheel, knuckles white, while the other gently guided the pace of your head.

“You’re so fucking nasty for this… doing this while I drive,” he groaned, voice breaking into a whiny whimper that made heat pool between your legs. “Didn’t expect you to be this greedy. Shit— right there, baby. Suck the head like that again—”

You obeyed, focusing on the sensitive tip, swirling your tongue around it before sucking hard. Chan’s moan was loud, almost broken.

“Nngh—! Fuck, I’m getting close already…”

You didn’t slow down. If anything, you went faster, wetter, taking him deeper until your nose brushed against his pelvis. The sounds were filthy — gagging softly, slurping, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. Chan’s thighs were trembling under your touch.

“Baby… baby, slow down a little,” he begged, voice turning genuinely whiny. “I’m so close… I don’t wanna cum yet— ahh, fuck!”

But you didn’t slow down. You wanted him desperate. You wanted to hear him fall apart.

The minutes dragged on in a haze of heat and moans. Chan kept driving, barely keeping the car steady as you worshipped his thick cock. His groans grew louder, more broken, more pathetic in the hottest way possible.

“Shit— I can feel it… I’m so fucking close,” he whined, breathing heavily. “Your mouth is too good… too fucking good. I’m gonna cum so much if you keep going like that.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making his whole body jerk. Chan let out a long, shaky moan that sounded almost pained from how good it felt.

The tall buildings and luxury condominiums of Barra da Tijuca started appearing. You were getting close to his neighborhood. The car slowed as you approached a red traffic light — the last one before the entrance to his gated community.

Chan’s breathing changed. It became faster, shallower, more desperate.

“Baby— fuck, the light’s red,” he gasped. “I’m right there… I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum so fucking hard—”

You didn’t pull off. Instead, you took him as deep as possible and sucked with everything you had, stroking him fast with your hand.

The moment the car stopped completely at the red light, Chan broke.

“Fuuuuck—! I’m cumming— I’m cumming, baby— ahh!”

His head fell back against the seat as his orgasm hit him like a wave. His cock throbbed violently in your mouth, pulsing hard as he started shooting thick, hot ropes of cum straight down your throat. Chan moaned shamelessly loud — loud enough that you were grateful the windows were closed.

“Nnghhh—! Fuck, fuck, fuck— so good— you’re taking all of it,” he whined, voice high and broken, almost sobbing with pleasure. “Oh my god… I can’t stop— there’s so much—”

He kept cumming, wave after wave, filling your mouth until it started leaking from the corners of your lips. His hips stuttered, thighs shaking, one hand gripping your hair tightly as broken, needy moans spilled from his mouth nonstop.

“Baby… baby, you’re milking me so good— ahhh, shit— I’m still cumming— fuck!”

The moans were pure filth — deep, whiny, desperate, almost embarrassed at how intense it was. His whole body trembled as the last powerful spurts filled your mouth. You swallowed as much as you could, the rest dripping down your chin onto his pants and the leather seat.

Chan was panting like he’d just finished a race, chest heaving, eyes half-closed in bliss. The traffic light turned green, but he stayed still for a few more seconds, trying to recover.

“Jesus Christ…” he breathed out, voice hoarse and shaky. “That was… the best head I’ve ever had in my life. You just swallowed almost everything like it was nothing.”

You slowly pulled off his cock, licking him clean with soft, gentle strokes of your tongue while looking up at him. Chan stared down at you, eyes dark and full of awe, his hand gently caressing your hair.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you up gently.

He kissed you deeply despite the mess, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan. When he pulled back, his thumb wiped the corner of your mouth, eyes burning.

“We’re almost at my place,” he said, voice still rough. “And when we get there… I’m going to return the favor until you’re the one moaning my name like that.”

The light was green.

Chan shifted gears, still breathing hard, a satisfied but dangerous smirk slowly returning to his lips as he drove the last few minutes toward his luxury apartment in Barra da Tijuca.

The night was far from over.

𝟎𝟐:𝟓𝟖, 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚 𝐝𝐚 𝐓𝐢𝐣𝐮𝐜𝐚, 𝐑𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨.

The Ferrari turned into the quiet, exclusive streets of one of the most prestigious gated communities in Barra da Tijuca. Tall walls covered with ivy, discreet security cameras, and perfectly landscaped gardens created an atmosphere of absolute privacy and wealth. Chan drove with calm confidence, one hand on the wheel and the other resting possessively on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin.

He stopped in front of a sleek, modern building and gave a small wave to the security guard, who opened the gate immediately. The car descended into a private underground garage, parking right beside a private elevator.

Chan turned off the engine and exhaled deeply, turning to look at you. His eyes were still dark with desire, lips slightly swollen from earlier. “We’re here,” he said, voice low and rough. “My place.”

He got out first and opened your door, helping you out of the low sports car. Your legs felt a little weak after everything that had happened during the drive. Chan noticed and smiled, pulling you close by the waist as you walked toward the elevator. The ride up was silent, but the air crackled with anticipation.

When the elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse, you stopped in your tracks, completely stunned.

The apartment was breathtaking.

It was an enormous open-concept space with incredibly high ceilings. An entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass offered a spectacular panoramic view of the ocean and the glittering lights of Barra da Tijuca at night. The living room was vast, furnished with elegant minimalist pieces in dark tones mixed with warm wood. Expensive modern art decorated the walls, and a sleek open kitchen with black marble countertops and high-end appliances sat to the left. Soft golden ambient lighting turned on automatically, bathing everything in a warm, intimate glow. Through the glass doors, you could see a luxurious terrace with an infinity pool that seemed to blend into the sea.

You felt small. Out of place.

“Chan… this is incredible,” you whispered, voice full of awe and embarrassment. “It’s like a dream. I feel like I shouldn’t even be standing here. This place is too… much.”

He chuckled softly behind you, closing the distance until his chest pressed against your back. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his body as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Don’t think like that,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I wanted you here. In my space. With me.” He kissed the side of your neck gently. “The house is just a house. You’re what matters tonight.”

You turned in his arms to face him, still feeling shy. “It’s just… very different from my reality. This view, the size, the luxury… I feel like an intruder.”

Before you could say anything else, Chan cupped your face with both hands and kissed you.

The kiss was immediate and intense. His lips claimed yours with hunger, tongue sliding against yours as he pulled you closer. You moaned softly into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his soft hair. Chan groaned in response, hands sliding down your body until they gripped your waist tightly, then lower to squeeze your ass.

He walked you backward without breaking the kiss until your back met the cool glass window. The contrast made you gasp. Chan took advantage, deepening the kiss even more, tongue exploring your mouth as one hand held the back of your neck and the other roamed your thigh.

“Been dying to kiss you like this all night,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip before soothing it. “You have no idea how much I wanted you alone.”

You whimpered, pressing your body against his. You could feel him getting hard again, his thick cock pressing against your stomach. Chan rolled his hips slowly, letting you feel everything as he kissed you like he was addicted.

Suddenly, he bent down, grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively as he carried you, lips never leaving yours. He moved through the living room and up the elegant floating staircase to the second floor, holding you as if you weighed nothing.

The master bedroom was just as impressive: a huge king-sized bed with dark silk sheets, another wall of glass facing the ocean, soft lighting, and a luxurious atmosphere that smelled exactly like him. Chan kicked the door shut and carried you straight to the bed, laying you down in the middle of the massive mattress.

He climbed on top of you immediately, settling between your spread legs, his body pressing you deliciously into the soft bedding. His eyes roamed over your flushed face and messed-up red dress with clear hunger.

“Look at you…” he whispered, voice hoarse. “So fucking beautiful lying in my bed.”

He kissed you again, slower but deeper, tongue tasting every corner of your mouth. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing your dress higher until it was bunched around your waist, exposing your black lace panties. Chan pulled back slightly to look down at you, breathing heavily.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he confessed, kissing your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin hard enough to leave marks. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this since the party.”

You arched into him, hands slipping under his shirt to feel his warm, defined abs and back. Chan sat up for a moment, pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion and throwing it aside, revealing his perfectly sculpted chest, shoulders and abs. He looked even better than you had imagined.

Then he was back on you, kissing you deeply, hips rolling against yours in a slow, teasing rhythm. His hard cock pressed right against your core, making you both moan into the kiss.

Chan hovered over you, his bare chest pressing against your body as he kissed you like he was trying to consume every sound you made. His mouth was hot, demanding, and relentless. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss until your tongues slid together in a wet, messy dance that made your head spin. Every time you tried to catch your breath he chased your lips again, sucking on your bottom lip, biting it gently, then soothing it with his tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathed against your mouth, voice thick with lust. “This red dress has been killing me all night… the way it hugs your body, the way your tits look in it… I’ve been imagining taking it off you since the moment I saw you.”

You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands running up his muscular back, nails lightly scratching his skin. Chan groaned at the feeling and rolled his hips slowly against you, letting you feel how hard he still was.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your jaw, sucking on the sensitive spot below your ear before moving to your neck. His mouth was greedy, leaving open-mouthed kisses and light bites that made you arch off the bed with a needy whimper.

“Chan…” you moaned, fingers threading through his hair.

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name,” he growled, sucking harder on your neck. “You sound so pretty when you’re turned on. So fucking sexy.”

His hands moved to the straps of your dress, slowly pulling them down your shoulders. He kissed every inch of skin he revealed, tongue tracing your collarbone as he tugged the fabric lower. When your breasts finally spilled free, Chan let out a deep, appreciative groan.

“Jesus Christ… look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark and hungry as he stared at your bare chest. “These tits are perfect. So fucking pretty. Been dying to taste them.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you.

Chan wrapped his lips around your right nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. You moaned loudly, back arching off the mattress as pleasure shot straight between your legs. He groaned against your skin, the vibration making you shiver.

“Mmm… so sweet,” he mumbled, sucking harder, taking more of your breast into his mouth. His hand kneaded the other one, thumb brushing over your nipple until it was hard and aching. “You taste so good, baby. These tits were made for my mouth.”

He switched sides, giving the same attention to your left breast — licking, sucking, and gently biting until you were writhing underneath him, soft moans and whimpers falling from your lips nonstop. Every suck sent sparks through your body. Every time he flicked his tongue over your nipple you cried out, hips bucking up against him instinctively.

“Chan… oh god…” you moaned, gripping his hair tighter.

He looked up at you while still sucking, eyes locked on yours, the sight incredibly erotic. “That’s it, moan for me,” he said, voice muffled against your skin. “I want to hear how good it feels. You’re so fucking responsive… so sensitive. I could spend hours just sucking on these pretty tits.”

He pressed your breasts together with both hands, burying his face between them, licking and kissing the soft flesh before taking one nipple back into his mouth and sucking hard. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room, mixed with your breathy moans and his low groans of appreciation.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he praised between sucks, voice rough. “All flushed and moaning under me. This body… fuck, I want to ruin you tonight. Want to mark every inch of you.”

He sucked harder, almost desperately, alternating between your breasts, leaving them wet and shiny with his saliva. Your nipples were swollen and sensitive, every touch of his tongue making you tremble. You kept moaning his name, hips grinding up against his hard cock through his pants, desperate for friction.

Chan growled, one hand sliding down your body to grip your thigh, spreading your legs wider as he continued devouring your chest. He pulled back slightly to admire his work — your breasts covered in hickeys and glistening from his mouth.

“Look how pretty they look now,” he said, voice hoarse with lust. “All marked up by me. Mine.”

He dove back in, sucking and licking with renewed hunger, one hand pinching and rolling the nipple he wasn’t sucking on. Your moans grew louder, needier, your body burning under his touch. Every wet pull of his mouth sent waves of pleasure straight to your core, making you wetter than you’d ever been.

Chan was completely lost in you — kissing, licking, sucking, and praising you nonstop.

“So fucking perfect… these tits are driving me crazy… you’re so hot, baby… so fucking hot…”

He kept going, relentless, as if he really could spend the whole night just worshipping your breasts. Your moans echoed softly in the large bedroom, mixing with his deep groans and the wet sounds of his mouth on your skin.

Chan kept devouring your breasts with unrestrained hunger, his mouth hot and greedy as he sucked hard on your swollen nipples. He alternated between them, licking, biting softly and then soothing with his tongue, while his hands squeezed the soft flesh, pressing them together so he could bury his face between them.

“Fuck, these tits are perfect,” he groaned against your skin, voice thick and raspy. “So soft… so fucking full. I can’t stop sucking them. Look how hard your nipples are for me… so pretty and sensitive.”

You moaned loudly, back arching off the mattress as he sucked harder, the wet sounds of his mouth echoing in the big bedroom. Every pull of his lips sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core, making you wetter by the second. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging desperately as waves of heat washed over you.

“Chan… oh my god…” you whimpered, hips rolling up against him.

He growled in response, the vibration traveling through your chest. “That’s it, moan my name. I love how you sound when I’m sucking on you like this. So fucking sexy.”

After long, torturous minutes spent worshipping your breasts — leaving them covered in red marks and glistening with his saliva — Chan finally began kissing his way down your body. His lips left a wet trail along your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel before moving lower. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your bunched-up dress and panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You lifted your hips to help him, heart hammering wildly in your chest as the cool air hit your soaked pussy.

Chan spread your thighs wide with his strong hands, settling comfortably between them. He stared at your exposed core for a few seconds, eyes completely dark with lust, breathing heavy.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” he whispered, almost reverently. “Look at this pretty little pussy. So wet… so fucking swollen and dripping for me. You’re making such a mess, baby.”

He leaned in and ran his tongue slowly from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, broad stroke. The second he tasted you, Chan let out a deep, guttural moan that vibrated straight against your folds.

“Mmmph— fuck!” he groaned loudly, eyes fluttering shut. “You taste so fucking good. So sweet and creamy… this is the best pussy I’ve ever had in my life. I’m serious.”

He didn’t ease into it. Chan dove in like a starving man, burying his face completely between your thighs with raw, shameless hunger. His tongue licked long, messy stripes up and down your slit, lapping up every drop of your arousal like it was nectar. He moaned continuously against you, the sounds loud, needy, and completely unrestrained.

“Goddamn, baby… you’re dripping down my chin,” he groaned, voice muffled as he licked faster. “Tastes so fucking delicious. I could eat this pussy for hours and still want more. So sweet… so fucking addictive.”

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips jerked violently and you cried out, gripping his hair tighter. Chan growled in approval, sucking even harder, the wet obscene sounds of his mouth filling the entire room.

“Yes— fuck, just like that,” he moaned against your clit. “Moan for me, baby. Let me hear how good my tongue feels. This little clit is throbbing so much… so cute and swollen on my tongue.”

He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with deep, wet strokes while his nose rubbed perfectly against your clit. The pleasure was overwhelming. You moaned loudly, thighs trembling around his head as he devoured you with pure enthusiasm.

Chan pulled back slightly, breathing hard, chin and lips shiny with your juices. “You have no idea how good you taste,” he said, voice wrecked. “I’ve never been this fucking obsessed with a pussy before. Look how wet you are… dripping everywhere. Such a messy, perfect girl for me.”

He dove back in even more eagerly, sucking your clit into his mouth while sliding two thick fingers deep inside you. He curled them instantly, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. His fingers pumped fast and deep, matching the rhythm of his tongue as he sucked and licked your clit with desperate hunger.

“Oh fuck— Chan!” you cried out, back arching sharply off the bed.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name while I eat this pretty pussy,” he groaned loudly, fingers moving faster. “You’re squeezing so tight around my fingers… fuck, I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock like this later. But right now I just want to drink every drop you give me.”

He became almost feral — licking, sucking, and moaning like your pleasure was the only thing that existed. His free hand slid up your body to pinch and tug at your sensitive nipple while he continued devouring you. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth and fingers echoed obscenely.

“You’re soaking my face, baby… making such a mess,” he moaned, voice vibrating right against your clit. “Best fucking taste in the world. I’m addicted already. This pussy is mine tonight. All mine. Gonna make you cum so hard on my tongue.”

Chan sucked your clit harder, fingers curling and pumping faster inside you. His moans were constant and shameless, like he was the one receiving pleasure. Every time you moaned or whimpered his name, he responded with deeper, hungrier licks.

“Cum for me, baby. Please— I need it,” he begged between sucks, voice hoarse and desperate. “I want to feel you cum on my tongue. Want to drink all of it. Be a good girl and flood my mouth. This sweet pussy deserves to cum hard.”

The combination of his filthy words, the relentless suction on your clit, and his fingers hitting that perfect spot over and over finally pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body violently. You cried out his name loudly, thighs clamping around his head as you came hard, trembling and gushing against his tongue. Chan moaned loudly in pure satisfaction, never stopping. He kept licking and sucking through your orgasm, eagerly drinking every drop like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Fuck yes— that’s it, baby. Give me everything,” he groaned, lapping at you greedily. “So good… you taste even better when you cum. Such a sweet, perfect pussy.”

Even after your orgasm subsided and you became sensitive, Chan continued licking slowly and gently, cleaning you up with soft, tender strokes of his tongue while moaning softly, clearly savoring every last bit.

He finally pulled back slightly, lips and chin completely glistening with your juices, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at you from between your spread thighs.

“You’re fucking delicious,” he whispered, kissing your inner thigh. “I could eat you for the rest of the night and still not get enough.”

He crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue, his hard cock pressing insistently against your soaked entrance through his pants.

Chan crawled up your body slowly, kissing every inch of skin he could reach — your stomach, between your breasts, your collarbone, your neck — until his face hovered over yours. His lips were shiny with your juices, eyes completely blown with lust. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he groaned into your mouth.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked. “I could eat that pussy for hours and still beg for more.”

You were still trembling from the intense orgasm, breathing hard, when Chan sat back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hands moved to his belt, undoing it quickly, eyes never leaving your soaked, glistening pussy. He pushed his pants and boxers down in one motion, freeing his cock.

It slapped heavily against his abs, thick, veiny, and painfully hard. The head was dark red, already leaking precum steadily. He was huge — long and impressively thick, the same cock you had sucked in the car earlier, now even harder after tasting you.

“Fuck… look at what you do to me,” Chan groaned, wrapping his hand around the base and stroking himself slowly. His eyes were glued to your pussy, watching the way it clenched and dripped from the previous orgasm. “You’re so fucking wet… so pink and pretty. This pussy is dripping for my cock, isn’t it?”

He stroked himself a little faster, thumb spreading the precum over the head while staring at you like a predator. The wet sound of his hand moving on his thick shaft filled the room, mixing with your heavy breathing.

“Been thinking about burying this cock inside you since the party,” he confessed, voice low and filthy. “Imagining how tight you’d feel. How you’d stretch around me. Fuck… look how wet you are. You want it bad, don’t you, baby?”

You nodded, biting your lip, hips twitching slightly as you watched him jerk off while staring at your exposed pussy. Chan smirked, dark and dangerous, then leaned forward, gripping his cock tighter.

He started teasing you.

He slapped the heavy head of his cock against your clit a few times, making you jolt and moan. Then he began rubbing it up and down your slit — slow, deliberate strokes, coating his thick length with your wetness. The head nudged your entrance, pressing just slightly, before sliding up to rub your clit again in lazy circles.

“Feel that?” he groaned, voice strained. “Feel how hard I am for you? I’m leaking all over this pretty pussy. So fucking slippery… so warm.”

He kept brushing the head along your folds, teasing your entrance, pressing just the tip inside before pulling back out with a wet sound. Every time he did it you whimpered, trying to push your hips down to take him, but he held you still with his free hand on your thigh.

“Uh uh… not yet,” he teased, smirking. “I want to enjoy this. Want to paint this pussy with my cock first. Look how your little hole is twitching every time I touch it… so greedy.”

Chan continued the filthy teasing, rubbing his thick cockhead up and down, occasionally slapping it against your clit, making you moan louder each time. His breathing was ragged, hand stroking the base while he used the head to play with you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet it’s dripping down to your ass,” he groaned, voice getting rougher. “Such a messy girl. My messy girl. This pussy is so perfect… I’m gonna stretch you so good, baby. Gonna fill you up until you can’t think straight.”

He pressed the head against your entrance again, pushing just a little deeper this time, making you gasp. But he pulled back out immediately, continuing to rub and tease, enjoying the way your pussy clenched desperately around nothing.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he taunted, stroking himself faster while rubbing the head on your clit. “Want this fat cock splitting you open. I can see how bad you need it. This tight little hole is begging for me.”

Chan leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss while still rubbing his cock against your pussy. His tongue fucked your mouth in the same rhythm his cock teased your folds. You were moaning nonstop, hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Please…” you whimpered against his mouth.

Chan pulled back, eyes dark, breathing heavily.

“Please what, baby?” he asked, pressing the head against your entrance again, circling it slowly. “Tell me what you want. Want me to fuck this pretty pussy? Want me to bury every inch inside you?”

He kept teasing, pushing just the tip in and pulling out, over and over, driving you crazy. His hand continued stroking the rest of his length, spreading your wetness all over himself.

“Tell me,” he growled, voice low and commanding. “Beg for my cock like a good girl.”

Your body was on fire. Every slow drag of his thick cockhead along your folds, every time he nudged your entrance, every filthy word made you wetter and more desperate. Chan looked completely lost in the sight — eyes fixed on where his cock touched your pussy, breathing hard, muscles tense.

He slapped his cock against your clit a few more times, then rubbed the head firmly against it in tight circles.

“Fuck… I could cum just from rubbing on you like this,” he groaned. “But I need to be inside you. Need to feel this tight pussy squeezing me.”

He positioned the head right at your entrance again, pressing forward slightly, stretching you open just a little. His eyes locked on yours, dark and intense.

“Ready for me, baby?” he asked, voice hoarse with lust, still teasing you with shallow movements. “Because once I slide in… I’m not stopping until you’re creaming all over my cock.”

“Please, Chan… stop teasing me,” you begged desperately, your voice breaking as you rolled your hips up, trying to take him deeper. “I need you. Fuck me already. Please, I want your cock so bad…”

Chan’s eyes flashed with raw hunger. He gripped his thick cock tightly, rubbing the swollen, leaking head up and down your dripping slit one final time before pressing it firmly against your entrance.

“You want it?” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “You want me to stretch this tight little pussy open?”

“Yes… fuck me, Chan. Please.”

With a deep, guttural groan, he finally pushed inside.

The thick head of his cock slowly forced its way past your entrance, stretching you wide. Chan’s mouth fell open instantly, letting out a long, broken, whiny moan that echoed through the bedroom.

“Fuuuuuuck… oh my god…” he moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as he sank deeper. “Your pussy is so fucking tight… so hot… shit, baby, you’re squeezing me so perfectly…”

He kept pushing in slowly, inch by thick inch, until his hips were pressed flush against yours, buried completely inside you. Chan let out the most pathetic, needy moan, his whole body trembling.

“Ahhh… fuck… I’m all the way in… so deep… your pussy feels incredible… so wet, so warm, so fucking tight around my cock…” he whimpered, forehead pressed against yours, breathing ragged. “I can feel you pulsing around me… Jesus Christ, this is the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”

He stayed still for a moment, savoring the feeling, letting you adjust to his size. Then he started moving — slow, deep thrusts at first, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a wet, obscene sound.

“Fuck… fuck… so good…” he moaned with every thrust, voice whiny and desperate. “Listen to how wet you are… you’re creaming all over my cock already, baby. Such a messy girl.”

You moaned loudly beneath him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as pleasure overwhelmed you. “Chan… you’re so big… you’re so deep…”

He groaned at your words, hips snapping harder. “Yeah? You like how my thick cock stretches you? Like feeling me so deep inside this pretty pussy?”

“Yes… yes… harder, please…”

Chan’s control snapped. He grabbed your thighs, pushing them back toward your chest and started fucking you with raw, intense hunger. His hips slammed against yours, burying his cock to the hilt with every powerful thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin grew louder, wetter, filthier.

“Ahh— fuck! Yes… take it, baby,” he moaned loudly, voice breaking with every deep stroke. “Your pussy is sucking me in so greedily… so fucking tight… I’m losing my mind… nnghh!”

You cried out in pleasure, moaning his name shamelessly as he railed you. Chan’s moans were constant and shameless — deep, whiny, almost sobbing with how good it felt.

“Shit… shit… you feel too good… I’m gonna cum so fast if you keep squeezing me like that,” he whimpered, sweat dripping down his chest as he pounded into you harder. “This pussy is perfect… so wet… so hot… I wanna live inside you, fuck…”

He leaned down, pressing his chest against yours, mouth latching onto your neck as he fucked you even deeper. His hips moved in a brutal rhythm, slamming into you with force that made the bed creak loudly.

“Oh god… Chan… it’s so deep… you’re hitting so good…” you moaned, legs shaking around him.

“Yeah? Right here?” He angled his hips and started hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. “Here? You like when I fuck you right there, baby?”

“Yes! Yes— fuck, don’t stop!” you cried out, back arching violently.

Chan let out a string of broken, whiny moans right in your ear, completely lost in pleasure.

“Ahh… ahh… fuck, baby… your pussy is creaming so much… I can feel it dripping down my balls… you’re so fucking wet for me… so nasty… so perfect…”

He fucked you harder, faster, gripping your hips tightly as leverage while slamming into you without mercy. The wet, squelching sounds of his thick cock destroying your pussy were obscene.

“Nnghh… shit… I’m so deep… can you feel me in your stomach, baby?” he groaned, voice trembling. “This cock is yours tonight… gonna fuck this tight little cunt until you can’t walk straight… ahh, fuck!”

Your moans mixed with his — loud, desperate, and filthy. Every powerful thrust made your tits bounce, made you see stars, made you clench harder around his thick length.

Chan’s moans were getting louder, more pathetic, more addictive.

“Fuuuuck… you’re gonna make me cum… this pussy is too good… too fucking tight… I’m addicted already… gonna fuck you all night… gonna fill you up…”

He kept pounding into you relentlessly, sweat-slicked bodies sliding together, mouths occasionally meeting in sloppy, desperate kisses as he railed you deep and hard.

Chan didn’t slow down even for a second.

He kept pounding into you from behind with deep, brutal thrusts, his thick cock stretching your cum-filled pussy over and over. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass was loud and filthy, mixed with the wet squelching of your soaked cunt taking every inch.

“Fuck— fuck— fuck—” Chan moaned loudly, voice whiny and desperate as he yanked your hair harder, forcing your head back. “This pussy is so fucking good… still so tight even after I filled you up… ahh, shit!”

He spanked your ass hard, the sharp crack echoing through the room. Then again. And again. Each slap made you clench around him, pulling another broken moan from his throat.

“Nnghh— yes! Squeeze my cock just like that,” he whimpered, hips snapping faster. “You’re such a dirty little whore… taking my cum and still begging for more… fuck, I love this pussy.”

You were moaning uncontrollably, face pressed into the sheets, ass up high as he destroyed you. Every powerful thrust made your body jolt forward, your tits bouncing underneath you.

“Chan— oh my god— it’s so deep!” you cried out, voice hoarse.

“Yeah? You feel me in your stomach, baby?” he growled, pulling your hair tighter while railing you mercilessly. “You feel how deep I’m fucking you? This cock is ruining this tight little cunt.”

He spanked you again, harder this time, then grabbed both cheeks and spread them wide so he could watch his thick cock disappearing inside you. The sight made him moan loudly, almost pathetically.

“Fuuuuck… look at that… your pussy is creaming so much… white all over my cock… so fucking nasty,” he whimpered, voice trembling with pleasure. “I’m gonna fuck you until you’re leaking my cum for days.”

Chan suddenly changed the angle, leaning forward and pressing your upper body down into the mattress while keeping your ass up. He started fucking you even harder, short and brutal thrusts that hit your g-spot perfectly.

“Ahh— ahh— fuck! Right there— don’t stop!” you screamed, gripping the sheets tightly.

“I’m not stopping,” he moaned right next to your ear, sweat dripping from his chest onto your back. “I’m gonna fuck this pussy until you can’t take anymore… until you’re shaking and crying on my cock.”

His moans were getting louder, whinier, more desperate. Every thrust came with a broken sound — deep, needy, and shameless.

“Nnghh— shit… your cunt is squeezing me so hard… I can feel my cum inside you… so warm… so fucking messy,” he whimpered, spanking your ass again. “You’re my cumdump tonight, baby. My dirty little cumslut.”

He reached around and rubbed your swollen clit with fast, rough circles while continuing to pound into you. Your moans turned into loud, broken screams as another orgasm built rapidly inside you.

“Chan— I’m gonna cum again— please— I’m so close!” you cried out.

“Cum for me— cum on my cock like the slut you are,” he demanded, voice shaking. “I want to feel you throbbing… wanna feel this pussy milking me while I fuck you stupid… ahh, fuck— cum right now!”

You shattered hard, screaming his name as your third orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clenched violently around his cock, gushing around him as your whole body shook.

Chan moaned loudly, almost sobbing in pleasure as he felt you cum.

“Fuuuuck— yes! Just like that… squeezing me so fucking tight… good girl— such a good fucking girl,” he whimpered, still thrusting through your orgasm, prolonging it.

He didn’t stop.

Even as you trembled and gasped, he kept fucking you through it, hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. His moans were constant and broken.

“Ahh… ahh… I can’t stop… your pussy feels too good… I’m gonna cum again… gonna fill you up even more,” he whined, voice high and desperate.

He grabbed your hips with both hands and started railing you with savage intensity — fast, deep, and animalistic. The bed creaked violently under the force of his thrusts.

“Take it— take my fucking cock— take another load, baby,” he moaned, voice cracking. “I’m so close… your cunt is milking me… fuck— I’m cumming— I’m cumming!”

With a loud, broken, whiny moan, Chan buried himself as deep as possible and came hard inside you again. His cock throbbed violently, pumping thick ropes of hot cum deep into your already full pussy. He kept thrusting through his orgasm, whimpering and moaning pathetically as he emptied himself.

“Fuuuuck— take it all… take every drop… such a good cumslut… ahhh, shit!”

He stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat. His cock twitched inside your overflowing pussy, cum already leaking out around him.

But Chan wasn’t done.

He slowly pulled out, watching with dark eyes as his cum dripped from your abused hole. Then he flipped you onto your back again, spreading your legs wide.

“We’re not finished yet, baby,” he growled, voice hoarse but still hungry. “I’m nowhere near done with this pussy tonight.”

Chan was still breathing heavily, his cock buried deep inside you, cum leaking out around his thickness. But instead of pulling out and stopping, he wrapped his arms around you and rolled over, switching positions so he was lying on his back with you on top of him.

You were exhausted, legs shaking, body limp from the multiple orgasms, but Chan clearly wasn’t done.

“Ride me,” he demanded, voice low and husky, gripping your hips tightly. “I want to watch you bounce on my cock. Come on, baby… show me how much you want it.”

Even tired, the way he looked at you — eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving — made heat flood through your body again. You placed your hands on his muscular chest for balance and slowly lifted your hips, feeling his thick cock slide almost all the way out before sinking back down.

Both of you moaned loudly at the same time.

“Fuuuuck…” Chan groaned, head falling back against the pillow, eyes rolling. “That’s it… just like that. Ride my cock, baby. Use me.”

You started moving, rolling your hips before bouncing slowly on his thick length. Every time you sank down, his cock stretched you open again, pushing his cum even deeper inside you. The wet, filthy sound of your soaked pussy taking him was loud in the room.

Chan’s hands gripped your ass tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he watched you with pure lust.

“Shit— look at you,” he moaned, voice whiny and desperate. “Bouncing on my cock like a good little slut… your tits look so fucking perfect like this. Keep going, baby. Ride me harder.”

You picked up the pace, bouncing faster, taking him deeper with every movement. Chan’s moans grew louder, more broken, more pathetic. His fingers dug harder into your hips, helping you move up and down on his cock.

“Ahh— fuck! Yes, baby… just like that,” he whimpered, eyes fixed on where your pussy swallowed his thick cock over and over. “You’re so fucking wet… I can hear how messy you are. My cum is dripping out of you while you ride me… such a nasty, perfect girl.”

You moaned loudly, throwing your head back as you rode him with more intensity. The angle made his cock hit deep inside you, rubbing against all the right spots. Chan’s hands moved up to squeeze your bouncing tits, pinching your nipples hard as he thrust up to meet your movements.

“Chan— oh my god… you’re so deep…” you moaned, riding him faster.

“Yeah? You feel me stretching this cum-filled pussy?” he groaned, voice trembling. “Bounce harder, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me like your personal toy.”

You obeyed, bouncing aggressively on him. The sound of your ass slapping against his thighs mixed with both of your loud moans. Chan was losing control again — moaning shamelessly, whiny and desperate, hips bucking up to fuck you from below.

“Fuuuuck— your pussy is creaming so much… look at the mess on my cock,” he whimpered, eyes glued to the white ring forming around the base of his shaft. “You’re so fucking tight… so warm… I can’t get enough of this cunt.”

He suddenly sat up, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other tangled in your hair. Face to face now, he kissed you messily, tongues sliding together as you kept riding him hard. His moans vibrated into your mouth.

“Mmmph— ride me just like that,” he groaned against your lips. “Bounce on this cock, baby. Milk me. Take everything.”

You rode him with everything you had left, hips moving fast and deep. Chan’s grip on your hair tightened as he started thrusting up harder, meeting every bounce with powerful strokes.

“Ahh— fuck! Chan— I’m gonna cum again!” you cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Cum— cum all over my cock,” he moaned, voice breaking. “I want to feel you squeezing me while you ride me… be a good girl and cum for me, baby— ahhh, shit!”

Your orgasm hit you hard while you were still bouncing on him. You screamed his name, walls clenching violently around his thick cock as you trembled on top of him. Chan moaned loudly, almost sobbing in pleasure as he felt you cum.

“Fuuuuck— yes! Squeeze me just like that… good girl… such a good fucking girl,” he whimpered, still thrusting up into you through your orgasm.

He didn’t let you stop riding. Even as you shook and gasped, he kept guiding your hips, fucking up into you with desperate, needy thrusts.

“I’m close again… your pussy is too good… gonna fill you up one more time,” he moaned, voice high and whiny. “Keep riding me, baby— don’t stop… milk my cock… take my cum deep inside you…”

You kept bouncing on him, tired but eager, until Chan buried his face in your neck and came hard with a long, broken moan, pumping even more cum deep into your already overflowing pussy.

Both of you were exhausted, bodies covered in sweat, breathing heavy and uneven. Chan’s cock was still buried deep inside you, slowly softening, but he didn’t pull out. He stayed there, holding you close, placing soft, lazy kisses along your collarbone and neck while you both tried to catch your breath.

After a long moment, he lifted his head and looked at you, eyes still dark but gentler now. His hair was messy, lips swollen, face flushed.

“…You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse. “We can stop if you’re too tired, baby. I know I’ve been rough.”

You were tired — legs shaking, body sore in the best way — but you didn’t want it to end yet. You shook your head, biting your lip as you looked up at him.

“I still want you,” you whispered, voice small and whiny. “Just… slower now. Please?”

Chan’s eyes softened. He gave you a small, tired smile and nodded.

“Yeah… I want you too.”

He gently pulled out of you, making you both moan softly at the feeling. Then he carefully laid you on your back and positioned himself between your spread legs. This time there was no rush. He hovered over you, supporting his weight on his forearms, and looked down at your face with heavy-lidded eyes.

He leaned down and kissed you slowly, deeply, tongues sliding together in a lazy, sensual dance. The kiss was full of need, but softer now — almost tender. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you whimpered into his mouth.

Chan reached down, lined himself up, and slowly pushed back inside you. Both of you moaned softly against each other’s lips as he sank in deep.

“Fuck… still so warm,” he breathed, forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good, baby.”

He started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, grinding into you instead of pounding. Every thrust was deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. You moaned whiny and soft, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.

“Chan…” you whimpered against his lips, voice needy and sweet. “Feels so good… don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he murmured, kissing you again, slower this time. His tongue explored your mouth as he rocked into you gently, hips pressing deep and staying there for a moment before pulling back and doing it again.

He kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then back to your lips — never stopping the slow, sensual rhythm of his hips. You were being so whiny, moaning softly every time he bottomed out, fingers tangled in his hair.

“More kisses…” you pleaded quietly, almost pouting.

Chan smiled against your mouth and gave you exactly what you wanted. He kissed you deeply, passionately, but gently — long, slow kisses that made your heart race even as your body melted under him. He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough of your taste, like he wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you moan like that,” he whispered between kisses, still rolling his hips in that perfect, deep rhythm. “So soft… so whiny for me… I love hearing you.”

You whimpered loudly, pulling him even closer as you kissed him again, tongues sliding together messily. Chan groaned softly into your mouth, one hand gently cupping your face while the other held your thigh, keeping you spread open for him.

Every thrust was slow and sensual. He wasn’t fucking you anymore — he was making love to you. Deep, grinding strokes that made you feel full and claimed. You kept moaning softly, whiny and needy, every sound muffled by his constant kisses.

“Chan… it feels so good…” you whimpered against his lips, eyes half-closed in pleasure.

“I know, baby… I know,” he breathed, kissing you again, deeper this time. “You feel perfect around me. So warm… so wet… I could stay inside you forever like this.”

He kept kissing you nonstop — your lips, your neck, your jaw, back to your lips again. Soft, wet, lingering kisses mixed with slow, deep thrusts. Your bodies moved together in a gentle rhythm, skin sliding against skin, both of you sweaty and tired but completely lost in each other.

You were so whiny, moaning sweetly every time he rolled his hips, fingers clutching his back, legs wrapped tightly around him.

“Kiss me more…” you begged softly, voice trembling.

Chan obliged immediately, capturing your lips in another long, slow kiss, tongue gently playing with yours as he continued those deep, sensual thrusts. The pleasure was different now — warmer, heavier, more intimate.

He stayed like that for a long time — slow, deep, and constant — kissing you like he never wanted to stop, fucking you gently while you whimpered and moaned beneath him, completely wrapped up in each other.

Chan kept that slow, deep rhythm, rolling his hips in a sensual grind as he stayed buried inside you. His forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling, lips brushing every few seconds in soft, lazy kisses. The room was quiet except for the wet sound of his cock slowly moving in and out of your cum-filled pussy and the soft, needy whimpers leaving your lips.

“You feel so good…” you whined quietly, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper. “So deep… Chan, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, kissing you again — slow and wet. “I’m not stopping until we both cum again.”

He kissed you deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips moved in long, deliberate strokes. Every time he bottomed out, he stayed there for a second, grinding his pelvis against your clit before pulling back and doing it all over again. The pleasure was thick, heavy, and overwhelming in the best way.

Your moans were soft and whiny, almost pathetic, every time he filled you completely. You kept kissing him desperately, fingers tangled in his messy hair, legs shaking around him.

Chan’s breathing was getting heavier. His kisses became more urgent, more messy. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, still so hard even after cumming twice already.

“Fuck… you’re squeezing me again,” he groaned softly, voice hoarse. “So tight… so warm… I can feel my cum inside you every time I move.”

He kissed you harder, one hand gently holding the side of your face while the other slid down to grip your thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. His thrusts started getting a little faster, a little deeper, but still sensual.

You whimpered into his mouth, nails gently scratching his back.

“Chan… I’m getting close again…” you moaned softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah?” he breathed, kissing you between words. “Me too, baby. You feel too fucking good… I don’t wanna stop.”

He started moving with more purpose, still deep but picking up a steady pace. His moans were getting louder, whinier, right against your lips.

“Ahh… fuck, baby… your pussy is creaming so much around me,” he whimpered, voice breaking. “So wet… so fucking warm… I can feel everything.”

You kissed him desperately, moaning into his mouth as the pleasure built higher. Chan’s hips snapped a little harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every thrust now.

“Kiss me— please kiss me,” you whined.

Chan immediately obeyed, capturing your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss, tongues sliding together messily as he fucked you harder. His moans were constant now, needy and broken.

“Mmmph— fuck… I’m getting so close,” he groaned against your lips, voice trembling. “Your pussy is squeezing me so tight… gonna make me cum again… ahh, shit— you feel so good, baby.”

He buried his face in your neck, sucking on your skin while his hips moved faster, pounding into you with deep, desperate strokes. His moans were right in your ear now — loud, whiny, and completely shameless.

“Fuuuuck… I’m so close… so fucking close,” he whimpered, voice cracking. “Your pussy is too perfect… gonna fill you up again… gonna cum so deep inside you…”

You were moaning loudly now, legs shaking violently around him as your orgasm approached.

“Chan— I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum!” you cried out, clinging to him.

“Cum with me, baby— cum on my cock,” he moaned desperately, thrusting harder. “I’m right there… fuck— I’m cumming— I’m cumming!”

Chan’s hips stuttered as he buried himself as deep as possible. His whole body tensed and he let out a long, broken, whiny moan right next to your ear as he started cumming hard.

“Fuuuuck— ahhh! I’m cumming… I’m cumming so much— take it, baby… take all my cum!” he cried out, voice trembling and high.

You came at the same time, screaming his name as your pussy clenched violently around him, milking every drop. Chan kept moaning loudly, almost sobbing with pleasure as he pumped rope after rope of hot cum deep inside you.

“Ahh… ahh… fuck… so good… you’re milking me so well…” he whimpered, still thrusting slowly through both of your orgasms, drawing them out as long as possible.

He kept kissing you through it — messy, tired kisses, tongues lazily sliding together while he emptied himself completely inside you. His body trembled on top of yours, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your skin.

When it finally slowed down, Chan collapsed on top of you, face buried in your neck, breathing heavily. His cock was still twitching inside your overflowing pussy, cum leaking out around him with every small movement.

Both of you stayed like that for a long time — sweaty, exhausted, and completely satisfied — trading soft, lazy kisses while trying to catch your breath.

Chan pressed one last gentle kiss to your lips and whispered against them:

“…Stay the night with me.”

Chan stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat and trembling. His face was hidden in the crook of your neck, lips pressing lazy, tired kisses against your skin while his cock gave one last weak twitch inside you.

Finally, he let out a long, satisfied sigh and slowly pulled out. A thick stream of his cum leaked from your abused pussy, dripping onto the sheets. You whimpered softly at the feeling, too tired to even move.

Chan rolled onto his side and pulled you against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you. One hand gently stroked your back while the other brushed damp hair away from your face.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse and raspy from all the moaning. He kissed your forehead, then your temple. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You stayed quiet for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes as reality slowly started hitting you.

“…I just let a famous race car driver fuck me senseless in his penthouse,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “Multiple times. And I rode him. And begged. And let him cum inside me… twice.”

Chan let out a tired but amused laugh, his chest vibrating against you.

“Yeah… you did,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh harder. “And you were very enthusiastic about it, might I add.”

You covered your face with both hands, mortified but also laughing weakly.

“Oh my god… what the hell did I do? I don’t even do this kind of thing. I’m not… I’m not the ‘go home with a stranger and get railed for hours’ type of girl. Mina is going to kill me when I tell her. Or she’s going to ask for details. Probably both.”

Chan chuckled and gently pulled your hands away from your face, looking at you with a lazy, satisfied smile.

“Hey, you were incredible,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “And for the record… I don’t usually bring girls back here either. So we’re both a little crazy tonight.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest, cheeks burning.

“I can’t feel my legs properly. I think you broke me.”

“Good,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. “Means I did my job right.”

After a few more minutes of quiet cuddling and soft kisses, Chan sat up slowly.

“Come on. Let’s take a shower. You’re covered in sweat and cum… and I probably am too.”

He stood up first, completely naked and still looking unfairly hot even after everything. Then he leaned down and scooped you up like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised squeak, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Chan! I can walk!” you protested, even though your legs were shaking.

“Barely,” he replied with a smirk, carrying you toward the bathroom. “Let me be nice for five minutes.”

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment — huge rainfall shower, marble everywhere, and soft warm lighting. Chan turned on the water, waited for it to get hot, and then stepped in with you still in his arms.

He set you down carefully, but kept an arm around your waist to support you. The hot water felt like heaven on your sore body. Chan grabbed a soft sponge and gently washed you — your chest, your stomach, between your legs with surprising care. He was quiet now, focused, pressing occasional soft kisses to your shoulder.

“You’re being suspiciously sweet after railing me like that,” you mumbled, half-joking, half-suspicious.

Chan laughed softly, turning you around so he could wash your back.

“I can be sweet. Sometimes,” he said, kissing the back of your neck. “Especially after making you scream my name for two hours straight.”

You groaned again, embarrassed, and leaned back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding you under the warm water.

After the shower, Chan gave you one of his oversized soft t-shirts to wear. It reached mid-thigh on you and smelled like him. He carried you back to the bed (despite your weak protests) and pulled the clean sheets over both of you.

You were beyond exhausted. Your body felt heavy, legs sore, mind fuzzy. Chan pulled you into his arms again, your head resting on his chest, one of his hands gently stroking your hair.

“Stay the night,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t even think about leaving. You can barely stand.”

You wanted to argue, but you were already drifting off. The last thing you felt was Chan’s warm body against yours, his fingers still gently playing with your hair, and the soft sound of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“…Okay,” you mumbled sleepily, already half gone. “Just… don’t tell anyone I acted like a complete whore tonight.”

Chan chuckled quietly, hugging you tighter.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

Within seconds, you were fast asleep in Bang Chan’s arms, in his massive bed, in his luxurious penthouse.

And for the first time in a long time… you felt completely at peace

You woke up slowly, the soft morning light filtering through familiar curtains. Your body felt heavy, sore in places you didn’t even know could get sore. You blinked a few times, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

This was… your room.

Your apartment. Your bed. Your messy desk in the corner with the half-dead plant you always forgot to water.

“…What the hell?” you mumbled, sitting up with a groan. Your thighs ached. Your neck had a few suspicious marks. And between your legs… well, you definitely felt what had happened last night.

You looked down. You were wearing an oversized black t-shirt that definitely wasn’t yours. It smelled like expensive cologne and Chan.

Before you could process anything, your bedroom door burst open.

“GOOD MORNING, MISS ‘I don’t go home with famous guys’!” Mina sang loudly, walking in with two cups of coffee like she owned the place. She was already fully dressed, makeup on, looking far too energetic for someone who had been at the same party.

You stared at her, brain still buffering.

“Mina…? How— when did I get home?”

Mina grinned like a shark that had just smelled blood. She sat on the edge of your bed and handed you one of the coffees.

“Chan brought you home around 7 AM. You were dead asleep in his arms like a little princess. He carried you from the car all the way to your bed. Very romantic, by the way. I almost took pictures but I was being respectful.”

You blinked slowly, trying to connect the dots.

“I… don’t remember that at all.”

“Yeah, because you were completely knocked out,” Mina laughed. “He knocked on the door, holding you like a bride, and asked if he could put you in bed. I obviously said yes. Then he tucked you in, kissed your forehead, and told me to text him when you woke up. Very smooth. Very hot. 10/10.”

You pulled the blanket over your head, groaning loudly.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I let him bring me home. I was supposed to call an Uber or something. I wasn’t planning on… staying the night.”

Mina yanked the blanket down, eyes sparkling with pure evil delight.

“Girl. You disappeared with Bang Chan for hours. You came back wearing his shirt, covered in hickeys, and walking like you rode a mechanical bull for six rounds. Don’t even try to play shy now. Spill. How was it? Was he big? Did he eat it good? Was he rough? I need details, bestie. I stayed up waiting for this.”

You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning.

“Mina, I— we… yeah. A lot. Multiple times. He was… very enthusiastic. And vocal. Like, really vocal. Whiny. Moaning a lot. And he has stamina from hell. I lost count after the third round.”

Mina screamed dramatically and shook your shoulders.

“I knew it! I fucking knew it! The way he was eye-fucking you at the table? I told you! And he brought you home? That’s boyfriend behavior. Pilots don’t usually do that.”

You peeked through your fingers, still mortified.

“I woke up thinking I was still in his penthouse… and now I’m here. I don’t even remember leaving his bed. I just remember… being really tired and him kissing my hair.”

Mina fake-swooned, hand on her chest.

“He kissed your hair? I’m gonna cry. That’s so cute. So he’s a gentleman after rearranging your guts? I respect it.”

You threw a pillow at her, laughing despite your embarrassment.

“Stop! I feel like I got hit by a truck. My legs are dead. I think I have bruises on my ass. He spanked me. A lot.”

Mina’s eyes widened with pure joy.

“Yes! King behavior! Did he pull your hair too? Choke you? Tell me he’s a freak, I need this.”

You nodded, hiding your face again.

“He’s… very freaky. But also sweet after. He showered with me, gave me his shirt, carried me to bed… I don’t know what to think. I literally went from ‘I’m not that kind of girl’ to ‘let me ride you while you fill me up’ in one night.”

Mina cackled, almost spilling her coffee.

“Welcome to the club, bestie. One night with Bang Chan and you’re walking funny. I’m so proud of you. My little slut is all grown up.”

You groaned again, but you were smiling.

“I’m never drinking again. Or going to parties. Or looking at Ferraris. Or handsome pilots. This was a mistake.”

Mina raised an eyebrow.

“So… are you gonna text him?”

You paused.

“…Maybe. He told you to let him know when I woke up.”

Mina grinned mischievously and pulled out her phone.

“Already did. I sent him a picture of you sleeping with his shirt on. Caption: ‘Your girl is alive. Barely.’”

You screamed and lunged for her phone.

“Mina!”

She laughed loudly, holding the phone away from you.

“Relax! He replied with a heart emoji and said he’ll call you later. See? He’s whipped already.”

You fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, equal parts horrified and giddy.

“I can’t believe I had sex with Bang Chan… multiple times… and now he wants to call me.”

Mina lay down next to you, bumping your shoulder.

“Best night of your life, right?”

You were quiet for a second, then smiled shyly.

“…Yeah. It really was.”

Mina squealed and hugged you sideways.

“That’s my girl! Now tell me everything. Start from when you left the party. I want the uncensored version.”

You were still lying in bed, laughing with Mina as you told her (with heavy censorship) some details from the night before. After a few minutes, you decided you really needed to change clothes. Your body was deliciously sore, but you couldn’t stand wearing just Chan’s huge shirt anymore.

“Wait, I’m gonna change real quick,” you said, getting up slowly with a groan.

Mina dramatically threw herself onto your bed and took a sip of her coffee.

“Go ahead, take it all off. I’ve seen you naked plenty of times. No shame, you little slut.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled the oversized shirt over your head, leaving you in just your panties. That’s when it happened.

You looked down at your body to check the damage Chan had left… and froze.

Right in the center of your chest, between your breasts, was his signature in bold black permanent marker — big, stylish, exactly like the autographs he usually gives. And written right underneath it in clear capital letters:

“PROPERTY OF BANG CHAN"

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…No.”

Mina, who had been scrolling on her phone, looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

You pointed at your own chest in pure shock.

Mina’s eyes widened. She slowly sat up on the bed and let out the loudest scream you’d ever heard in your life.

“HOLY FUUUUUUUUCK!!!”

She jumped up and got closer, almost spilling her coffee, staring at your breasts like they were the most ridiculous masterpiece she’d ever seen.

“He signed them?! He literally signed your tits?! And wrote ‘PROPERTY OF BANG CHAN’?! Girl, this isn’t fanfiction anymore, this is straight-up 2000s porn plot shit!”

You stood there, mouth open, still staring down at your chest.

“I… I can’t believe he did this. When the hell did he even…?”

“Probably while you were passed out from all the orgasms,” Mina said with zero filter, still staring. “Jesus Christ, look at his handwriting. It’s actually pretty. The man has style even when marking his territory.”

You covered your face with both hands, mortified but also laughing nervously.

“I’m going to kill him. I swear to God I’m going to kill him. How am I supposed to remove this? It’s permanent marker! Mina, I have a meeting tomorrow!”

Mina burst out laughing, holding her stomach.

“Imagine you in a serious meeting, open your blazer and there it is — ‘Property of Bang Chan’ written across your tits. Best presentation of your life.”

“Stop laughing! This isn’t funny!” you complained, but you were already laughing with her, half-hysterical.

“It’s extremely funny! The man fucked you until your brain melted and still had time to autograph you like you were one of his posters. This is peak degeneracy. He treated you like an official trophy.”

You looked down at your chest again and sighed, gently running your fingers over the signature.

“…His handwriting is kind of nice, though.”

Mina threw a pillow at your face.

“Don’t you dare start thinking it’s cute! He literally branded you like cattle! Next step is a collar with his name on it.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you walked to the mirror to see it better.

“I still can’t believe I let him do this. I don’t even remember him grabbing a pen. I must have blacked out hard.”

“You blacked out so hard that he managed to bring you home, put you in bed, and you still didn’t wake up,” Mina said, standing behind you and looking at your reflection in the mirror. “But honestly… it looks kinda aesthetic. If you two ever break up, you could sell your tits as official Bang Chan memorabilia. You’d make a fortune.”

You turned to her, pretending to be shocked.

“You are a horrible person.”

“And you’re the girl who woke up with a famous pilot’s signature on her boobs. We’re perfect for each other.”

You shook your head, still laughing, and started looking for clothes that could hide the “artwork” as much as possible.

Just then, your phone vibrated on the nightstand.

It was a message from Chan.

Chan:

Good morning, beautiful. How are you feeling? Did you see my little gift yet? 😌

You showed the screen to Mina.

She screamed again.

“He’s even worse than I thought. Reply right now. Tell him you’re getting it tattooed permanently.”

You threw the phone onto the bed, laughing and dying of embarrassment at the same time.

This was going to be one hell of a morning

"What's wrong, my little Sky?" Chan slides an arm around his daughter and looks down at her troubled face. "It's not like you to throw that prized possession of yours."

Sky can't help but giggle. She leans her head down on her dad's shoulder, his free hand reaching around her to grab her forgotten pint of ice cream. She watches in amusement as he shovels a large spoonful into his mouth, his face contorting as his brain begins to freeze.

"My friends are assholes," Sky explains, smushing her cheek against Chan's shoulder.

"Assholes, huh? That's a strong word," Chan digs out some more ice cream and this time waves it in front of Sky's mouth. She smiles as she eats it off of the spoon, Chan waving the spoon around as he leans back properly on the sofa. "What did they do?"

"We were supposed to meet up ages ago for a girls night," Sky begins explaining, picking at the skin around her nails. "But something always came in the way. I thought they'd all forgotten about it but today I found out they met up without me."

Chan frowns. "Maybe they thought you were busy?"

"One of them uploaded a picture saying 'better off without her'."

"Ah," Chan grimaces. He looks down at his daughter's forlorn face, and he reaches out to place a hand over her smaller ones. "Want me to go tell them off for you?"

Sky's eyes widen. "No, daddy, I do not. You'd embarrass yourself."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Chan starts chuckling, Sky laughing along with him as she snuggles up closer to the man. "I might trip over their fancy girly things."

"Daddy," Sky whines, giggling.

Chan squeezes her shoulder gently and turns his head to drop a soft kiss on the top of her hair. "I'm sorry princess. You deserve better friends than those girls … it's their loss, they're the ones who are going to regret it when they realise they should have treated such a special little girl much better than they did."

Sky buries her face into the side of Chan's arm. "I'm not that special daddy."

"Of course you are!" Chan reaches out to gently tickle her chin. "You're the most special person in my life. Along with your mum and your brother."

At that, Sky can't help but smile as she looks up at her dad. She scrunches her nose up in a way of affection, the habit she picked up from her father when she was a child; Chan does the same, their little love language instantly making Sky feel much better.

"What were you supposed to be doing with them anyway?" Chan asks.

Sky shrugs. "We were going to do makeovers and paint each other’s nails and dye our hair and watch movies."

Chan hums, and for a second he's quiet before his face lights up, an idea blooming in his mind. "Why don't we do those things together?"

Sky looks up at him, bewildered. "What?"

Chan chuckles and pinches her cheeks. "Well, we can give each other makeovers and paint each other's nails. And I'll dye your hair … maybe I'll let you do mine, but I'm definitely too old for that sort of thing now, my hair might fall out."

Sky starts giggling. "You used to dye your hair all the time when you were younger, right?"

"All the time," Chan nods, and he clutches his scalp in memory. He pulls one of his comical faces at her and Sky starts wheezing, trying to reciprocate the expression. "Now my scalp hurts just thinking about it."

"We can use spray colour on you then," Sky laughs, hugging her dad around the waist. "If you want to."

"If it'll make you happy, then sure," Chan agrees. "We can bake something afterwards too, if you want."

"Really?"

"Of course princess. Go on, go get your things."

All giggly, Sky scrambles up from the sofa and runs out of the room.

While he waits, Chan picks up a scrap of paper from the table. He fiddles around with it, folding it over and over with his face furrowed in concentration. When he's finally finished what he's doing, he rummages around Sky's pencil case for a marker and draws two little eyes, a nose, and a goofy smile.

Chan chuckles happily to himself as he deposits his creation onto her phone before he leans back into the sofa again. He rubs his hands over his face and sighs; in truth, he'd love nothing more than to give those girls who hurt his daughter a piece of his mind.

But being the calm, collected dad he is, Chan waits patiently for Sky and tries not to fantasise about politely slapping them all.

"I brought my stuff," Sky scrambles down the stairs and into the living room, slightly huffing as she lugs her large makeup case with her. It's a huge box, and the handles weigh down on her fingers, turning her skin white before she drops it down onto the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

Chan's eyes widen. "Are you sure that case isn't too small? Only, I think you can fit the entirety of Australia in this."

Giggling, Sky shakes her head. "Daddy, quit being sarcastic. It's not that big."

"It's ginormous."

"Is not."

"Is too."

Sky sticks her tongue out at her dad. "... Maybe it is a little bit."

"It definitely is," Chan laughs as he leans forward and brings the case towards him. His fingers smooth over the hard black material, his nails tracing the tiny holographic stars winking up at him. "You definitely take after your mother in this department. Her case is just as big."

Sitting down on the floor, Sky hugs her knees as she watches her dad open the case. "Mama buys me new makeup every time she goes shopping. Sometimes it's lipstick, sometimes it's pretty eyeshadow … she says they remind her of me."

Chan's heart pangs. He clears his throat as a sudden wash of overwhelming affection for his wife floods his system, and he can't wait for her to get home from work in the evening.

Sky must have seen his expression for she suddenly smiles, cocking her head to the side. "You have that funny look in your eyes, daddy."

"What look?" Chan rubs the nape of his neck, his cheeks flushing. "There's no look."

"Oh yes there is. It's the look you get whenever you think about mama."

Chan clamps his hands over his red ears and laughs, embarrassed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, princess."

"Daddy."

"Sky."

The two of them start giggling at each other, and Chan rubs his hands all over his face.

"I can't help it, okay?" Chan sighs, a wistful expression flooding his face. "Your mother is … everything to me."

Sky says nothing, instead she leans back on her hands and watches her father intently.

Growing up, she always knew she was lucky … her parents constantly love each other like it's their first day together, and their affection towards each other only grows. They've never been the type of couple to hide it, and ignoring people who shunned them for being too 'in love', they continue being completely enraptured with each other.

Personally, Sky loves their relationship. She knows that if she can't find a partner who treats her the way her father treats her mother, she doesn't want one.

She studies Chan's lovestruck face; the soft, sparkling eyes, the flushed skin with the tiny lines at the sides corners of his eyes and mouth. His lips curve into a huge smile, one that he tries desperately to let go of but it comes back bigger and brighter than ever.

It's the kind of smile that Sky can't help but grow soft over.

"You're the cutest," Sky muses, cocking her head to the side. "You and mama are the cutest parents ever."

Chan giggles even more, covering his face with his pretty hands. "Stop making your old dad shy."

Laughing, Sky turns and suddenly spots something on her phone. She reaches over and picks it up, suddenly laughing to herself when she realises what it is.

"A paper wolf!" She grins, holding it up to the light. The grey coloured paper is creased in some places, as if Chan had folded and unfolded it repetitively. But it adds charm to the little origami creation, and Sky rests her chin on Chan's knee as she slides the wolf playfully over his other knee. "You used to make me these all the time."

Chan smiles. "Whenever you were sad. Haven't made you one in a long time, huh?"

"I still have all the other ones," Sky says. "I keep them on my shelf and they cheer me up whenever I don't feel good."

At that, Chan sniffs. "You still have them all? I thought you would have thrown them away. It's just silly old paper."

"No, I'd never throw them," Sky frowns, and she wraps her arms around Chan's knees in a playful hug. "They mean a lot to me."

"You mean a lot to me," Chan murmurs and kisses her forehead.

Sky giggles and kisses his cheek in return. Then she places the little wolf in her breast pocket, it's face poking out over the fabric which she pats happily.

She looks up when Chan slides from the sofa down to the floor. He stretches his legs out with a sigh, watching her with a crooked smile.

"Might as well join you on the floor, huh?" Chan says, leaning back on his hands. "Is this what you girls do? Sit on the floor?"

"Pretty much," Sky nods. "We sit on the floor and talk and forget what we were supposed to be doing."

"Oh, is that so?" Chan grins. "What do you talk about?"

Sky shrugs, looking sheepish. "Boys. Food. Annoying people."

"Boys, huh?" Chan leans forward at that, one hand under his chin as he winks at his daughter. "Why, is there a boy in your life, baby girl?"

Sky splutters. "No."

"You can tell me if there is, you know that right?"

"I know," Sky nods, looking down. "There's just no one I like."

Chan cocks his head to the side. He asks her a silent question with his eyes, and Sky sighs, leaning back.

"When I look at you and mama, the first thing I see is how much you both love each other," Sky starts. "You've been together for so long and you still love each other the way you always have. You're always kind to each other. You rarely fight and when you do, you make up so fast because neither of you know how to stay mad at each other. I've grown up seeing the way you love each other and I realised that your relationship is the kind of relationship I want … " Sky trails off and she tugs at the soft rug beneath her. "I haven't met a guy who has what I'm looking for yet. And I'm not really bothered about it. When the time is right, I'll find him. Besides. I'm happy being single."

Chan sits back and surveys his daughter. He's always seen her as his little girl, one that he always has to protect and take care of. Now, after listening to her words, Chan realises just how much she's grown.

He realises just how wise and sensible she is, and something deep in his heart twinges.

Sky suddenly looks alarmed. "Daddy, are you crying?"

"What? No - " Chan rubs at his eyes, jolting when his fingers come away tear stained. "No I'm just … my eyes are sweating. That's all."

Eyes softening, Sky crawls over to her father and throws her arms around him. "Why are you crying?"

Chan sniffs loudly against her shoulder. "I'm not."

"Daddy."

Sighing, Chan wraps his arms around Sky and squeezes her tightly. "Because you're adorable. And you've grown so much … gosh, soon you're not even going to want to hug me anymore."

"Hey, that's never going to happen," Sky pats his shoulder softly. "I'm always going to want to cuddle my emotional dad."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Chan pulls away and cups her face fondly. "Goodness, look at you. You're so beautiful … you definitely got all your mother's genes. You're too good for silly boys anyway."

Sky grins widely at that, a mirror image of Chan's smile.

Chan kisses her nose softly. "You sure you still want a makeover? You don't even need making over, princess, you're beautiful already."

"I still want one," Sky giggles, and she places a brush in his hand. "Please?"

"Alright princess," Chan laughs, and he pulls her makeup towards him. "Anything in particular?"

"Whatever you want."

Sitting in his lap like she did when she was a child, Sky lets her father smooth his fingers over the soft skin of her face; his eyes are adorably round in concentration, and his somewhat skilled fingers makes Sky wonder if he's used to putting makeup on her mother.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"How many times have you done this before?"

Chan chuckles as he unscrews a bottle. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno … you seem like you know what you're doing. As if you've done this before. A lot."

Chan winks. "You've caught me. I used to do your mother's makeup all the time."

"Really?"

"Really," Chan nods, and he gently cups her chin in between his finger and thumb as he starts to sweep something sparkly across her cheeks. "You know I was an idol back in the day, right? We had a lot of stylists and makeup artists and I used to watch them doing your uncles' makeup and my own all the time. I asked your mother if I could do her makeup one day for fun to see what I learned."

"What did you do?"

Chan smiles, a pretty memory floating around in his head. "I drew sparkly stars all over your mother's face and she cried."

"She cried?"

"Yes."

Sky starts giggling. "Why?"

Chan shrugs, gently tracing a thin brush across her eyelid. "She said it was because she loved it so much. Personally, I think she hated it."

"I don't think she would have hated it. You're good at everything, daddy."

"Well, maybe. She did ask me to do her makeup a lot after that."

"See? She probably loved it," Sky grins, opening her eyes again when Chan stops drawing on her eyelids. "I want to find a guy who'll do my makeup. The guys in school think makeup is girly and gross."

Chan frowns at that. "Makeup isn't girly and gross. Anyone can wear makeup … if they like it and it makes them feel like themselves, then that's all that matters."

"All guys should be like you," Sky muses, and Chan flushes with embarrassment. "Mama is really lucky."

The flustered man shakes his head and he smooths his fingers through Sky's chestnut coloured hair. "I'm the one who's lucky. I still feel like I don't deserve her sometimes."

"Of course you do. You're both perfect for each other," Sky kisses her father's forehead before turning her face to peer into her mirror. Her face suddenly lights up. "Hey, you drew stars on me too! Like mama!"

"I did," Chan chuckles. "I thought it'd be cute. She might cry when she comes home from work."

Sky grins at that, and she examines her pretty face in wonder. "Then … can I do stars on you too? And then when mama comes home we can both do stars on her, and when Noey comes home we can put stars on him too, and - "

"Goodness, Sky," Chan laughs. "You want us all to be starry faced?"

Sky nods happily. "Star family."

"Star family … " Chan repeats slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "I like that. Okay! We'll do that then."

Doing a happy dance in Chan's lap, Sky reaches for the makeup he used on her and starts applying it on his face. She giggles when he starts trying to distract her by pulling silly faces at her, and at one point the man sticks his tongue out at her just as she moves her fingers.

"Ew! Daddy, that's gross," Sky laughs through a grimace, and she wipes her fingers on Chan's t-shirt as the man shakes with laughter underneath her. "Don't do that again."

"Sorry baby," Chan chuckles. "Though that reminded me of when I did your mother's makeup. She moved suddenly and got lip gloss in her mouth."

"Well, like mother like daughter," Sky snorts, dipping a brush into glitter. "Did the gloss at least taste nice?"

"No idea," Chan giggles. "Ask your mother later."

It's not long before Sky finishes decorating her father's face with makeup. She sits back and admires her handiwork, and she giggles when she realises Chan is half falling asleep.

"Daddy wake up," Sky grabs his arms and the man cracks his eyes open, a soft smile spreading across his face. "You're already falling asleep?"

"I don't know what you mean," Chan yawns. "I'm completely awake."

Sky suddenly raises her eyebrows. "Maybe you should sleep more at night. Instead of you and mama distracting each other."

At that, Chan splutters. "Hey!"

Sky shrieks with laughter and she runs suddenly from her father's outstretched arms. The man shuffles to his feet and with a child-like grin, Chan races after his daughter.

"Get back here, you cheeky little gremlin," Chan laughs, and Sky squeals just before Chan catches her, his arms sliding around her as he tackles her to the ground. "Gotcha!"

"Daddy … " Sky giggles, kicking out. But Chan's grip is strong and she soon gives up, melting into her father's cosy hug instead. "Can we bake later? I want to watch a movie."

"Of course baby," Chan agrees, and he tickles her under the chin. "Still Disney?"

"Still Disney." Sky nods. "The only correct option."

Chan chuckles as he sits them both up again, leaning back against the bottom of the sofa as they spread out on the floor. Sky automatically drops her head against Chan's shoulder and the wolf in her pocket crinkles.

They're barely into the film before they both fall asleep. Chan nods off first, his head resting atop his daughter's, one of his arms around her shoulders. Sky's head rests in the crook of Chan's neck, her hand in Chan's free one, the both of them completely passed out.

When Y/N comes home later and spots her husband and daughter asleep in front of the TV, her eyes well up.

She catches sight of the stars on their cheeks and bursts completely into tears.

---

Bang Chan liked to think he was a composed man.

As a leader, as a producer, as a father—he prided himself on being dependable, steady, in control.

But that image shattered instantly the moment he walked into the living room that evening.

Because standing there—no, wobbling there—was his daughter.

Dressed as a little wolf.

Specifically his own beloved character, Wolf Chan.

“…What.”

His voice came out quieter than he intended, like the air had been punched out of him.

You stood beside her, phone already in hand, clearly waiting for this exact reaction. “Surprise?”

Chan blinked once.

Twice.

He looked at his daughter again.

She had on a soft gray onesie with little paw mittens, a fluffy tail sewn onto the back, and—God help him—a hood with small wolf ears that kept slipping slightly over her eyes.

“…What,” he repeated, this time with more emotion.

“Baby Wolf Chan,” you said proudly, crouching down to adjust the hood. “Do you like it?”

Your daughter let out a tiny, proud “Awooo!” that sounded more like a confused squeak.

Chan physically staggered back a step.

“No,” he said immediately.

You frowned. “No?”

He pressed a hand to his chest like he was in pain. “I don’t like it.”

Your heart dropped for half a second—

—and then he lunged forward, scooping your daughter into his arms so fast she squealed.

“I love it,” he groaned, nuzzling his face into her cheek. “I love it too much. This is dangerous. This is actually dangerous.”

You snorted. “Cuteness aggression?”

“I’m going to explode,” he said seriously, hugging her tighter—but still gentle, always gentle. “I’m actually going to explode. Why is she like this?”

Your daughter giggled, grabbing onto his hoodie strings with her mitten paws.

“Because she’s your daughter,” you said.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Chan replied, staring at her like she’d personally ruined his life.

-

Chan sat down on the couch with her still in his arms, staring at her like he was trying to memorize every single detail.

“She has a tail,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“She has paws.”

“Yes, Chan.”

“She just barked at me.”

“That was an awooo.”

He looked at you, eyes wide. “She awooo’d at me.”

Your daughter, as if understanding she was the center of attention, lifted her arms and made another tiny “Awoo!”

Chan made a strangled noise.

“Oh my God.”

He buried his face into her shoulder, mumbling something incoherent.

You laughed. “You’re not handling this well.”

“I’m handling this too well,” he shot back, lifting his head. “That’s the issue. I have too much love in my body right now.”

He poked her little mitten paw.

“Look at this. Look at her. Why is she so small?”

“She’s literally a toddler.”

“She’s smaller today.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It is,” he insisted. “She got smaller. And fluffier. And—” he squeezed his eyes shut—“I can’t do this.”

Your daughter leaned forward and bonked her forehead against his chin.

Chan froze.

“…She just headbutted me.”

You grinned. “Wolf behavior.”

“I raised her wrong,” he said immediately, but his voice was full of fondness.

-

“Okay, okay,” you said, clapping your hands. “Stand up. We’re doing a photoshoot.”

Chan didn’t even argue. That’s how you knew he was completely gone.

“Do I get props?” he asked, already adjusting her hood again.

“Yes,” you said, tossing him a small Wolf Chan. “Hold this.”

He took it carefully, placing it in your daughter’s lap.

She immediately tried to eat its ear.

“Accurate,” Chan nodded.

You started snapping pictures.

“Chan, look here—”

He turned, but not before kissing her cheek.

Click.

“Chan, serious face—”

He tried. He really did. But your daughter grabbed his nose with both mitten paws.

Click.

You burst out laughing. “That’s the one.”

“I can’t be serious,” he complained. “She’s holding my nose hostage.”

Your daughter squealed triumphantly.

“Say awooo!” you encouraged.

“Awoo!” she chirped.

Chan lost it again.

“I’m done. I’m actually done. I’m not surviving this.”

He hugged her tightly, rocking slightly side to side.

“You’re too cute,” he mumbled. “You’re illegally cute. I’m calling the authorities.”

-

At some point, Chan just… stopped functioning normally.

He sat on the floor with her between his legs, hands hovering around her like she might suddenly vanish.

“Don’t let anyone see her,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“They’ll steal her.”

“Chan.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “If anyone sees this—this tiny wolf situation—they’re going to try to take her. I would.”

You laughed. “You already have her.”

“I would take her again.”

“That’s kidnapping.”

“It’s worth it.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

He looked down at her again.

She was busy trying to chase her own tail.

“…She doesn’t even know she’s cute,” he whispered.

“That’s the cutest part.”

“I can’t handle that,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s too much.”

-

“Okay,” Chan suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “We need to train her properly.”

You blinked. “Train her?”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “She’s a wolf. She needs to awooo correctly.”

Your daughter looked up at him like she understood.

“Awoo,” he demonstrated, softly.

She blinked.

“Awoo,” he repeated.

“Awoo!” she replied, louder this time.

Chan gasped.

“Did you hear that?!”

“I heard it,” you said, laughing.

“She’s learning so fast,” he said, voice full of pride. “She’s a genius.”

“She said one word.”

“It’s an important word.”

Your daughter clapped for herself.

Chan clapped too.

“Good job, baby,” he said, kissing her head. “Best awooo ever.”

-

It happened when she got sleepy.

One moment she was running around in her little Wolf Chan outfit, the next she was waddling back toward Chan, rubbing her eyes with her mitten paws.

“Up,” she mumbled.

Chan froze.

“You want me?” he asked softly.

She nodded, reaching for him.

That was it.

That was the moment.

He picked her up gently, cradling her against his chest.

She immediately tucked her face into his shoulder, her little tail resting against his arm.

Chan didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t speak.

You watched quietly.

“…She’s falling asleep,” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

“In the Wolf Chan costume.”

“Yeah.”

He swallowed.

“This is the cutest thing that’s ever happened in human history.”

You smiled.

“She trusts me,” he said, voice softer now.

“She does.”

He looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I don’t deserve this.”

“Hey,” you said gently.

He shook his head. “No, I mean it. Look at her. She’s so small. And she’s mine.”

“And mine,” you added.

“And yours,” he corrected quickly.

There was a pause.

“She’s our little wolf.”

You nodded.

“Our little wolf.”

-

Later, after you changed her out of the costume and put her to bed, Chan stayed in her room longer than usual.

He stood by the crib, just watching her sleep.

You leaned against the doorframe.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

He nodded, but didn’t look away.

“She was so happy today,” he said.

“She was.”

“She loves you,” he added.

“And you.”

He smiled slightly.

“I think I love her more every day.”

“That’s how it works.”

He finally turned to you.

“…What if I run out of space?”

You blinked. “What?”

“For loving her,” he said, completely serious. “What if there’s too much?”

You walked over, taking his hand.

“That’s not how love works.”

He squeezed your hand.

“Good,” he said softly.

-

As you both turned to leave, a tiny voice stopped you.

“…Awoo.”

You both froze.

Slowly, you turned back.

Your daughter was still asleep.

But somehow—half-dreaming—she had made the softest little awooo sound.

Chan covered his mouth.

“No,” he whispered. “No, she didn’t just do that.”

You laughed quietly. “She did.”

He looked like he might cry.

“I’m not strong enough for this,” he said.

“Yes, you are.”

He shook his head, smiling helplessly.

“…Our little wolf.”

You leaned against him.

“Our little wolf.”

And from that day on, Chan never fully recovered from the cuteness aggression.

Not when she wore the costume again.

Not when she randomly awooo’d in public.

Not even when she grew older.

Because to him—

she would always be his little wolf.

And honestly?

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

part two

“Yeah. So really, you should be used to it.” 

“It's hard to get used to it when I feel guilty about it.”

“Hey, no,” Frowning, Chris stopped moving and turned to face his wife again. “Do you really feel guilty?” 

“Maybe,” Y/N wrinkled her nose. “I just … don't wanna make you feel like I'm using you? Or like I only care about your money … because I don't care about your money. I mean I do, but not like that … “

“Hey,” Chris cupped her face in his hands, though his palms rested closer to her hairline than normal so as not to disturb her makeup, something that Y/N registered with a twinge to her heart. “I've never thought that about you, or felt that way. Like, ever. I'm your husband, baby. It doesn't matter what the state of the world is like these days … it's my job to provide for you. And even if it wasn't, I still would. Because I want to. I love spending my money on you. Like … everything I earn is yours. You know that, right?” 

Eyes wide, Y/N continued to stare st her husband's face. There was an earnest expression floating about his pupils, and her breath hitched.

“Don't ever think like that,” Chris hummed, kissing her forehead. “I love you. And I always want to spend my money on the people I love. That's just who I am … so you gotta get used to it. Because I'm not stopping.”

At that, Y/N giggled, her eyes prickling. “Okay,” she whispered. And then, “You're gonna make my makeup run.” 

“Ah … we can't have that, aye?” Chris grinned. Gently sweeping the tip of his index finger just below her eyelashes to catch any wetness threatening to spill, Chris pressed another kiss to her nose before pulling his wife into his arms with an affectionate squeeze. 

                                       ☆

“Gimme that,” Chris swiped a large shopping bag out of his wife's hand. “Mine.”

“Hey, I can carry it,” Y/N huffed and reached out for the bag, only to pout when Chris moved it away from her. 

“I know you can. But that doesn't mean you have to,” Chris said cheerfully. “Ima carry all the bags … you have fun looking around.” 

“But - “

“No. Buts,” his words were firm, but laced with a softness that had Y/N giving up. He stepped closer to her, his face looming a few inches above hers before he leaned down and kissed her temple. “I really don't mind. Think of it as me getting in an arm workout. You're not gonna stop me from working out, are you?” 

“Well … no … “ Y/N smiled in defeat. She looked anxiously at the bag. “Are you sure?”

“Completely sure. No more worrying, yeah? I just want you to forget about everything and have fun. If things get too hectic I'll go put them in the car. Deal?” Chris nudged her shoulder with his.

“Okay,” Y/N nodded, expelling a shaky breath. Her husband was never short of chivalrous when it came to day to day tasks, yet he still managed to cause her heart to flutter each time. 

If they were both at home, she would have taken his face in her hands and locked her lips over his in a kiss deep enough to drown them both. 

As it was, they were both shy when it came to expressing affection loudly in public. Aside for a few discreet pecks and holding hands, they really weren't the sort of couple to perform for the people around them.

“I can't wait to kiss the life out of you when we go home,” Y/N said instead. Her voice was soft, but Chris still felt the words like a punch, temporarily winding him.

He offered her one of his charming smiles, the rich mahogany of his eyes crinkling and twinkling under the bright shopping centre lights. “Ah … don't say things like that. Now I won't be able to think about anything else.”

Giggling, Y/N reached for his free hand and curled her fingers around his palm, relishing in the steady heat pressing into her skin. “Well, too bad. I told you we should have stayed home … you're the one who wanted to come out.”

“Yeah, well … “ Chris cleared his throat, ears pink as he squeezed his wife's hand. “Anyway. You wanna go in there?”

He nodded towards one of Y/N's favourite stores, the large makeup and skincare counters visible from where they were standing. 

Y/N smiled sheepishly, nodding. 

“Come on then,” Chris chuckled, steering her in the direction of the entrance. He reached for one of the baskets without even needing to ask her, and he gave her a knowing scrunch of his nose when she watched him curl his fingers around the handle. 

“You're gonna carry that too?” Y/N asked. 

“Yep.” 

“You're making my stomach flip.” 

“Oh yeah? My girl feeling all shy?” 

“Maybe.” 

Laughing under his breath, Chris stepped closer so his front pressed gently into her side as she traced her fingers over a row of neatly arranged lipsticks. “You're adorable,” he whispered, secretly brushing his lips against her brow.

Flushing beet red, Y/N reached for one of the lipsticks and slowly twisted it up, revealing a velvety bullet. “Can I borrow your hand?” 

Chris held his arm out towards her without another word. He watched curiously as she swiped the lipstick in a small smudge over the back of his hand, leaving behind a rosy swatch.

“That's pretty,” Chris mused, wiggling his fingers. He pointed to one of the lipsticks two spaces away from the one she had picked up first. “Try that one?” 

“This one?” 

“Yeah.”

She reached for the slightly darker shade and made a little mark on her husband's hand next to the first swatch.

“Hmm … “ Chris pucked up his lips in thought, resembling a duck. “That one's pretty too.” 

Laughing, Y/N reached for a third shade. “What about this one?”

“That's … pretty,” Chris spluttered, his face breaking into a grin. 

“You're just gonna say that to everything, aren't you?” 

“Yep. Because everything would look pretty on you.”

“Chris,” Y/N giggled and set the tester back in his placeholder. She held up two different ones and held them close to her face, pouting as she looked up at her husband. “Okay, what about these two? Which one suits me better?” 

Chris swivelled his gaze from the right lipstick, to the one in her left hand. And then back again. “Both … ?” 

“No, one has to look worse than the other,” Y/N whined, moving the bullets closer to each other and holding them out to him. “Which one?”

Humming as he blinked at both lipsticks, Chris flicked his eyes up onto his wife's face instead. He studied her expectant expression, the pure trust shining in her pretty eyes, and for a moment, Chris forgot what she had even asked him. 

He could stare at her face forever.

“Focus,” Y/N giggled, flushing. 

“Can't help it,” Chris smiled easily. “You're too damn beautiful.” 

A woman passing by the both of them smiled as she heard their words. It made Chris's skin burn with heat too, and he smiled back politely before bursting into a fit of hushed laughter with his wife. 

“Now who's shy?” Y/N teased him, snickering into the lapel of his jacket as he moved closer to her, head dropping in an attempt to hide. 

“Shh,” Chris's breath hitched, his smile deepening. He pulled his face back and finally pointed to the lipstick in Y/N's right hand. “That one. It'll make your eyes sparkle.” 

Y/N put both testers down and picked up a fresh tube of the lipstick he had suggested before depositing it into the basket, eliciting a happy sound from the man beside her.

Eyes lighting up at something else, Y/N crouched and reached for a long, thin tube. Chris immediately held his hand out to her again, and he smiled as he studied the top of her head while she drew onto his skin again.

She smiled proudly at him when she had finished, and Chris looked down to see a glittery, multidimensional heart next to the switches of lipstick. It made him laugh, ears sizzling again, and he held his hand out of his wife's.

“Gimme,” he said, and he curled his fingers gently around her wrist. 

Y/N watched as he pressed the back of his hand against the back of hers. He held it there for a second before pulling away, and Y/N giggled at the sight of a twin heart stamped onto her skin.

“It's dried down now,” Y/N mused, gently patting the glitter. “You did that so fast.”

He winked at her in response, and she curled her hand around his arm, squeezing softly as they walked further down the aisle.

Somehow, the hours they spent perusing all the different shops passed extremely quickly for Chris. He had barely noticed the time until his stomach had rumbled like thunder echoing in the skies above them, and they had stopped to eat a couple of tall burgers; he had been too busy carefully studying the changes in his wife's expression as she waded in and out of different aisles. He was sure his insides had all but melted out of sheer affection for her; Y/N wasn't the most extroverted person he knew, and despite her politeness and ability to socialise with almost anyone, she was typically quiet and reserved. But with the right person, Chris knew, she could talk and talk and talk until the sun set and came up again. It was something he had had the privilege of experiencing early on in their friendship years ago, and it was something that he would never get bored of.

The way her eyes twinkled and her face flushed as she gushed and tripped over words with excitement gave Chris the fierce urge to just scoop her up and protect her from anything and everything that could potentially hurt her. She had something to say about even the most obscure things, and Chris found himself constantly addicted to her presence by his side.

He loved seeing her like this. It filled his heart with so much light that he felt as if it might explode.

“Ooh, these look nice,” Chris snapped out of his doting daze and forced himself to pay attention to what Y/N was gesturing to. He had been too busy hanging onto her every word that he hadn't even noticed them setting foot into one of his favourite shoe shops. She was pressing onto the insoles of a dark pair of trainers, and her eyes widened. “Feel these.” 

Eyebrows raised, Chris did as she said. His own eyes rounded as he squished the insoles, and he picked the shoe off of the rack, turning it around to examine the shape of it.

“Oh, woah … “ he studied the front of the shoe, fingers tracing over the detailing. “These look so comfy … “ 

“Try them on,” Y/N picked up the matching shoe and held it out to her husband. “I saw someone going on about these the other day - apparently they're really good for flat feet.” 

At that, Chris smiled. “You did?”

“I'm always searching for the best shoes for you,” Y/N said simply. “I don't like seeing you in pain.” 

Chest twinging at that, Chris took the other trainer from her and sat down on stool, sliding his current pair off. Y/N watched expectantly as he stepped into the new ones and flexed his feet up and down before standing up, firmly planting the soles into the ground.

“How do they feel?” Y/N hummed as he walked up and down the aisle.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Chris let out a slow breath. “So fucking comfy.”

“Yeah? Is there enough room for your toes?” 

“There's so much room,” Chris said, and Y/N smiled when she saw the movement from the soft tops of the shoes. “The arch feels really too.” 

“Rate them?”

“Ten. A strong ten,” Chris said firmly, wandering around in a circle like a puppy chasing its tail.

Giggling at that, Y/N reached for the shoebox. “I'm gonna get you them.”

“What? No, baby … we're shopping for you. Not for me.” 

“But you like them,” Y/N frowned.

“They're expensive,” Chris huffed.

“You've spent an arm and a leg on me already today,” Y/N pointed out. “These shoes are nothing.”

“It doesn't feel right spending that much on me,” Chris grumbled. “I … I need to think about it.”

“No, you don't,” Y/N stepped towards him and searched his eyes with her own. “You said you want me to buy whatever makes me happy.”

“Yeah … “

“Buying you these shoes would make me happy,” Y/N said, reaching for his hand. “Really happy. I mean … it'd make me even happier if you'd let me use my money … “

“Hell no.”

“Then at least let me get you them with yours,” Y/N giggled. “You can't say no. Because then I'd be unhappy.”

Letting out a pained groan, Chris stared at the shoe in his hand. “You really want to?”

She nodded energetically, and Chris sighed in defeat. 

“I win,” Y/N grinned devilishly. 

As adamant as he had been about getting the shoes, Chris couldn't have been happier walking out wearing the new ones with his previous pair tucked away in the box. He was practically bouncing with each step, and Y/N couldn't help but giggle at him.

“You look like a roo,” she commented. “Do you like them?”

“I don't like that you tricked me into buying them,” Chris said through a wide grin. “But I love how they feel.”

“Good. We need to get matching stuff now.” 

“Oh … I forgot about that.” 

“I didn't.”

Laughing, Chris held up the bags he was holding; he had made sure to hold them all with one hand so he could hold his wife's hand with the other. “Can I go put these in the car first?”

“I told you I could hold them!”

“It's not that,” Chris grinned. “I wanna have free hands to look with when you drag me into the pj section.” 

“Who said it had to be pj's?”

“It's always pj's. You want to wear matching pj's and drink matching hot chocolates while we watch movies. Which, by the way, they always end up on the floor anyway because you get too hot.” 

“That's not my fault!” Y/N squealed, shivering when she suddenly imagined curling up with him later on in the evening. They had been walking around for hours, and she knew both their bodies would be shattered at the end of the day. For some reason, cuddling up like that always felt so much better. “Actually last time they ended up on the floor because you spilled your hot choccy all over me.”

“I said I was sorry!” Chris protested. He sighed then. “Well I guess I technically do owe you new pj's now that I think about it … “

“See?” Y/N playfully stuck her tongue out at him. “I know you secretly love them.”

Chris couldn't help it. He leaned forward and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, his eyes crinkling from his loving smile. “Maybe.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Oh, how Chan loves how you love. And he loves how love tends to gravitate around you and settle like fog. More specifically— he loves how his boys love you.

If you’d thought Chan was the coolest person when you met him, his rambling about how he was a producer and singer (“of sorts”, he’d added, to test you)? You were the coolest person in his eyes.

He can’t lie, he put you on a pedestal at first. All your achievements you wore with humble pride, you were a little go-getter. The whole package— intelligent in both well rounded knowledge and your emotions, a barrel of laughs, and you were drop dead gorgeous?

Chan felt honestly sorry for anyone who didn’t have you in their life.

It was natural that you’d fit into his chaotic and unique life, symbiotic. You cooled him down and he amped you up. Chan wasn’t a lone deal, though. He came equipped with the accoutrements of seven boys he called his Kids.

It’s Chan’s favorite kind of night tonight. He so affectionately calls it “family game night”.

What started as the safety net of a small world of men saw a new face. Chan eased you into his life instead of thrusting you into the deep end. The boys were special to him as well. He’d hoped you loved them, saw how each of them was special. As he’d seen you in that same soft light.

Sometimes, however, the glow just becomes one big warmth. Like the present moment he’s in, watching you with a bottle of wine in his hand that he’s trying to open as you play a drinking card game with changbin and han. A collective thrum of energy.

The room sounds like Chan’s favorite sounds that he can never quite replicate in song.

Your unashamed laughter. Changbin and Han screaming at each other as they throw down cards. Hyunjin coming back from the bathroom and quickly plugging his ears to scold them under his breath. Lee Know drapes himself on the sofa behind you and asks you how to play the game, softer tone than the rest of the room.

Seungmin, Felix, and I.N. are cackling like hyenas in the kitchen, the soft sizzle of food being cooked combined with an aroma of spice.

A shot glass slam. The holler of voices. This is how it should be all the time.

Chan finally pops the cork, bottle between his legs before he pours himself a glass. No, scratch that… not for himself. He’s a lightweight— he wants to remember this moment like the rest of his dreamscapes. Chan pours a glass and leans back in the chair at the table, downturned lips of a smile appearing as he sees you hand your cards to Lee Know and explain the rules of the card game.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think there was a halo around you head.

Changbin tries to peak around your shoulder to see Lee Know’s cards, and you hiss, scolding Changbin who lets out a ripple of laughter as you cover his eyes.

Hyunjin points and laughs, high fiving you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Seungmin comes out of the kitchen where Felix comes out looking a bit like a mess, his hair frazzled. I.N. is grinning from ear to ear, calming his laughter down. Seungmin says your name to beckon your attention. “I made some meats without the sesame oil because you don’t like it.”

You’d said that offhandedly at last dinner. In fact, you hadn’t even spoken it directly to Seungmin. The fact that he noticed that makes a smile flourish on you.

“Aw man, you didn’t have to!” You dust your hands off on your jeans as you rise from the floor. The boys follow suit. They don’t know why, but no one ever really eats before you fix your plate up. A silent rule they just made themselves.

Chan doesn’t stand up as the boys file into the kitchen, clamoring about how good it smells and “ladies first” rules. In fact, when the boys are gone, he locks eyes with you. Soft and tender. Arms outstretched and knowing you’d come into them.

You find him like a magnet, standing between his legs, and his hand clasps around your wrist, tugging you onto his lap, where you laugh softly, arms snaking around his neck.

He hands you the wine glass he poured out prior. Claret. He knows you, and you take it as he thought. Watches your lips around the glass and how your pupils are all big and beautiful in your eyes. Like you’re drunk on love.

“What good deeds did I do in my past life to get this sight tonight…? Mm?” he whispers with a small smile, his lips coming under your jawline and drawing back. You’d think it was the rambling of a drunk man. But he’s as serious and sober as the plague.

His hand comes down to stroke your leg, the other cradling your torso against him.

“Maybe it’s cause you’re just so perfect in the present. Ever think about that?” you chide softly, tucking your head into his shoulder. The hand on your torso comes up to your hair, stroking with soft pets. Your words are wrapped in ribbon that reads, you deserve good. You are good.

“Mm… you tired of the boys? I need to straighten them out?”

You snort and shake your head. “I think they’re tired of me after teaching them that stupid card game.”

Chan hiccups a laugh out, his shoulders shaking. There’s a poignant pause before he resumes talking, His hand on your thigh sweeping softly and slow.

“They love you so much. Ask about you all the damn time… how you’re doing, when you’re coming over. Bit clingy if you ask me,” Chan grumbles that last part out, keeping his hold tight on you. You just press a placating kiss to his cheek and breathe against his skin.

You can already imagine it. Hell, sometimes if you sneak a look at Chan’s upturned phone, you can see the building up of messages from the Kids asking to see you as well. It started out with them being a little shy, almost wary of you. How did you manage to cut through all of their leader's reserves and walls? How does he manage to sleep at 1 AM instead of pulling all nighters now? Did you have ulterior motives, would you be good enough for the person who practically raised them alongside himself.

It took them meeting you once in person over a light affair of Korean barbecue and you were stamped with a mark of approval. The boys saw it in the way you talked about goals and aspirations. The way you carried yourself, your kindness and understanding. You’d only laughed when Felix accidentally burned you a bit with his tongs (though Chan had been the scolding one on your behalf).

Most of all, you talked about Chan in such a way that made them feel soft and mushy, a way they’d tease to Chan behind closed doors. You’d said your favorite thing about Chan was his smile. A bit cheesy, but it was easy to see why— their leader truly never stopped smiling in your presence.

Whether it was a teasing grin, wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes, or gazing upon you with lips so softly upturned you could almost miss it. Like he couldn’t get enough of you.

They noticed you called him “Chris” when greeting and parting from him with a kiss. “Chan” when recounting a story or laughing at his jokes. “Channie” when you felt comfortable in his presence and let him take the lead.

You made sure he ate and drank water. You let him be clingy and drop his weight against your side so you could baby him. Chan had put a cut of his meat on your plate, to which the Kids watched you both have a back and forth war of who deserved it more. Your chopsticks dropped the meat back onto his plate before he flicked your nose and set it back to you.

They saw that not only were you Chan’s priority, but Chan was also yours.

And all their worries simmered down.

The soft laughter and sounds of the boys piling food on without you and Chan is comforting. Hyunjin’s mumbled words about "still waiting for you" and Lee Know saying something about you not minding makes Chan’s dimples come through in his smile. Those Kids...

“Go get a plate. I’ll be there soon,” Chan softly utters as he takes the wine glass from your hand and places it back on the table. You shake your head and let your shoulders droop.

“You’ve been a stoic all night… Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Chan deflates a bit. Shoulders relaxing. While he’d tried to play off his reserved nature tonight as “taking a breather”, you saw right through it. He pinches the tip of your nose and you groan.

“Just wanted to watch. You handle them so well without me now. You're so adorable, you know that?”

“Duh— they’re grown-ass adults, not children.”

Chan huffs and raises a brow before shaking his head, his arms around your waist tightening.

“What I mean is that you fit right in. Not just with me, but… them. Like you were meant to be there. You fit into my life,” Chan stops his speaking for a moment and begins through his next words.

“I mean, even if they didn’t like you, which is impossible because look at you, I’d still be with you… But the Kids mean the world to me, too. And knowing that they see how special you are in the same way I do just… I can’t explain it…”

You let a moment go by, his eyes cast down to your lap as his thumb sweeps back and forth over the seam of your jeans. With a hum, you reply.

“You don’t have to explain it.”

A smile breaks out on Chan’s face. “There you go being so damn understanding. What are we going to do with you, huh?” He squeezed your sides and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek as you let out laughter.

—

“The food’ll be cold by the time they’re done. Can we just start without them?”

“Give it a minute. They haven’t seen each other in like… five days.”

“I think it’s sweet—“

“Of course you do, Hyunjin.”

The boys are sitting patiently at the dining table on the outside patio, plates and dishes of food laid out amongst them. They saved yours and Chan’s seats across from each other. Seungmin peaks his head to the drawn curtains of the sliding glass door, just barely able to see the silhouette of you and Chan together.

“They’re like a married couple,” Seungmin muses, pushing around his untouched plate. Lee Know twists the cap off of a Soju bottle and shakes his head. “They should just be married already,” he grins back, with all of the boys in agreement.

Chan would wear domesticity well. They know that’s what he needs right now.

“I know we say it all the time, but I’m… really happy for them. They’re good for each other and to each other,” I.N. says from across the table next to Changbin. “Noona was made for him, you know?”

“Maybe Chan was made for her—“

“Who made what?”

Their talking dies down as you walk through the door to the patio behind Chan, holding pinkies. Felix is visibly pouting at the sight, he can barely handle it. At Chan’s prompted question, Han speaks up first.

“We made dinner, remember? Someone’s getting old. Both of you, grab a plate!”

Chan gives Han a light smack on the backside of his head, and makes you a plate of food first. All of the boys just knew he’d do that. You smile and thank Chan, and he gives you a kiss on the top of your head. It all smells so amazing, you give your compliments to the three boys who worked primarily on it.

Finally, they all allow themselves to eat, the sound of utensils on plates, bottles and glass touching each other and on the wood surface.

And under the table? Chan’s got his hand on your leg, squeezing lightly every so often, just to ground himself. To know that what he’s seeing with your interactions is all real and that this hasn’t been some dream he’s sleeping through. Chan is a simple man. This is all he wants.

You look beside you to find Chan already looking at you. Your brows furrow and he shakes his head, tapping the tip of your nose before propping his head in his hand.

“I’m going to have the best sleep tonight,” he breathes out, eyes shimmery with joy. Changbin must’ve picked up on his words for you, as he points and loudly questions, “Sleep? You’re hanging out with us and you’re talking about sleep?!”

“She gets him to sleep all the time, Bin. She’s like a magician,” Hyunjin snorts before taking a swig of his drink.

Chan rolls his eyes and shows some teeth with a smile. You’re smiling down at your plate, unable to handle the compliments. After all, in your mind, you’re just being a regular girlfriend. Making sure he eats and sleeps, huh? If only you knew how hard it was for the Kids to get Chan to even take a minute of a break.

His hand comes around behind you, holding onto the backrest of your seat as the boys continue to talk to each other. Chan’s whispering comes close to your ear.

“My little magician, huh? That’s a new one… I think my favorite one they called you was my “miracle worker”. Has a nice ring.”

You huff a laugh and before you can turn your head to look his way? He’s planting a firm kiss on your lips that makes Seungmin gag as he fell witness to it. The rest of the boys dramatically follow suit. Chan pulls from your skin and feigns scolding to them all as you burst into laughter.

The Kids don’t mind at all, on the contrary. This look of love is good on Chan. Like there’d been something missing from their leader. They can see it clear as day when he kisses you, that this is where he’s meant to be. Where you’re meant to be.

it’s comforting until it’s not.

he starts pushing the boundaries a little more. it started with having your lights on at 4am, unable to fall asleep for the night. suddenly getting a notification from chan.

chan: can’t sleep? i noticed your light was still on. i can help with that if you want.

a weird message to receive, how did he know?

then during cold weather, the heater suddenly turns on in your apartment. pleasantly surprised when you don’t have to lift a finger until you receive another message.

chan: i turned it on just for you ;)

the messages kept flowing. you couldn’t block him though. what if there was another problem? you need to contact your landlord, of course.

chan: [photo]

chan: these sheets would look nice for your bed. you have a full, right?

how did he…

chan: noticed your dining room lightbulb was getting dull, i got you a new one and ill install it later.

you: i won’t be home today, i cant let you in.

chan: that’s no problem, i have a key. i’ll be there.

you: no, its okay. don’t worry about it.

chan: i’m just being nice. perhaps you should take me for granted. i don’t just do this for anyone.

you: okay…

chan: you can make it up to me somehow.

his off-putting behavior had you in a trance. something you’d never admit to is that you liked it. it was a deep secret of yours, but you’d let him do anything to you. yet, you’d never actually think to give in to his needs. his wants.

—

you had promised to yourself that you wouldn’t fall behind on rent. but just your luck, you were a couple hundred short because of missing shifts when you were sick for a week.

you had no choice but to talk to chan about it.

“i don’t think i can pay all of this month. i’m short on money right now.”

“that’s fine.”

“really?”

“yeah.”

you take a deep breath, he’s not finished.

“only if you go on a date with me. spend the night, i know you’re lonely up there. give me a chance.”

you take another deep breath before you end up agreeing.

now you’ve ended up in his apartment. he’s cooked dinner for you. wine on the table.

it started off with small talk. making things more awkward than they were. but one too many drinks and you’ve ended up blurbing words to chan as you become slightly tipsy. he finds it cute how your head sways slightly as you speak, eyes fluttering as they grow tired.

you’re squirming in your seat, shifting uncomfortably. it’s like his eyes are lasers, burning you as his eyes are direct. it feels too hot now.

“you’re so pretty… so cute…”

he’s murmuring under his breath as he stands up to lift your body up, guiding you to his couch. his hand trails from your shoulders to your lower back, dangerously close to your ass, as he’s walking with you slowly towards the couch.

your body goes limp against the couch. everything is spinning in your vision. you suddenly feel an arm creep around you as the couch dips. chan’s sitting close, a little too close. his other hand reaches to your face to tuck away the stray pieces of hair in your face. your eyes flutter at him, watching as he licks his lips while looking up and down from your eyes to your mouth. you start to stiffen up as he’s leaning a bit closer.

“chan…”

“you said you’d stay… don’t tell me you’re backing out. i’ve done so much for you…”

you stay silent as warmth grows on your face, displaying at your cheeks.

“you’re not backing out of it now. it’s our deal.”

his finger starts playing with the strap of your tank top. he’s fiddling with it slowly, making your body feel hotter than it should. as he unravels his finger, the strap drapes down your shoulder.

“relax. i’ll take care of you.”

nodding uncertainly, you watch as the arm wrapped around you drops to your waist to pull you closer at his side.

the same arm is now tracing your curves down to your thighs. you spread your thighs slightly, just enough for his fingers to reach in between your inner thighs to rub small circles.

you gulp hard. it feels too good, loathing his touch. his hand gets closer as his fingertips graze at your clothed core. the materials of your pants getting in the way, so he puts slight pressure. just enough to get you to feel something. you instinctively grab on his wrist, an attempt to stop him. you’re hesitant, you can’t let him win. chan’s quicker to swat your hand away from his wrist.

“just trust me.”

his voice eases you. slowly letting your guard down as he places pressure on your core. the layers of clothing making it impossible to enjoy throughly. he watches you attentively, tilting his head back as he watches you sink slowly into his couch.

“you trust me, right?”

you plead at him with desperate eyes. giving him a slight nod was enough for him. he drapes you on his shoulder, body weak against him as the moment he picked you up happened in a flash. everything is upside down, you watch as he carries you into his bedroom.

“chan…?”

“shush.”

he throws your body onto the bed. you bounce back up with your upper half propped up by your elbows. your gaze follows chan as he nudges himself through your legs, spreading them apart with his body. he’s forcing you open.

“you’d let me do anything i want, wouldn’t you?”

you nod slowly, but it’s eager. there’s a glint in your eyes that scream yes, you just refuse to say it to prove him right.

before you know it, your pants are quickly off as he tugs them down with his fingers. your underwear exposed just for him. he’s drooling.

“you’re so pretty, baby.”

his hands are tracing small circles on your thighs, fingers inching up closer towards the hem of your panties. as his fingers graze your soft skin, you can feel your body betraying you and your wetness pools against the cloth of your panties.

“oh? you’re dripping.”

his pointed finger prods at the patch of wetness, dragging his fingers up and down. you shudder as you feel his finger push in slightly between your folds, the cloth being the only barrier between you and his skin touching.

he takes it upon himself to peel your panties off, watching as the way your wetness has your panties sticking to you. he groans just at the sight of your core.

“uh… i—“

chan places a finger on your lips as he nods, his eyes darkening.

“i know what you need, so say no more.”

he’s tugging his pants and underwear all in one go, aligning himself right at your hole.

“i think you can handle it.”

it’s the last thing he says before he’s grabbing your waist, he slides himself in with no warning. he gives you no time to catch your breath. the stretch stings your walls. he’s pushing himself in, raw. all the way to the hilt.

“c-chan!”

“god, you’re so tight… baby, mmh.”

the sounds of your miserable whines and scream-like moans have him lost in his head, thinking about how he’s finally getting his fill. he’s drunk from your pussy alone. his thrusts are deep, cock filling you to the brim.

“stop squirming, fuck.”

you wriggle as he thrusts, hands grabbing at his biceps. he takes quick action to grab your wrists and pin them up above you, grip tight as he’s pressing down your hands against the sheets. you whine as the grip is strong, there’s no way to escape his force on you.

“yeah, you like that huh? you like how my cock fills you up?”

he gives your clit a slap before circling it with his thumb. you become a whining mess from that action alone.

“fuck… you’re so pliant for me. shit. let me try something.”

he’s dragging you up by your wrist to prop you up. his hand let go, but they land elsewhere, right on your ass to pick you up. his fingers basically clawing into your skin as he carries you on his dick, making his way to his desk, filled with paperwork from other tenants. he shoves them all aside to the floor with one hand, ultimately dropping you onto the cold wood.

“w-what are you doing?”

you balance yourself on your hands as you lean back, his cock still deep in you. he grabs your legs by the back of your knees, propping your legs up on the desk, spreading you out as much as he can. his hands rest on your propped up knees. then his thrusts resume, even propping one of his legs up on his chair to fill you up from a better angle.

the desk is practically shaking, you feel like you might fall from how hard he’s slamming into you. his cup with all his pens shake violently as he plows into your pussy.

“fuck— ‘m testing if this desk is fuckable or not— fuck y/n.”

you’re gripping onto the edge, holding on for dear life as he’s abusing your cunt. one of his hands make its way down your legs, fingers hovered right above your pussy. you look down and watch as his fingers start pinching at your clit. you jerk forward and moan into his shoulder, arms making their way behind his neck, wrapping yourself tightly on him to maintain your balance.

you feel your legs shaking, so close to an orgasm. your face tightens, nose scrunching as you look at chan through welled up tears in your eyes. it takes him less than a second to notice. he stills as he stares at your flushed face.

you feel yourself disconnect from the wooden desk, chan’s got you picked up.

“mmh, don’t like it here. let me try somewhere else.”

you whimper as his movements halt, too busy carrying you to another location in his apartment. his cock is still buried deep inside you as he’s striding his way past his room and into the kitchen. you feel the cold marble countertops at your thighs. he has you in a similar position as before, legs being spread as much as they can to the point they sting. your legs are dangling down and back against the countertop this time. his whole body pushing in closer, trying to get as deep as possible as he continues his plowing into your cunt. it’s embarrassing what kind of noises your making, voice breaking every time he’s going harder into you.

“‘s so m-much! i c-cant!”

hearing your pleas only makes him want to ruin you more. you’re so close again, tipping over the edge. your back starts to arch and you’re gripping for anything for support. you knocked down a plate or two as your arms flail to look for something sturdy. your breathing gets shallower. he notices.

“too messy here. we’re moving.”

and you’re up again. you’re clawing into his back as he carries you once again.

“p-please… just let me… let m-me cum!”

he looks ahead past by you, thinking of where to move to next, instead of listening to any word you say. you squeak as he forcefully props you onto the running dryer. a wave of pleasure rushes through your cunt as the vibrations

he’s propped you up on the dryer. it’s running, rumbling like crazy. a wave of pleasure rushes through your cunt as the vibrations make the experience of chan’s fat cock ten times more intense than it should. the rumbles beneath you has you a crying mess.

“chan— i— i need to c-cum! p-please… let me!”

you’re babbling nonsense at this point. the tears start streaming down your face as you hold yourself up by propping your hands on chan’s broad shoulders. he rolls his eyes watching your pathetic tears roll down your pink-tinted cheeks.

“oh shut up.”

you can see his smirk as he grabs something from the cabinet of his laundry room. your black panties. the same pair he stole when you let him do your laundry. it was hard to not notice your favorite pair going missing. now, you’ve finally found it. but is it really yours anymore? it happens in a flash, he shoves two fingers in your mouth, getting you to open wide and shoving in the piece of flimsy fabric. you gag as his fingers push in a little too much against your throat.

“that’ll keep you quiet.”

he wastes no time to plow back into you as the dryer runs.

“it’s perfect here, this fucking machine is enough to get you off, doesn’t it? hm?”

he watches as your eyes roll back from the two satisfactory tools, his cock and the running machine. it’s not enough for him, he needs to see you ruined completely before you actually orgasm on his cock. once again, your ass is in the air as he moves you to another place.

“hm, let me try somewhere else. this just isn’t it.”

his voice is condescending. you knew it. you wouldn’t be able to release any time soon.

you whine as your skin gets ripped from the rush of the running machine. he has a bit of mercy for you, slowly dragging the black fabric out of your mouth before he’s off carrying you. your core is throbbing against his dick, begging for anything. you swear you can hear him groan a bit as he’s moving you else where. you feel a breeze on your back. a plea escapes your mouth as you feel his dick leave your cunt. then suddenly, you watch the view of his bedroom turn into a view of the street below your apartment building. it’s enough for slight panic.

“what the fuck!”

the pure fear of someone seeing you about to fill your head, yet it’s all blurry when he’s back to lining his head back at your folds, fucking you from behind. you lift your head up, scanning the other apartment buildings. noticing how some windows are lit up. you’re back to being afraid that someone might see you. someone seeing you giving chan what he wants. seeing that you like it.

“someone’s g-gonna see…”

you’re begging him desperately now. gripping hard onto the cold metal railing.

“you’re right. this isn’t a good spot. no one else should see you like this but me.”

he’s pulled you off the railing, letting you back in and landing you back onto his bed. he’s desperate to finish himself, but something clicks in him as he observes one last time.

you feel like you’re about to orgasm until he suddenly stops the thrusts again. you look up at him from your nuzzled head on his shoulders, tears at the brim of your waterline.

“no no no… w-why did you stop?”

you whine as he looks at you, darkness enveloping in his eyes. he picks you up by the waist again and his cock slips out of you. a big ache within your core, letting out a desperate moan as you feel the emptiness, not even realizing that you’ve ended up with your stomach and chest pressed against his nightstand beside his bed. his hands take hold of your wrists once again, this time placing them behind your back. you feel something cold wrap around your wrists instead of his forceful grip. the sound of clanking metal fills your ears, realizing its his belt. you feel his hands rubbing against your waist, one of the hands going a bit too far up, groping at your breasts. a distraction as his cock slips back in, you moan miserably at the surprise.

“‘m gonna finally breed this pussy. that way— you’ll be with me forever.”

he’s finally at his breaking point, you can feel his seed in you with each thrust. each one getting sloppier and shallow.

you want to speak, but you can’t get any words out of your mouth. especially when he’s pushing in as deep as he can, making sure you collect every bit of his seed in you. your own release finally happening, a loud moan escapes your mouth after long anticipation from how much he was fucking himself into you for so long.

as he pulls out, his groans at the sight of your creamed pussy. the glistening of your folds as it drips down onto the floor and slightly at the sides of your inner thighs. it’s all too messy.

“mmh… let me clean you up…”

standing up quickly, he takes a washcloth from his bathroom, wiping it across your ruined cunt.

“i’ll take care of you. so much you’ll never want to leave me.”

you want to oppose on the idea, but your mind is far too astray for thinking now. helplessly, you give an obedient nod to everything he says. you’re his now. you’ve given in completely.

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Minho’s only mildly offended. You don’t look nearly as menacing as you’re probably hoping for. In fact, Minho thinks the furrow between your brows and the downturn of your mouth is rather cute. You look more like a sulky toddler who’s upset to find out that Daddy was right about the tooth fairy. Only, Minho’s definitely not your father, though he can’t say he’d be any bit turned off if your pretty lips fixed themselves to call him Daddy.

“I hate you and your stupid, big, fat cock,” you whimper, grinding your hips down angrily. “Are you even hard? Why’s it so fucking big?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, hands gripping your hips to help steady you into a rhythm. “It’s just the cock I was born with, princess.”

“I-Is it hard?” You ask, voice small. “M-Min.”

He feels his cock jump where it’s chubbed up, hardening steadily beneath the heat of your cunt. He wants to be nonchalant about it all, but you’re warm and whiny, all up in his space and forcing him to take notice. You hate him, huh? You have one hell of a way of showing it.

“It’s half mast right now, but if you keep moaning my name like that, I’m gonna be full grown before you know it.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, gripping into his broad shoulders. Your nails dig into his skin through the cotton of his tee and Minho wishes he were naked so he could wear your scratches pridefully.

“It’s so unfair! S-Such a big cock gone to waste.”

Minho snorts, choking on his own spit when you bounce on his bulge, glaring at him. You come down roughly and something about it sends electricity up Minho’s spine. You’re looking at him like he’s the worst human being alive, like he isn’t letting you grind your pussy all over him like a cat in heat despite the scathing words you speak at him. If he was fucking you for real, he’d have flipped you onto your back a long time ago. He would have buried his dick so deep in your guts that you’d feel him in your throat, unable to speak because it’d feel like his tip was nudging your uvula. Alas, he’s maintaining some semblance of control, respecting your disdain for him by letting you have your fun.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s trying to fuck me through my clothes,” he says, eyes turned downward, trained on the wet spot you’re making on his sweats. “Also, it’s a dick, not a po-go stick.”

“Shut up,” you cry, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth when his bulge stimulates your clit just right. Your skin is hot with embarrassment. “I can’t come if you’re talking; your voice is turning me off.”

That’s a real bold face lie if he’s ever heard one. Minho can feel your pussy clenching through the layers separating the two of you. That tiny hole of yours spasms every time he opens his mouth; how are you gonna tell him that his voice does nothing for you? You’re fucking stubborn, he thinks, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You’re such a damn brat, and boy does he salivate at the thought of putting you in your place.

He’s sporting a full erection by now, cock hard and aching against the heat of you. You shiver and grind down hard, rutting your swollen, achy clit against the thickness between his thighs. You hate that you know you’re going to come like this, quick and desperate in your enemy’s lap like some horny teenager.

“I—,” you hiccup, wet eyes staring into his own, “I’m n-not letting you f-fuck me,” you stammer, rolling your hips.

He aches with frustration, but he respects it nonetheless. Minho is a man of honor, even if his thoughts are criminal.

“I know,” he laments, brown eyes glued to you. He doesn’t want to miss it when you come undone. “I’m just a means to an end, princess. Use my cock however you need.”

“God, I hate you,” you say, but the watery sob that follows says differently.

Honestly, if he were a more delusional man, he’d say you were well on your way to being in love with him. Why else would you have fixated on his cock? Why else would you be humping and grinding on him like a wanton whore, babbling to yourself about how big his dick is? The sounds you make have him gritting his teeth, the ache is his jaw the only thing keeping him from latching onto your skin and marking you up. You look so pretty this way, sat upon his cock like you are. Minho’s not sure he’s ever wanted a woman so badly.

The closing of your eyes drives him feral, a growl working its way through his chest and up out of his esophagus. He’s not in control of himself when he wraps a hand in your hair, fucking his hips up right as you’re grinding down. Your eyes snap open and a warbling noise passes your lips, and Minho can’t help but pin you with his stare.

“Eyes on me,” he sneers, snapping his hips up, bulge pressing heavily against your clit. “If you’re going to get off on my cock, you better fucking look at me while you do it.”

“Minho,” you whine, blinking up at him in a daze, “I-I’m—“

“Yeah,” he breathes, dark eyes holding you hostage. “Come on it; go ahead. Be a good girl for once.”

The moment you shudder apart is the moment Minho feels his entire DNA sequence being rewritten down to the atoms. You squeal, high pitched and breathy, a wobbly sigh of his name that makes him feel raw and frayed at the edges. Lee Minho is not one to get caught up, especially with girls who claim to hate his guts. There’s certainly a first time for everything though, and he thinks that this might be the start of a beautifully horribly disastrous fling.

“Messy girl,” he teases, staring down between your bodies. “You’ve ruined my pants.”

“Shut up! You’re such a pig.”

You slide off his lap with a groan, righting your skirt and wobbling on shaky legs. He laughs, big palms warm against your hips as he steadies you. You glare, but it holds none of the heat you want it to. Especially when your eyes are quick to the mess you made, watching his dick twitch and dribble under your gaze, making the mess more prominent. Minho smirks, using his muscles to make it bob without touching it.

“I can fuck you real good, you know,” he says, low in his throat. “Show you what big dick is really all about.”

You blink, and blink again, lip caught between your teeth. It’s a bad idea. Fucking Lee Minho is a really, no good, rotten, terrible idea. You hate him, he hates you. On the flip side, dick like that only comes around once in a lifetime and you’d be a fool to let it slip through your fingers.

“You can’t come inside me,” you blurt out as agreement, “And this gets out to no one.”

“Sure,” he answers, giddy but honest, “Whatever you say, princess. Your pussy, your rules.”

“Good,” you nod, stalling.

Minho rolls his eyes. So much all that bravado you had ten minutes ago. That’s okay though, Minho’s sure he knows how to handle you now.

“C’mon,” he says, standing and grabbing your hand. “You’re gonna want to be in a bed when I finally blow your back out, but don’t worry! Foreplay first!”

“You make it sound so sleazy,” you groan, feeling your cunt drip in your panties.

Minho’s responding laugh is loud and ugly and you still hate him. A voice in your head that sounds way too much like Felix telling you that this a bad idea.

You follow him anyways.

You grunted in response, collapsing into one of the barstools like you’d been dramatically wronged by the concept of morning itself.

Chan chuckled, already reaching for a mug. “Coffee?”

“You’re my favorite person in the world,” you mumbled, cheek squished against the counter.

“I know,” he said with a grin, setting the coffee down in front of you with that same quiet care he always gave you. “Drink up. You’ve got a shoot today, yeah?”

“Mmm.” You barely nodded. “No energy.”

“You say that every morning. And then you post ten stories looking like a literal angel.”

“Because I am an angel. Just a tired one.”

He shook his head fondly, walking around the counter and tugging lightly at the hood you had up. “You could’ve worn your own clothes to bed, you know.”

“But yours smell better.”

That earned you a half-smirk and a soft pat on the head. “Fair.”

It had been four years since you moved in. What was supposed to be a temporary arrangement; a few weeks to get your life together after cutting ties with your parents, turned into an unshakable routine. A shared home. A rhythm. Chan never pushed, never questioned your decision to stay, not even after he offered to set you up in your own place. A luxury penthouse. Any neighborhood, any view. All you had to do was ask.

But why would you leave? You had everything here. Your safe place. Your comfort. Your best friend who treated you like you hung the moon.

Chan made sure you never lifted a finger unless you wanted to. New car? Done. Spa weekend? Booked. Your favorite snacks flown in from another country? He’d find a way. And when the world got too loud, too cruel, too exhausting—he was there, holding space for you, letting you just be.

You never had to earn his affection. It was freely given, infinite and warm. And never once did you see the sharp edges of his temper directed your way. He could be terrifying when provoked; intense, commanding, even explosive in his rare moments of fury, but with you, it was different. Always gentle. Always soft.

“You want me to drive you today?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his shake.

You blinked at him over your coffee mug. “Don’t you have meetings?”

“Pushed ‘em.”

“You didn’t have to—”

He raised an eyebrow.

You shut up.

Because of course he did. That was just Chan. No matter how much you insisted he didn’t need to baby you, he always would. And deep down, you didn’t really want him to stop.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Anytime baby girl.”

<><><>

The next morning, you danced around the kitchen like you always did on pure instinct, pulling open drawers, prepping ingredients, making enough breakfast for two without even asking. Chan tried to stop you every time. He could afford a chef. He had one on call. But you never listened. This was your thing.

“You know I can make my own eggs,” he said from behind you.

“No, you can’t,” you replied easily, tossing a glance over your shoulder. “You burn eggs. It’s a weird talent.”

“That happened once.”

“Mmhmm.”

He didn’t argue after that, just leaned against the counter and watched you move. You weren’t dressed yet, still in that hoodie he liked seeing on you more than he’d admit, hair messy, face bare. Comfortable. Real. This was what his mornings had become: you humming under your breath, feeding him like it was your mission in life, and making the house feel like a home instead of a museum of expensive things.

Chan didn’t need much. He didn’t ask for much. But you noticed everything. The way his shoulders tightened after late-night calls with his team. How his jaw clenched when he was overwhelmed. How even on his best days, he carried this quiet heaviness like something he couldn’t shake.

So you filled in the spaces.

You did his laundry, folding each item with absurd care. You stocked his favorite snacks, kept his vitamins in a tiny container by the sink, laid out his hoodies when you knew he’d had a long day and just wanted something soft. You never said you were doing it for him, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw it. Felt it. And maybe that was why he never asked you to leave.

Because you were his peace.

You set a plate down in front of him with a satisfied little sigh, then went back for your own. “Eat, you’ve got stuff to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted you with his fork.

He had just taken his first bite when your phone lit up on the counter beside him. His eyes flicked toward it casually, and something about the name flashing across the screen made his brow twitch.

He didn’t say anything, but you noticed. Of course you did.

You reached for the phone and stared at the name.

Eli.

You hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. Not since you blocked his number and told him to stay the hell out of your life.

Your stomach turned.

You didn’t answer. Just locked the screen and tossed the phone aside like it didn’t matter.

Chan watched you closely, chewing slower. “You good?”

“Yeah.” You gave him a quick smile. “Just a ghost.”

His jaw tensed.

He didn’t push you. Not yet. But you could feel the shift in the air—like something had cracked just slightly. Like the bubble you and Chan had built so carefully around yourselves had caught a whisper of the outside world trying to crawl back in.

You didn’t mean to flinch when Chan spoke.

“You gonna block him again?”

It wasn’t the question itself—it was the way his voice sounded when he asked it. Flat. Too calm. Like the kind of calm that only came before a storm.

You kept your back to him, rinsing the last plate and placing it carefully in the drying rack. “Yeah. I mean, I already had him blocked. He must’ve used a new number.”

Silence.

Then, “Persistent.”

You dried your hands slowly, pretending the slight tremble wasn’t real. “He’s not important.”

“He used to be.”

That one hit harder than you expected. You turned to face him, brows pulling together slightly. “You mad at me?”

His expression didn’t shift much, but his jaw moved—tight, clenched.

“No,” he said almost instantly, voice lower. “Never at you.”

But there was something in his eyes.

You didn’t see it often, well atleast not directed at you. Not ever, actually. You’d seen Chan angry before. In business meetings, in defense of someone he loved, once even on the phone with a producer who had crossed the line. But never like this. Not standing in front of you. Not burning behind his stare like that.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

So you just nodded, like that made it all okay, and turned back to finish wiping the counter. Your hands moved on autopilot, scrubbing the same spot twice.

And then, quieter—deadly quiet—you heard him speak again behind you.

“Don’t answer him again.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Of course you wouldn’t. Of course.

But Chan wasn’t done.

“Ever,” he said, voice dropping further. “Or I swear to God—”

He cut himself off.

You looked at him then, really looked. His fingers were white-knuckled around the counter’s edge. His breathing had slowed into something controlled. Too controlled.

And even then, even now, your first instinct wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion.

It was to calm him down.

Without a word, you stepped closer and reached for him. Your arms circled his waist like it was nothing—like you hadn’t just seen a glimpse of something primal behind his usually warm eyes. You laid your cheek against his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“I won’t,” you whispered. “I promise.”

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t even breathe.

Then you felt it—his shoulders sinking, that tension leaking out like someone had pulled the plug. His arms came around you, pulling you in, hands splaying wide across your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“I just—” His voice cracked slightly. “I can’t stand the thought of him near you again. Not after everything.”

“I know.” You pressed your lips to his chest, right where his heart thudded. “He won’t get near me. Not while I have you.”

That was the truth. You didn’t even think about it anymore—how natural it felt to belong here, in his arms, in his home. How much of your life revolved around this man, this space, this rhythm. You didn’t care about penthouses or privacy. You didn’t need freedom when you had this.

Because Chan was your home. And more than that—you were his.

“Don’t forget your water bottle,” you called out, tossing it across the living room.

Chan caught it one-handed like the athlete he always pretended he wasn’t, but the smug grin that followed gave him away. “You just wanna keep me hydrated so I live long enough to keep spoiling you.”

You gave him a look. “Duh.”

He laughed, slinging the strap of his gym bag over one shoulder. He’d been dragging his feet all morning—pretending he was gonna leave, then circling back to ask dumb things like “Do we have any more peanut butter?” or “Should I shave today or keep the scruff?”

Now he was hovering by the front door, sneakers half on, clearly stalling again.

“You gonna go, or do I have to call the trainer myself and tell him you’re scared of cardio?”

“Rude,” he muttered, but he didn’t move. Just eyed you for a moment.

You were back in the kitchen, wiping the counter down for the second time that morning. Another instinct. Another way to make sure his space felt good, clean, safe. You didn’t think about it—you just did it. You always had.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly.

You looked up. He wasn’t asking like earlier. This time, his voice was softer. Less fury, more concern.

You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “Chan. I blocked him. It’s done.”

He nodded. “Still wanna know how he got a new number. Motherfucker’s like a roach.”

You laughed. “Maybe he’s a fan of yours and saw your name in my contacts. Thought you’d forgotten about him.”

Chan’s expression darkened just slightly.

“I didn’t forget. Told him what I’d do if he reached out again.” He didn’t say it like a threat. It was a statement. Calm. Dead serious.

You blinked. “Wait—you talked to him?”

Chan shrugged, casual as hell. “Last time he called you. I answered instead.”

Your eyes widened. “When was this?!”

“Few years ago,” he said, grabbing his keys off the hook. “Told him to disappear. Guess he forgot.”

You stood there, towel in hand, heart thumping for no good reason. Not scared. Not upset. Just… a little stunned.

“Chan.”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You were already going through enough.” He looked at you like it was the easiest decision in the world. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”

You tossed the towel at him. “You terrifying, overgrown guard dog.”

He dodged it and smirked. “Someone’s gotta scare the vermin away.”

You walked over and poked him in the chest. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“So lucky,” he drawled, catching your finger and tugging you just slightly closer.

There it was again—that quiet intensity. Not romantic. Not lustful. Just… full. You filled his world, and he didn’t know how to hide it anymore.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, quick and easy like always. “Go train, old man.”

Chan huffed a laugh and finally turned to leave, but before he stepped out, he paused and said over his shoulder:

“If he texts again, you tell me. No matter what.”

“I will,” you promised.

Because you knew he meant it. And maybe that was why the idea of Eli crawling back didn’t scare you anymore.

Not when you had Chan.

<><><>

That evening started like any other movie night. You padded into the private cinema room wearing one of Chan’s oversized hoodies—soft, warm, and swallowed in the scent of him—because you always did. His cologne clung to the cotton, familiar and comforting, and it made you feel closer to him. Closer than you probably should have.

He was already sunk deep into one of the reclining chairs, phone in hand, a bowl of snacks resting lazily on his lap. He looked up and smiled when you walked in, like nothing made him happier than just seeing you. Like you were all he needed to end the day right.

You curled up beside him without a word, folding into the crook of his side like you belonged there. His arm lifted automatically, welcoming you into his warmth. It wasn’t weird. This was just what you two did.

But it felt different tonight.

You weren’t sure if it was the way his hand dropped to your bare thigh beneath the blanket, fingers drawing mindless shapes against your skin—or the way your own hand somehow found his chest, fingers brushing softly, tracing the shape of his collarbone like you had every right.

You didn’t mean to kiss him.

Not on the mouth, of course. That’d be crazy.

But you’d always been touchy with him, hadn’t you? Just little things. Kisses to his shoulder when he carried you to bed, to his jaw when he bought you something ridiculously expensive just because he felt like it. So why should tonight be different?

Your lips pressed gently to the curve of his bicep, then again, just higher. He tensed slightly beneath you, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t stop you.

Instead, his fingers slipped up under the hem of the hoodie, splaying across the small of your back—warm, possessive.

You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten until you were practically on his lap. The movie blurred in the background, completely irrelevant.

You pressed another kiss to his shoulder. Then another, slow and deliberate. He turned his head toward you, breathing heavier now, eyes hooded.

“Baby,” he said softly.

You froze. “What?”

His hand tangled in your hair, gently tugging you back just enough to look in your eyes. His thumb brushed your cheek like he couldn’t help himself.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Your heart skipped. But you smiled, trying to play it off. “I was just thanking you. You’re comfy.”

“I’m serious.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “You keep doing stuff like this and one day, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”

That hit you like a match to gasoline. You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of how heavy the air had become between you.

But still… you didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t let you go.

<><><>

You were already in a good mood when he came home, but the shopping bags in his hand? That turned it into ecstasy.

“Wait—are those from Dior?” you gasped, nearly tripping over yourself as he placed them casually on the marble kitchen island like he’d just come back from buying groceries.

Chan didn’t even look fazed. “Got bored waiting for a meeting to end, so I stopped by the boutique. Thought you’d like some of this.”

“Some?” you echoed, your voice high-pitched as you tore into the first bag, a squeal leaving your lips when you found a silky black slip dress folded like a secret inside tissue paper. “Channie, are you kidding?”

“Do I ever kid?” he smirked, walking past you, casually undoing his watch and setting it beside the sink. “Try it on. The others too.”

There were others.

Gucci. Prada. Cartier.

And you? You were living. Floating. Glowing. Letting him spoil you was second nature by now, but nights like this reminded you—he didn’t just give you luxury. He wrapped you in it.

“You’re such a menace,” you muttered, eyes sparkling as you slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re gonna ruin me for everyone else.”

He glanced down at you with that lazy smile, the kind that curled slow and deep. “That’s the point, sweetheart.”

You wore the Dior slip dress that same night to the rooftop party Chan reluctantly agreed to attend with you. It fit like it had been painted on, soft and glossy, barely brushing your mid-thigh, your legs on full display in the matching Louboutin's he also got you.

“Baby,” he said when you walked out of your room, one brow raised, voice a little tight. “You’re not serious.”

You twirled for him with a smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He stared. Stared like he was trying to burn it into memory. “Do not disappear from my sight tonight.”

<><><>

You were tipsy. Not sloppy—just glowy, warm in the chest, your limbs loose and fluid with every bass-thumping beat. The rooftop was packed, the skyline glittering behind you like a movie set, and your dress—courtesy of Chan’s impromptu Dior shopping spree—sparkled just as hard.

He’d barely looked at you when he handed it over earlier that night, like it wasn’t several thousand dollars of backless silk. “Wear it if you want,” he’d said casually, as if it were groceries.

You’d worn it.

Now you were dancing. And not just dancing—moving like you had something to prove. Letting your hips roll too slow. Letting a stranger rest his hands too low. Your smile too wide. Your laugh too sweet.

You felt Chan’s eyes on you before you even turned.

He was stalking through the crowd like something out of a damn K-drama, black button-down unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves shoved up, eyes locked on you. You barely had a second to giggle before his hand was wrapping tight around your wrist.

“Outside. Now.”

You squeaked. “Channie, I’m just—”

“I said now.”

Oh. He was pissed.

You let him pull you off the floor, across the rooftop to a shadowed corner near the stairs where the music was distant and no one could hear him grinding his teeth.

“Are you insane?” he snapped, dropping your wrist only to press both hands to his hips like he had to physically restrain himself from pacing. “You don’t let strangers touch you like that. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I looked hot,” you said, crossing your arms—half-defensive, half-drunk. “And it was just a dance.”

He turned to you slowly, brows raised. “Just a dance? Do you see yourself right now?”

You did. You looked like luxury and trouble. And maybe you leaned into that just a little more.

“So what if I had a little fun?” you said sweetly, stepping into his space. “You dragged me out just to scold me like some angry boyfriend?”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he ground out, jaw ticking.

“No. But you act like it.”

That shut him up.

He stared at you, unreadable. Furious, maybe. Or barely hanging on.

So naturally, you kept going.

You twirled around, your dress fluttering around your thighs, swaying again just a little too close, dragging your hands slowly up his chest—pure mischief. “You shouldn’t buy me pretty things if you don’t want people to stare, Channie.”

His hand caught your wrist again—tighter this time.

“You’re really pushing it tonight.”

“I know.” You smiled up at him. “You’ll still let me go home with you though, right?”

His nostrils flared. “You live with me.”

“Exactly.” You beamed. “Now can we go back to the party? Or are you gonna keep playing possessive best friend in the dark?”

You barely had time to blink before he spun you, gently but firmly pinning you to the railing behind you, just inches from his chest. He leaned in close, voice low and dangerous in your ear.

“You don’t want to see what real possessive looks like, baby.”

Your stomach dropped—heat rushing everywhere.

But he stepped back a second later like nothing happened, casually running a hand through his hair.

“Go ahead,” he said, shrugging like his entire body hadn’t just radiated barely-contained rage. “Go dance. But if another guy touches you—don’t expect me to be this nice.”

And then he walked off, leaving you pressed to the railing with your heart pounding, legs weak, and absolutely no idea what game you were playing anymore.

You caught up to him at the bar again—he’d tried to disappear into the crowd, tried to drown his irritation in another glass of whiskey, but you were too far gone and way too stubborn to let him off the hook that easy.

“Chan,” you whined, grabbing his arm and tugging like a bratty little siren, “you ruined my dance.”

“I saved your ass,” he muttered, not even looking at you.

“You owe me.”

He glanced over finally, eyes sharp but dark under the club lights. “Don’t push it.”

You smiled sweetly. Fake as hell. “Just one dance.”

“No.”

You dragged him anyway.

He let you.

Let you guide him right into the dim VIP corner—where the bass was deeper, the lights darker, and the crowd less concerned with what anyone else was doing.

The second the music shifted—low and filthy—you turned, pressed your back to his chest, and rolled your hips into him like you’d done it a thousand times.

Chan froze.

Dead silent.

You were smiling to yourself, just drunk enough to be shameless, just bratty enough to know you were pushing every single one of his buttons.

You grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist, forcing him to hold you as your ass moved in slow, hypnotic circles, rubbing right against him in time with the beat.

“Don’t you dare let go,” you teased over your shoulder.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

You dipped lower, grinding harder, and heard the way his breath hitched behind you.

He wasn’t dancing. Not really.

He was just… enduring.

And you were loving every second of it.

Your fingers slid up his forearm, dragging along the veins you knew always popped when he was tense. You leaned back into him, head brushing his shoulder as your hips kept moving, smooth and slow and deliberate.

“Thought you didn’t want weirdos touching me, Channie,” you said, faux-innocent, breathless from the rhythm. “So dance with me.”

“You call this dancing?” he growled into your ear.

You arched your back, hands in your hair now, dress hiking up just enough to flash more thigh than he’d probably ever seen on you.

“Mmm, yeah,” you moaned softly, throwing it back again—slow, deep, filthy.

He cursed under his breath.

His fingers flexed around your waist, digging in just a little tighter. You were dizzy with music, heat, and alcohol—but fully aware of the way he was breathing now. Shaky. Unsteady.

You had him.

He wasn’t just watching you anymore—he was feeling you.

Everything about the moment was screaming wrong—you were best friends, and this wasn’t how best friends danced—but still, he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t tell you to quit.

He just held on tighter… and let you work.

When the bass dropped again. Darker now. Slower and even dirtier. You didn’t hesitate.

One arm reached back, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck while your other hand guided his—down your stomach, over your hips, until both his palms were molded around you like you were made for him.

You leaned back into him, ass pressing right up where he’d been trying not to feel you—where the thin fabric of your dress was the only thing separating you from him—and you moved.

Dragged. Rolled. Grinded.

Like you didn’t care how many red lines you were crossing.

“Y/N—” he warned, voice raw, lips grazing the shell of your ear, “Behave.”

You didn’t.

You let his hands roam further, teasing his fingers up toward your waist—up your ribs—then dragging one dangerously close to the underside of your breast.

He flinched like you’d shocked him, like your skin was on fire.

And maybe it was.

You turned your head, brushing your lips across his jaw, not quite kissing, just lingering.

“You’re not stopping me,” you whispered.

He growled.

Actually growled.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers sinking into your sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality—like your body grinding against him, soft and sinful, wasn’t about to unravel every last thread of his control.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he grit out.

“So stop me,” you whispered, shifting your hips again—slow and deliberate—dragging yourself up his thigh like a stripclub fantasy gone rogue.

One of your hands slid down to his again, guiding it back to your waist, but lower this time—so low his fingers brushed the curve of your ass and you swore you felt his whole body tense behind you.

You smirked.

Chan didn’t find it funny. He was seething.

His jaw clenched so hard you could feel it brush against your temple, and his voice when it came was low, strained, and barely human:

“Y/N, if you don’t stop…”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. Because he didn’t know what would happen if you didn’t. And neither did you.

You just kept moving.

The second your ass arched back again—grinding slow, sultry, shameless—Chan’s grip locked on your waist like a vice.

“Enough.”

You didn’t get the chance to blink before he spun you around, one hand wrapping around your wrist, the other coming to the small of your back, steering you through the crowd like he didn’t give a damn who saw.

You giggled.

He didn’t.

Not even close.

“Chan, where’re we goin’?” you asked, voice slurring just enough to make it sound like a song.

He didn’t answer. Not really.

“Home.”

One word. Clipped and dangerous. And fuck, he was walking like a man on the edge—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, muscles rippling with every step while you were practically tripping over your heels trying to keep up, your drunk giggles only making him grip you tighter.

Like your laughter was gasoline on a flame.

“You’re mad,” you teased, leaning your weight into him like deadweight.

“I’m furious.”

That made you giggle harder.

He didn’t stop until he’d yanked the passenger side door open and dropped you in the seat like you weighed nothing. Slammed the door. Rounded the car with the same heat in his steps. He slid into the driver’s side, slammed that door, and his knuckles went white around the steering wheel.

You turned to him with a cheeky smile, tugging on his sleeve.

“You’re not really mad.”

He didn’t even look at you.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“Why? You afraid I’ll fall into your lap again?”

He finally looked at you—and that look?

Could’ve melted diamonds.

“You think this is funny?”

The laugh you gave him was light, teasing. “A little.”

Chan shifted, arm coming up to rest behind your seat, so he was fully turned toward you. His voice dropped—low, firm, the kind of tone he only used when you were being a real pain in the ass.

“You don’t get it, do you? You almost made me cross a line in there.”

You blinked, still a little tipsy, still smiling. “What line?”

His eyes burned into yours.

“The one where I stop being your best friend and start being the guy who ruins you.”

That wiped the smile right off your lips.

You sat back in the seat, heart kicking, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle over your skin like static.

Chan turned away, facing forward again.

“You’re gonna sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow. And you’re gonna listen, for once. Because you don’t get to keep pushing me like this and acting like it’s cute.”

Silence.

“Maybe I spoilt you too much,” he muttered, shifting into gear. “Cos clearly, you don’t like to fuckin’ listen.”

And just like that, he drove off—leaving the music, the crowd, and the heat of temptation burning behind you.

<><><>

Your head was pounding.

Throbbing, actually.

Like someone had taken a bass speaker and shoved it directly into your brain. You groaned as you rolled onto your back, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion.

…This wasn’t your bed.

Wait. Yes, it was.

But why were you in his shirt? And why did you have glitter on your thighs?

Oh no.

You sat up slowly, spotting the water and ibuprofen on your nightstand—placed there no doubt by one incredibly annoyed but still annoyingly sweet man. The man whose footsteps you now heard approaching from the hallway.

You flinched at the sound. He was stomping.

“Someone’s heavy-footed this morning,” you muttered.

Chan stepped into the doorway with a blank stare and a mug in his hand. The look on his face? That one he reserved for when you did something so wildly irritating he couldn’t even find the words yet.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

You offered him a sheepish smile. “…Did I do something?”

He just stared.

“Chan?”

He placed the mug on your nightstand with a bit too much force.

“You don’t remember?”

You blinked up at him with your most innocent expression. “I mean… I remember the party? The rooftop? I think I danced a little?”

“A little,” he repeated, deadpan. “You grinded on me. In the corner. Like it was a fucking stripclub. Like we weren’t best friends. Like I wasn’t five seconds from hauling you over my shoulder and taking you home.”

Your cheeks flushed hot. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

You cleared your throat, unable to stop the sheepish grin creeping in. “Did I look good though?”

Chan’s face did something strange. Like he short-circuited. “Are you—? What?”

“I mean,” you teased, poking at him now because why not, “was I sexy? Did I make your heart race? Or was it just embarrassing and sad?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Just answer the question.”

Chan ran a hand over his face like he was praying for patience. “That’s not the point.”

“But did you like it?”

Silence. His stare burned holes into you.

You leaned back against the headboard with a slow smirk, hugging your knees to your chest. “You’re mad and flustered. That’s a good sign.”

Chan tilted his head, voice low.

“Do you really wanna know how it felt?”

You nodded way too fast. “I do.”

He leaned down, eyes locked on yours, one hand braced beside your head on the headboard.

“It felt like temptation.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t blink. “It felt like you knew exactly what you were doing, and you wanted to see just how far you could push me. And it felt like if I hadn’t dragged you out of there, I’d be doing things to you we couldn’t take back.”

You stared up at him, mouth parting in surprise.

Then you whispered, “…Shit.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Shit.”

You blinked once. Twice.

“…Still kinda flattered though.”

Chan groaned and pulled away, heading for the door again.

“You’re not allowed to drink for at least a month. Minimum.”

“Chan, don’t be like that—”

“A month.” he repeated, disappearing down the hall.

You flopped back into your pillows, heart still racing. A grin slowly crept over your lips.

Damn. Maybe you did get carried away.

<><><>

You were in the zone. Like, completely tuned out, bopping your head to the music in your ears as you folded Chan’s fresh laundry on his bed. Your hips swayed with every beat; every little spin you gave the shirt in your hands before laying it down neatly beside the others.

Your little frilly shorts fluttered with every movement, riding higher each time you reached or twisted or bent. But you didn’t notice. You were too busy humming along to your playlist and tossing socks into a neat pile.

The door had been left cracked open.

And Chan had come home earlier than you realized.

He paused when he saw you from the hallway—his girl, his best friend, in his bedroom, dressed in that matching little cotton set that barely counted as clothing. The fabric on your shorts stretched and hugged the soft curve of your ass as you bent over to tuck the edges of his sheets into place, clearly trying to finish making the bed for him.

His lips parted slightly. A breath caught in his throat.

He was supposed to head to his studio.

But then you wiggled your hips to the beat—innocent, playful—and Chan’s thoughts scattered like smoke.

Something possessed him.

Next thing you knew, you felt a presence behind you.

A firm, warm grip closed around your ass, fingers spreading possessively over the curve.

You jumped, yanking a single AirPod out with a startled gasp, only to spin around and find Chan.

Standing behind you. Wide-eyed. Frozen.

“Oh—fuck,” he blurted, jerking his hand back like it burned him. “Shit, I didn’t mean to—fuck, I didn’t even think—”

You blinked up at him, heart thudding. But honestly? Not because you were mad.

Your lips curved, and you shrugged softly. “It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

Chan’s whole brain short-circuited.

You didn’t… mind?

You weren’t mad?

That was all it took. His hand—that same hand—dropped right back down to where it had just been, like it had a mind of its own. It found your ass again, slow and deliberate this time, fingers pressing in like he needed to confirm how soft it felt.

You didn’t move. You just looked up at him, blinking innocently.

“Just finishing up,” you said, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Like his hand wasn’t full of your ass.

Chan stared at you like he’d never seen you before. His throat worked around a swallow.

Then—fuck it—he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. Except… his hands didn’t settle at your waist like they always did.

No. One hand stayed exactly where it had been—on your jiggly ass—while the other pressed into the small of your back, pulling you close.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he muttered into your hair.

You tilted your head. “What’d I do?”

“You exist in those shorts,” he gritted out. “That’s what you did.”

You smiled against his chest, your cheek warming against the familiar scent of his cologne.

“Guess I should wear them more often then.”

Chan exhaled shakily. You could feel the way his fingers twitched against your ass.

Yeah… this tension? This was no longer accidental.

“I mean…” you hummed into his chest, arms looping lazily around his torso, “you did kinda sneak up on me. Could’ve warned me first.”

“You were too cute to interrupt,” he mumbled. His voice was gravel-soft, barely there. “You were doin’ that little dance again.”

You pulled back just enough to raise your brows. “You were watching me?”

He looked guilty. Just for a second. Then shrugged, mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he should play it cool or apologize.

“You were in my room, playing house in my shorts, dancing to music like nobody was watching. What was I supposed to do?”

Your smirk deepened. “Not grab my ass?”

“I panicked.”

You burst into a soft laugh, resting your head back against his chest again. The moment felt too warm, too familiar, too… dangerously close to something else.

“I didn’t know you liked them this much,” you teased, wiggling your hips just a little. Just enough to make his hands twitch.

Chan exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he muttered, one hand dragging lightly up your spine.

You tilted your head back to look at him, eyes wide, soft with curiosity. “Good?”

“Respectful,” he clarified. “You’re my best friend.”

You blinked. “And best friends don’t touch ass?”

“They shouldn’t,” he bit out, and that was the first real crack in his voice. “But you’ve been pushing it lately, baby. You’ve been testing me.”

Your chest fluttered at the way he said baby. So casually, like it slipped out before he could stop it.

“Have I?”

Chan’s hand slid lower. Not enough to be scandalous, just enough to let you feel that he wasn’t kidding anymore. His palm was warm and heavy, anchoring you to him like he was suddenly realizing he didn’t want to let go.

“You’re not as innocent as you act,” he muttered.

You gave him your best doe-eyed look. “I never said I was.”

That was when he lost it a little.

One of his hands slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and he leaned in like he was thinking about kissing you—but didn’t. His lips barely ghosted yours.

Not a kiss. Not quite.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

You did. You absolutely did. But you didn’t say a word.

You just smiled.

“Laundry’s done,” you whispered, pulling back with one last squeeze around his waist. “You’re welcome.”

And then you walked out of his room like you didn’t just flip his entire world upside down in cotton shorts and a matching button-up.

<><><>

That night, you were wide awake.

The house was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant rustle of trees outside, and your pulse drumming hard against the pillow.

It’d been hours since you left Chan’s room. Hours since you’d walked out of there trying to act like your skin wasn’t still tingling where his hands had been. Like your heart hadn’t stuttered when his lips brushed yours without ever truly kissing you.

You should’ve let it go.

But the problem was, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Your fingers hovered over your phone. Then… tapped.

You: You up?

The read receipt appeared too fast.

Chan: Always. What’s wrong?

You stared at the screen for a second too long.Then:

You: Nothing. Just thinking about earlier.

Chan: Which part?

You smiled. Bit your bottom lip. That was bait, and he knew it.

You fed him a little more.

You: You touching me like that in your room.

Another instant reply.

Chan: I shouldn’t have. I got carried away.

You: I didn’t mind.

A pause. Longer this time. You imagined him lying in bed with that furrow between his brows, one hand behind his head, trying to figure out if you were just being bratty again—or if you meant it.

Chan: I could tell.

You laughed quietly to yourself, propping your phone against your knee, thumbs ready to wreck your whole friendship.

You: You’re really gonna act like you didn’t like it?

Chan: Is that what you want me to say? That I liked having my hand on my best friend’s ass?

You: I mean… you did keep it there for a long time.

Chan: You looked really good like that.

You sat up a little straighter, nerves flickering through your chest like sparks.

You: Like how?

Chan: Bent over my bed in those shorts. You know what you were doing.

You: I was folding your laundry.

Chan: While dancing. In those tiny ass shorts.

You: You liked that?

The dots blinked.

Stopped.

Started again.

Chan: Too much.

You took a shaky breath.

This felt reckless. You were under the same roof. Just down the hall. Separated by a hallway and years of pretending your friendship was innocent.

Your fingers moved again.

You: If I came to your room right now…

No reply.

Not yet. You could almost hear his breathing. Almost feel how still he was on the other side of the house.

Then finally:

Chan: Don’t. If you come in here like that, I won’t let you leave untouched.

You stared at the message. Bit your lip and tucked yourself a little deeper into your sheets, thighs brushing, breath catching.

Your fingers trembled when you typed again.

You: Untouched where?

You saw the typing bubble appear immediately.

Chan: Everywhere.

You: Be specific.

Chan: You want me to tell you how I’d touch you, best friend?

That sent a chill up your spine. Something about the way he called you that. Not sweet. Not teasing. Dangerous.

You: Yeah. I do.

Chan: I’d start with those legs you’re always stretching across my lap. I’d make you open them wider for me.

You: Keep going.

Chan: I’d touch you over those tiny little shorts you love wearing around me like you don’t know they drive me fucking crazy.

Your mouth went dry. Your hand slipped beneath the covers, not to touch—just to feel. To let your own heat rise in the quiet dark.

You: I knew they drove you crazy.

Chan: Of course you did. You’re a brat. You do it on purpose.

You: You like when I act like a brat.

Chan: I like shutting you up when you get too mouthy.

Your stomach flipped. God, this felt wrong. You were just supposed to be folding laundry and going to bed like normal.

Instead—

You: If I was in your bed right now, what would you do to me?

Another pause.

You waited. You could feel the shift. Could practically hear the internal war going on behind his silence. How much he was willing to say. How far he was willing to go.

Then:

Chan: I’d drag you under me. Pin your wrists. Tell you to stop squirming but know damn well you wouldn’t. I’d make you beg me to touch you properly.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Face flushed. Legs pressed tight under the blanket.

You weren’t sure who you were anymore. You weren’t just his best friend. Not right now. You were something else entirely.

You: Would you let me touch you too?

Chan: Not unless you asked real nice.

You: Please, Channie.

That one made him pause. You could feel it. Like the air had been sucked from the room.

Then:

Chan: You’re really playing with fire tonight, baby.

You: You’re the one who said you wanted to touch me.

Chan: And now I wanna do a lot more than that.

You: Yeah? Like what?

Chan: Like make you mine.

Your breath hitched. You blinked at that message for a long, long time. Because it didn’t feel like flirtation anymore. It didn’t feel like a joke.

You: But I’m already yours… aren’t I?

This time, there was no pause.

Chan: Fuck yes, you are.

Your heart was thudding. Your body humming. But your fingers moved with more confidence now. There was something intoxicating about knowing exactly how to push him.

Something dangerous.

You: I remembered the party.

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

Chan: What about it?

You: How you grabbed me like you wanted to throw me over your shoulder.

Chan: You were asking for it.

You: And then you let me grind on you like that? In public?

Chan: Correction. You made me stand there and take it.

You: Mm. I remember how hard you got through those dress pants.

You bit your lip. Your thighs squeezed again.

Then added: You were so thick and heavy against me, Channie. I still feel it.

A full minute passed. He didn’t respond. You almost thought you’d pushed him too far.

Then—

Chan: Keep talking like that and I’ll be in your room in under sixty seconds.

Your breath caught. You smiled to yourself, devilish.

You weren’t done yet.

You: You didn’t even stop me when I dragged your hands over my body. You wanted to feel me, didn’t you? Even when you told me to behave, you kept touching.

Chan: God, you’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the nearest couch right there.

Your mouth dropped open slightly. But you were thriving in this game now. Riding that high. And you hadn’t even touched yourself yet—just lying there soaked and giggly like you’d been corrupted through a screen.

You: You could’ve. I wouldn’t have stopped you.

Chan: Say that again.

You hesitated. Then: I wanted you to touch me at the party. I wanted you to pull me into that corner and make a mess out of me. Is that so bad?

Chan: Baby, if you knew what you were saying right now…

You: I do.

Chan: And I want you to say what you wanted. Out loud. To me.

Your fingers stalled. You swallowed.

Then typed: I wanted to feel your hard dick against me again. I wanted you to grip my hips and hold me still and tell me I was yours. I wanted your voice in my ear, telling me not to run.

Chan didn’t respond for two whole minutes.

You were about to text again when—

Chan: I’m coming up. Don’t move.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You barely had time to throw your phone down before you heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Then—your bedroom door creaked open.

And there he was.

Hoodie sleeves shoved up, jaw tight, chest rising like he’d sprinted the last few steps. His eyes landed on you—bare-legged under your little blanket, looking like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

But oh, this wasn’t about cookies.

He shut the door with his foot. Click.

“You’re seriously playing with fire, you know that?”

You blinked up at him, lips parted. “What, just texting my best friend?”

Chan’s laugh was dry—no humor. Only disbelief.

Then his hands were on his hips, like he needed to physically restrain himself from pouncing. His eyes travelled down your body, slow and possessive, before he stepped closer to the bed.

“You said some wild shit just now, baby.”

“I meant every word.”

He tilted his head, smirking. But his voice dropped a little darker. “You wanted to feel me? Hm?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip.

“Say it again,” he said, close enough now to tug the blanket down from your waist.

“I wanted to feel you,” you whispered.

He leaned in. “Where, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched. “Against me.”

“Where else?”

You swallowed. “Inside me.”

That was it. That was fucking it.

In a blink, he was crawling over the bed, pinning you back with one hand on your waist and the other sliding under your thigh to pull you open for him.

“Guess what, baby?” he muttered, lips brushing your jaw as you shivered beneath him.

“You’re about to.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Chan’s weight settled over you, his body a solid, grounding force that made the room feel smaller, hotter, like the air itself was pressing against your skin. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough to feel the heat of his breath but not quite touching. It was torture. It was deliberate.

“Chan,” you whispered, voice trembling with something you couldn’t name. Anticipation. Need. Fear of what this moment meant for the two of you.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, but there was a storm behind them. You could see it—the way his restraint was fraying, the way his fingers tightened just slightly on your thigh, like he was fighting himself as much as he was holding onto you.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice low, gravelly, like he was giving you one last chance to back out. One last chance to keep things the way they’d always been.

But you didn’t want that. Not anymore. Not after the texts, the dancing, the way his hands felt like they belonged on your body.

You nodded, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “I’m sure.”

That was all he needed.

His lips crashed into yours, and it was like the world tilted. It wasn’t soft or tentative—not like the almost-kiss in his room earlier. This was hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for you and only just realized it. His hand slid from your thigh to your hip, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, your body arching into his like it had a mind of its own.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands finding his shoulders, his neck, tangling in his hair. You tugged lightly, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. His tongue brushed against yours, and you felt it everywhere, like a current running through your veins.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled, breathless, and tugged him closer. “Good.”

He growled low in his throat, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your stomach, your ribs, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. He was teasing you, and you hated it as much as you loved it.

“Chan,” you whined, squirming beneath him, trying to guide his hand higher.

He smirked knowingly. “What, baby? Use your words.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. “Touch me.”

“Where?” His voice was a low rumble, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hipbone, maddeningly close but not quite enough.

“Everywhere,” you breathed, echoing his text from earlier.

That did it.

His hand slid up, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in a way that made you gasp. His other hand yanked your thigh higher, hooking it over his hip as he pressed himself closer, letting you feel every inch of him—hard, heavy, and so real it made your head spin.

“You wanted this,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you gasped, arching into his touch as his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and possessive against your bare skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of awe and something darker—something that made your heart race even faster. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because you’re you,” he interrupted, voice rough. “You’re my best friend. My safe place. I didn’t want to fuck this up.”

You reached up, cupping his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You’re not fucking anything up, Channie.”

His eyes softened, but only for a moment. Then he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word into it. His hands roamed—over your sides, your thighs, tugging your shorts down just enough to feel the bare skin of your hips.

You tugged at his shirt, impatient, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling back to yank it over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles flexing, eyes dark with want—made your mouth go dry. You’d seen him shirtless a thousand times, but this was different. This was yours.

“Like what you see?” he teased, catching the way you were staring.

You didn’t even bother hiding it. “Always have.”

He froze for a second, like your words hit him harder than he expected. Then he was on you again, kissing you like he was trying to make up for lost time, his hands slipping under your shirt to tug it off completely. The cool air hit your skin, but his touch was fire, burning away any chill.

His lips trailed down your neck, over your collarbone, pausing to murmur, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” before continuing lower, kissing the curve of your chest.

You gasped when his mouth found your skin, warm and deliberate, his hands holding you in place as he took his time exploring you. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a confession—like he was saying all the things he’d held back for years.

“Chan,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed lower, his breath hot against your stomach.

He looked up at you, eyes dark but soft. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” you said, voice shaking but certain.

He grinned—slow, wicked—and then his hands were on your shorts, tugging them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. You were bare beneath him now, vulnerable in a way you’d never been before, but there was no fear. Only trust. Only him.

His hands slid up your thighs, parting them gently, and he leaned down to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was savoring it. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips.

“Then die happy,” you shot back, and he laughed—a real, warm laugh that made your heart ache.

But then his touch turned serious again, his fingers brushing against you in a way that made your breath catch, your body arching toward him instinctively. He watched you, eyes locked on yours, gauging every reaction, every little sound you made.

“Channie,” you gasped, when his fingers pressed just right, slow and deliberate, like he was learning you.

“Shh,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. He always had.

His touch was patient, reverent, but there was an edge to it—like he was holding himself back, trying not to lose control completely. You could feel it in the way his fingers trembled slightly, the way his breath hitched when you moaned softly under him.

“More,” you whispered, tugging him closer, needing him closer.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His fingers worked you with a rhythm that made your head spin, your hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anything to ground yourself. But it was too much and not enough all at once, and you could feel the heat building, coiling tight in your core.

“Channie, please,” you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“You,” you managed, voice breaking. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

He pulled back just enough to kick off his sweatpants, and then he was back, settling between your thighs, his body warm and solid against yours. He kissed you again, deep and slow, and you felt him—hard, heavy, pressing against you in a way that made your entire body hum with anticipation.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, one last time, his voice strained, like it was taking everything in him to hold back.

You nodded, pulling him closer, your lips brushing his. “I’ve always been sure.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for years, and then he was there—sliding into you, slow and careful, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none. Only heat, only fullness, only him.

You gasped softly, your hands finding his back, nails digging in just enough to make him hiss. He moved slowly at first, giving you time to adjust, but it wasn’t long before you were urging him faster, harder, your hips meeting his with every thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” you whispered, and you meant it—every word, every touch, every moment.

The world outside didn’t exist anymore. It was just you and him, the heat of his skin, the way his hands gripped your hips, the way he whispered your name like it was a prayer. You were his, and he was yours, and for the first time, that truth didn’t scare you.

It felt right.

The tension built, higher and higher, until you were trembling beneath him, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel it too—you could tell by the way his movements grew less controlled, more desperate, his lips finding yours again as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

“Chan,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the wave crashed over you, your body shuddering beneath him.

He groaned, low and deep, following you over the edge moments later, his body tensing, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just breathed. Just held each other, the world quiet except for the sound of your racing hearts.

Then he kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft now, almost shy.

You nodded, your cheek pressed against his skin. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can go back to pretending after that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling. “Then don’t.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you again—slow, sweet, like a promise. “I won’t.”

<><><>

The next morning was different.

Not awkward or weird. Just… new.

You woke up tangled in his sheets, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. For a moment, you just lay there, letting the reality of it sink in. You weren’t just best friends anymore. You were something more, something unspoken but undeniable.

He stirred behind you, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Morning, baby girl.”

You smiled, rolling over to face him. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Morning Channie,” you whispered back, reaching up to trace his jaw.

He caught your hand, kissing your palm. “You’re not gonna start teasing me already, are you?”

You grinned. “Maybe.”

He groaned, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours in a lazy, sleepy kiss that made your toes curl. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it,” you shot back, snuggling into his chest.

He didn’t argue. Just held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

You didn’t talk about what this meant—not yet. There’d be time for that later. Time to figure out how to navigate this new thing between you, how to balance being best friends with being… more.

But for now, you were content to just be. To lie there in his arms, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

Because you were completely his. And that was enough.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: Hiiiiiii! How’s it going guys? I have been soooo busy lately like i need my life backkkkk 😩😩😩 i’m so sorry that i have bot responded to my dms, but its all for a good cause. So tell me how did you like this fic? Its a little on the long side with an almost 10k wordcount but i was hoping that could make up for lost time… this one has been sitting in my drafts for months so i released it because i know i owe yall some content. Sooooo enjoy this while i get the next entry for NAUGHTY DORM CHRONICLES READYYYY ❤️🤭🤩