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a/n: i was gonna write something cute about chan helping y/n move because i am moving and i wish i had Big Strong Man to help me but this turned into a whole lot of pussy eating and not a lot of packing and moving. warnings: y/n has a pussy, weird caveman jokes, oral sex, MDNI. 1k.
โwe ran out of tape!โ you hear a call from the kitchen, muffled by the cardboard your head is currently surrounded by. youโre halfway inside a box, patting down newspaper so you can create a cushion for your carefully curated collection of mugs to sit on so they donโt break in transport.
โthe fuck we did,โ you grumble, annoyance and a flash of panic rising up as you dust your hands off and make your way over to chan. โwe just bought some yesterday, donโt tell me we forgot it in the cart-โ
you cut yourself off when you see chan holding a full roll of packing tape on one finger, a teasing smile on his face.
โkidding,โ he laughs, setting the tape down to walk towards you. โgot ya.โ
โyou just had to mess with me while i was working,โ you roll your eyes but accept when he turns you around to lean you against the empty kitchen counter. โdid you accomplish your goal of being one annoyance closer to me murdering you and taking the insurance money to hire movers?โ
โno, but i did accomplish my goal of getting your attention,โ he leans into your space, pressing you up further into the countertop. โyouโre working too hard, baby. take a break.โ
โi just need to get one more box done, then-โ the rest of your sentence is muffled by the palm of his hand and you make angry eye contact with him above his wrist. itโs the only thing you can do to retaliate, since he doesnโt get grossed out if you lick his hand and gets weirdly turned on if you bite it.
โbox later,โ he insists, pulling his hand away to tame a stray lock of your hair down against our head. โlunch now. hungry.โ
โand heโs reduced to caveman speech,โ you give in easily when you feel the weariness of your muscles sink in. it is easy to ignore when you are busy, but with the languid comfort that comes with his weight pressed against yours it draws your attention.
โwould a caveman do this?โ he leans in the rest of the way and presses his lips to yours in a slow, gentle kiss, letting his breath out into a sigh against your mouth. he squeezes his hands against your hips and lifts, and your center of gravity shifts as youโre placed on top of the counter.
โthatโs exactly what a caveman would do, i think,โ you say, breaking the kiss to thunk your head against the cabinet behind you. you can see his brain working to produce a witty comeback by the way his eyes narrow, but he must lose the fight with his own intelligence because he sinks to his knees a moment later without a word.
โi think cavemen like snacks,โ he leans his head against your thigh and plays with the waistband of your shorts with his hands, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes. โdoes my food consent to a little pre-lunch sample?โ
โas long as we can let this metaphor go, you can do whatever you want,โ you feign nonchalance but your heartbeat is picking up, crescendoing into a racing pace when he manages to wiggle your shorts and underwear off of you.
you would go into the semantics of your bare ass on the kitchen counter being unhygienic, but youโre moving out tomorrow and soon thatโll be someone elseโs problem. hopefully the new tenant bleaches everything.
he noses at your folds, unhurried and curious like heโs discovering something for the first time. when his tongue darts out to taste you, youโre almost embarrassed by the whine that leaves your throat without permission. really, you shouldnโt be so effected by such a simple touch, but you both have been too busy with packing the last few weeks to do anything other than unsatisfying quickies in the shower and itโs left you restless.
your breath hitches when he grabs your thighs and pushes your legs further apart. his next lick is harder, more of his tongue reaching out to draw a broad stroke between your hole and your clit. your hips jerk when his teeth graze against your skin and a small gush of slick escapes as you clench around nothing.
โthe snack talks back,โ he smirks, using two of his fingers to spread the wetness around. he teases at your entrance, and chokes on a gasp when your hands fly to his hair to press his face against your core.
โoh my god, shut up,โ you loosen your grip when he gets the message and starts sucking at your clit, meaningfully this time instead of whatever he was doing before while thinking of some weird prehistoric era joke. he dips his fingers into you, crooking his fingers and making shallow thrusts that light up your nerve endings. fuck, this will be over too soon with the way youโre reacting.
you let go of his hair to cover your mouth as you start panting along with the pulsing in your pussy, and he whines into you pitifully. youโre not sure if itโs because he wants you to pull on his hair or because he wants to hear you, but he relaxes when your hand fists back into his curls.
โfuuuuuck, baby,โ your hips are moving in minute jerks and you can feel the familiar burning heat spread through your core as your orgasm builds. you twitch one last time as it finally snaps, and your walls pulse desperately around his fingers as he eats you through it. your legs close around his ears as you come, your vision blacking out for a moment in response to his enthusiastic licking and sucking.
you relax your legs and push him away once the pleasure sparks into overstimulation, electricity crackling against a fine line between good and too much. he stays for a few seconds longer, stubborn in his desire to clean you up and hear you whimper, before falling back into his heels.
his face is glistening with your slick, his lips are red and swollen and he looks so satisfied with himself that youโre abruptly annoyed again.
โdonโt say it,โ you warn, the fear you wanted to instill dulled by the lethargy in your voice. โwhatever stupid joke youโre going to say, keep it in your head.โ
โi wasnโt going to say anything,โ he protests, the mirth in his eyes revealing that he was, in fact, going to say something. โwait, but iโm actually hungry. letโs order takeout?โ
BANG CHAN x READER
GENRE: Boyfriend!Chan, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff
WARNINGS: none!, somewhat proofread
WC: 1.5k
A/N: Happy birthday to me! An itty bitty Chan scenario in celebration for me-day woohoo! (this was supposed to be a preluding vignette in the sunlight and daydreams universe but I figured that would be super evil of me so letโs pretend itโs not lmao)
๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐ง๐ญ๐ฌ, ๐๐๐๐ฅ๐จ๐ ๐ฌ, ๐๐ข๐ค๐๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ซ๐๐๐ข๐๐ญ๐๐!
โโ MASTERLIST
The ocean sings. Waves crashing loud against the rocks, the late afternoon brings forth a beautiful pinkening sky and cool, hair-fluttering breeze.
A little chilly, but you donโt mind. Not when Chanโs grip is warm, fingers cupping yours as your entwined hands swing between the both of you.
Your feet sink in the sand, wet and cold against your bare feet the closer you get to the shore, leaving behind footprints and clinging to your skin.
You really donโt mind, Chan hums a soothing tune as you walk, distracting you from the fact that youโve left all your belongings back there where you had spent the afternoon lounging under the sun and building sandcastles.
Though the walk is nice. Comforting, and soothing. The sun sinks lower by the minute, the kind that has both of you pause, facing the horizon to take in the glimmering sea that reflects the light like a painting. The kind of sight that has your breath hitch, has you stop, eyes shining as you take in the pink and purple sky, the bright orange sun ready to bid its farewell.
Chan seems to agree, your boyfriend squeezing your hand almost faintly before he mutters the words you would have missed between the sunset, the waves and the winds.
You donโt though, not when Chan looks as if you mean the word, the same shine in his eyes as they meet yours.
โโIt would be perfect to propose here.โ
You think you wouldโve laughed startled at such a random exclamation, would have agreed with such an romantic observation. Yet before you can even giggle at the idea, even agree with him with a hum and a nod, you only turn to find a sight that has you freezing.ย
Eyes widening and lips parting with shock because he doesnโt even wait for his words to settle, doesnโt tear his gaze away, already dropping down with a widening grin.
Chan kneels. Right there, right before your suddenly frozen form.
Heโs on one knee, pants planted over the wet sand, the seafoam left after retreating waves seeping through the material, yet even the dirt and water isnโt enough to keep him from doing what he decided to do.ย
Everything continues as it was. The sun still on its descent, the waves still crashing against the rocks, rising over sand, the winds still ruffle through his hair, tousling the strands.
Yet nothing remains the same for you, not when his gaze meets yours so warm, so fond. Locked onto you with a lingering softness that shows in the way he fishes out the small box from the depths of his pocket.ย
Where had he hidden it all day? Youโre clueless. Yet he holds it before you, opening with ease, the slight tremble in his hands going unnoticed amidst the sudden emotions that surge through you. Chan holds it out before you. Offering you something youโve only dreamt of, you canโt help but gasp, eyes flickering to whatโs inside.ย
Itโs a glimmering thing, dainty and elegant, the ring glints beautifully against the sunset. And he cradles it in his palms, inhaling deeply as he lets you react. Your hands fly to your mouth, pressing against your lips, as you once again gasp louder. The ocean waves are cold over your feet, wind biting at your skin, yet you feel as if you are burning up.
โIโโ Chan begins, clearing his throat, a twinge of nervousness crossing his gaze but the wide smile remains.
โI love you.โ He states, softly, loudly, those words coming out as easily as breathing.
His eyes dart over your shocked-still expression, at the misty haze in your own gaze as you finally grasp what is happening.
โโIs this love?โโ He whispered.
A repeat of a question youโve asked. Itโs a familiar question, one that has you break into a breathy and wet scoff-like giggle as you realize exactly what he is referring to, hands falling to your sides, shoulders relaxing as you let him continue.
Let him propose.
โThe night after our first date, after I spent the entire after of it distracted by thoughts of you, you sent me that question.โ His cheeks dimpled with the way he grinned, watching you exhale with a breathless laugh.
โโGranted, it was a message you accidentally texted to me instead of your friendโimmediately followed with ten other messages of you freaking out over it, before threatening me to forget how you just embarrassed yourself.โ He recalls with a chuckle, with a fondness and a grin that has you mimic the glee, though the tears now freely slide down your cheeks.
โBut how could I have ever forgotten such a question when that same night I decided that I had an answer for it. That seeing your adorable sputtering and your refusal to meet my eyes the next day made me realize that it was love. That you were it for me.โ Thereโs a waver in his voice, a shine in his own eyes as he takes in the beautiful sight that is you.
But he barrels on, as if he has so much to say but not enough timeโat least not currently. Not when he has a ring to put on your finger. The recollection of your most precious moments could wait a little.
โI knew I wanted to marry you then. I knew I wanted a full life with you.โ He swallows his nervousness, his emotions that threaten to crack in his voice.
You almost whimper shakily, happily, your expression soft and warm and oh-so-touched as his voice drops just a tad bit softer, just a tinge warmer.
โI want more late night adventures, more spontaneous trips, the slow strolls hand-in-hand. I want the growing birthdays to come, the wrinkles and white hair, all the way to the end. Till death do us apartโright after that first date. I want it all with you.โ
You swipe the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that pool at your jaw, shuddery breath escaping your lips with a soft sob.ย Chan kneels patiently, as he continues to make your heart flip, your stomach swoop, your eyes prick with more happy tears.
โIโm sure you know by now how painfully obsessed I am with you.โ He too chuckles wetly, his voice slightly shaky, yet dripping with something akin to adoration as he looks up at you, absolutely besotted.
โYou already know how deeply I love you, but Iโll say it again. I love you. And I will continue to do so for the rest of my remaining life. Will youโโ He stutters just the slightest as he swallows, taking in a nervous breath, his eyes locked onto yours.
โWill you please marry me?โ
The waves crash loud, your feet sink into the wet sand, the sunlight is moments away from disappearing, yet you only look at Chan, on his knees, his own teary eyes and that beautiful smile of his that youโre so fond of.ย
Your boyfriend awaits the answer he should know you would give him almost nervously. And even with the shock and the heart-touching words spoken, you canโt help but laugh almost helplessly. The tears continue to cloud your vision yet even with blurred sight you know exactly where to find your most special person, lunging forward you canโt help but wrap your arms around him, falling onto your own knees.
Chan wobbles just the slightest at the impact but he holds you firmly, pressed right against him.
โYes. Yesyesyes.โ Your voice is half-choked, half a whisper as you tug him closer into your embrace.
Chanโs own voice cracks as he laughs against you, arm wrapping tight around you as he inhales your scent.
โThank you. I love you so so much.โ He pulls away, just enough to gaze into your eyes, lashes wet from his tears, yet his smile remains.
โGive me your hand.โ He whispers.
You donโt wait another second, your hand trembling between the both of your kneeling bodies as Chan looks down to pluck the ring out, box forgotten over the sand.
It slips on easily, cool against your skin, yet even that doesnโt last long, not when his hands cup your fingers in his, engulfing you in his warmth.
โYou wonโt regret it, I swearโโ
As much as you want to hear more of his heartfelt promises, you canโt help but want to disappear in his embrace, melt into his arms. Squeeze into his chest, and make yourself home. You lean in to capture his lips, kissing him and swallowing his promises. And he easily allows you to do so.ย
Melt into his embrace, disappear in his arms.
Kissing you in that slow, careful kind of way. The one where his fingers sit just right below your jaw, cradling your face as if youโre the most delicate thing he has. And you canโt help the sigh that leaves you, the way you pull him close and allow the thought to settle.
So this is love.ย
He squeezes you a tinge bit tighter, kisses you just a tad bit harder, his mouth hot against yours.
And how sweet it was.
โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
e n d .
mariaโs note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom Iโve always admired, so donโt forget to show them plenty of love!! ๐ค
be quiet by @hyunsvngs
listening to your silent cry (4 parts) by @elylyyy
take a seat by @pixie-felix
correct me, i dare you by @emmiesoverthemoon
work hard, play harder by @emmiesoverthemoon
you, me, and your ears by @emmiesoverthemoon
the anatomy of roommate by @kloversung
knot by @fenya-scribbles
non-stop by @chvnnie
silver hair by @starlostjisung
donโt look away by @starlostjisung
unfair by @starlostjisung
no escape by @starlostjisung
spread open by @starlostjisung
just practice by @starlostjisung
mirror mirror by @seospicybin
stars aligned (4 parts) by @seospicybin
the fuckboy next door by @seospicybin
one perfect wave by @seospicybin
teacherโs pet by @seospicybin
miss possessive by @skzophreniic
taste of trouble by @skzophreniic
order for daddy by @skzophreniic
cry by @skzophreniic
studio sex by @skzophreniic
please him with his card by @stryscribbles
eyes on me by @stryscribbles
dress by @skzfflovers
fireworks by @skzfflovers
say it again by @baby-yongbok
home by 10 by @baby-yongbok
the knowing by @sithskz
twenty four seven by @sithskz
ribbon by @ghostlyscripture
goddess of the desert by @breakmeoff
bed and breakfast by @midnite-fiction
fake it till you make it by @hanjinology
mommy by @ybklix
watermelon sugar by @ybklix
these four walls (2 parts) by @strrykais
push me further, pull me closer by @cattolino
eater chan by @chandora
ride it baby by @hanverse
lovers rock by @lynsbng
face-sitting w/ nerd!chan by @lovscb97
just the tip by @hyunniesamericano
heat of it by @hyunniesamericano
ride my face by @hyunniesamericano
jealous by @lovecvrexx
pretty when youโre angry by @lovecvrexx
IโM IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEYโRE AMAZING ๐ค๐ซถ๐ป
โ ๏ธ Contains explicit sexual content, graphic violence, and psychological manipulation. All sexual acts are consensual within a coercive, obsessive relationship dynamic.
he promised heโd keep you safe. he never specified from who
You donโt hear the door open so much as feel the house change its breath.
The hallway draft stops dead, like the building itself is holding it in. The air that slides under the bedroom door is colder than it should be, damp in a way that makes your skin go pebble-fine. You are not drunkโjust soft around the edges, the way a book looks when you thumb the corners too long. The sheets are warm from your legs. Your phone is face down on the nightstand, an accusatory square.
Keys. A low clink against the console dish. Leather whispering. The tiny rubber sound of shoes leaving your entry mat and finding the wood.
You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep.
โBad actress,โ Chris says from the doorway, voice so gentle you could cut your finger on it.
When you look, heโs a silhouette first: all black, the clean geometry of a high-collar jacket and fitted tee, dark jeans that drink the light from his silver hair. Wet where they shouldnโt be. There are splashes on the cuffs and a dull sheen on his knuckles, rubbed halfway clean and then abandoned. He smells like outside at midnightโcold metal, wet bark, the bite of something mineral.
He doesnโt turn the lamp on. He walks by feel in this place like itโs mapped under his skin. The bed dipsโa slow, careful press by your shins. His hand finds your ankle through the comforter and closes, thumb smoothing along the bone as if taking your pulse.
โHi,โ you say, small. It comes out a little breathy, guilty by nature.
He hums. โYouโre warm.โ
โIโyeah.โ Your tongue tastes like wine and citrus. โChanged my clothes.โ
His thumb stops moving. โBefore or after you stopped answering me.โ
The hour before thisโyour coworkers, the loud bar, the way your phone kept lighting up like a heartbeatโrearranges itself in your head. You swallow. The ring of your glass on polished wood. Laughter. Someoneโs sleeve grazing your bare shoulder. โMy batteryโโ
He reaches over you. A quiet, unhurried theft. Your phone is in his hand before you can catch the thought of saying no. He doesnโt check it yet. He just rests it on his thigh and looks at you, the whites of his eyes milk-pale in the low light.
โBattery,โ he repeats, but it isnโt a question. Itโs a place heโs setting you down to see if you stay.
The apartment is too quiet. You can hear the tiny tick of the hallway thermostat. Somewhere in the pipes a neighborโs shower shuts off. Chris sets your phone on the nightstand without looking away from you. Then he bends, and the scent of him gets sharper.
Your fingers move before your nerve can talk you out of it. You catch his wrist. His skin is cold and a little damp; thereโs grit drying in the lines of his palm. โWhatโฆ is that?โ
His mouth tips. He turns his hand in yours and spreads his fingers. In the dark, the stains read as a palette of shadowsโedges the color of violets and rust, a smear you could almost pretend is paint if your stomach wasnโt pulling tight.
โNothing you need to put your hands on,โ he says softly. โNot with your pretty hands.โ
โChris.โ Your name for him folds itself around a small plea. โWhere did you go?โ
โOut.โ He lifts one shoulder, the movement minimal, controlled. โYou were out. I gave you space.โ
โYou were mad.โ Your voice wants to make it an accusation. It only makes it to observation. โYou were mad at me for going and then you left andโฆand now youโre back.โย
โI always come back.โ He says. His knuckles skim your knee over the blanket; heโs not petting you. Heโs measuring. โDid you have fun?โ
The question is silk over wire. You hate how it snags. โIt was just drinks.โ
โJust.โ He tastes the word as if it offends him. โWith who.โ
You tell him. Names that feel harmless in your mouth feel less so in the room with him: Anya with the chipped pink manicure, Lucas from accounting who laughs with his whole chest. Chris tips his head once, small, taking the list like a report.
โYour coworker touched your back,โ he says. Not a question. โBy the door.โ
You feel your face heat. You hadnโt told him that. You hadnโt even fully registered it until nowโ a palm that landed too comfortably between your shoulder blades as the group spilled outside to call rides, a thoughtless guiding pressure. Harmless, you told yourself, even as goosebumps rose sharp across your skin.
โHeโs handsy with everyone,โ you say.
โHandsy.โ The corner of his lips quirk at that and he flexes his wrist slightly. The sheen of wetness there flashes suddenly. โWell.โ
He drags his thumb along his wrist where something has dried into the seam of skin, then wipes it on his jeans without looking. He tips his head, studying you, and the quiet stretches until you feel your heartbeat as a separate animal in the room.
โSome men,โ he says at last, conversational, โdonโt know where to put their hands.โ His gaze lowers to where the blanket tents over your knees. โIt gets them into trouble.โ
You try to laugh like itโs a joke, but it comes out thin and papery. โHeโฆ he didnโt mean anything by it.โ
โIntent is a bedtime story.โ His eyes find your face again. They are very gentle when heโs being unkind. โContact is a fact.โ
He reachesโslowโand takes your right wrist the way a tailor takes a measurement. His fingers encircle, warm now, pressing just enough to feel the pulse under the skin. โPalms up,โ he murmurs.
You turn your hands. Your palms look almost luminous in the low light, every line a map you donโt know how to read. He brushes over them like heโs checking for splinters, then flattens your fingers one by one, counting under his breath so soft you almost donโt hear it.
โOneโฆ twoโฆ threeโฆ fourโฆ five.โ He lifts your left and does the same. โSixโฆ sevenโฆ eightโฆ nineโฆโ He pauses on your smallest finger, thumb resting at its base like a promise. โTen.โ His mouth softens. โGood. Keep them.โ
The relief is quick and mean; it makes you feel stupid. โChrisโโ
He places your hands back on the blanket with exaggerated care, aligning your fingers together, smoothing the duvet where youโve wrinkled it. โDonโt put them on strangers,โ he adds mildly. โNot even on your โhandsy-with-everyoneโ coworker. Especially not him.โ
Your tongue sticks to your teeth. โI didnโtโ I wouldnโtโโ
He nods, as if youโve given the answer he wanted. โTomorrow youโll call off,โ he says. โHeadache. Or stomach. Something simple. Iโll write it for you.โ
โI have a deadline.โ
โThen youโll meet it from here.โ He glances toward your desk. โI moved the charger.โ He has. The cord that used to live by the couch trails neatly to your nightstand, looped into a figure-eight. โYouโll stay home. That way your hands donโtโฆ wander.โ
The thermostat ticks over. Somewhere on the street a far siren winds down and disappears. He looks toward the window briefly, as if listening for his name in it, then unbuttons his cuff with precise, clean movements. The fabric peels back to show crescent-shaped indents deep into his skin, blooming red against his wrist. He smooths it with the other thumb, absent, soothing.
Your mouth moves before your sense does. โDid youโฆ get hurt?โ
He considers the question a moment, then shakes his head. โNo.โ
Thereโs a small, complicated silence. You think of the barโs door, the way Lucas had skated his palm between your shoulders like he was steering a shopping cart; you think of the word harmless and how cheap it suddenly feels in your mouth. You think of how Chrisโs cuff had been wet when he walked in, and the way the building itself seemed to hold a breath for him.
โHe wonโt touch you again,โ Chris says, almost tender. โOr anyone.โ
You look at the shape his words make. They donโt land like a guess.
โIs heโโ You stop yourself on the brink. The question opens under you like a staircase to something you donโt want to see the bottom of. You try a different angle, smaller, more ordinary. โIs he okay?โ
Chrisโs expression does something minusculeโan eyelash shift of amusement, gone as soon as you name it. โHeโs not going to be handsy for a while.โ He says it like the weather. Like a calendar note. โExtended leave.โ
Your stomach lurches. โWhat does that mean?โ
โIt means,โ he says patiently, โwe wonโt have this conversation again.โ
He picks up your phone, flips it over, and presses the side button with his thumb.
โLocation,โ he says. You unlock it. He doesnโt have to ask twice.
He toggles the setting on with the same reverence he uses to smooth your hair when youโre shaking. He adds himself to a little white list of people who can always find you. He does not look triumphant. He looks relieved, like someone closing a latch.
He watches the little toggle slide green, then lets your phone dim on its own. The room seems to settle with it, like a lid finding its jar.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
โGood,โ he says. It isnโt praise so much as calibration. โThatโs how we stop accidents.โย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
He reaches for your hands again, less like a lover and more like someone fitting a lidโchecking the lips, the seal, the way things meet. His thumbs trace the pads of your fingers as if memorizing their texture for later, then pause at your ring finger like heโs counting future problems.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
โDry,โ he notes. โYou pick at the cuticles when youโre anxious.โย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
โI love you,โ he says into your knucklesโeach kiss a sealโand then, almost lightly: โIโm going to shower.โย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
โOkay.โย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
โDonโt move.โ Itโs gentle, which means it isnโt optional.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
The bathroom door clicks. A heartbeat; the pipes wake. Water hits tile in that hard first burst and then takes on a steady hiss. You hear the metal thrum of the knob easing hotter, the wet drag of a curtain pulled closed. Steam slips under the door and ghosts along the floor.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
You stay put for twenty seconds. Maybe thirty. Your pulse makes the counting slippery.ย ย ย
Then you climb out of bed.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
The jacket waits where he left it, draped over the chair like a sleeping thing. Up close it smells like cold and soap and a thin, mineral thread the shower canโt quite erase. You tell yourself youโre just moving it, justโฆ tidying. Your fingers find the collar. The fabric is heavier than it looks; the hem gives a little when you lift it.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
Thereโs a darker crescent on the inside placket, dried thin and matte. You swallow, carefully. Your hand finds the inner pocket and grazes something wrappedโpaper or tissue gone dense with damp. It gives when you press it. Your stomach steps off a curb.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
You shouldnโt.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
You do.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
The paper sighs open. It isnโt a big thing. Not heavy. Justโฆ definite. Pale where it shouldnโt be, a blunt little curve, the clean circle of a band biting soft tissue. The ring is the wrong kind of familiarโthe cheap onyx square your coworker never took off, the one he rapped against doorframes when he was telling a story too loudly. L.M. engraved inside in bad block letters. You recognize it with the same certainty you recognize your own phone by weight in the dark.ย Recognize the finger that is still attached to it, blood crusted at the end.ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย
Air forgets how to go in. You hear yourself set it down back into its cocoonโtoo careful, too lateโyour hands suddenly useless birds.
The shower keeps hissingโa steady white noise that makes the apartment feel far away from itself. Steam curls under the bathroom door, licks the floor, climbs the chair legs. You try to put the bundle back exactly the way you found itโedges kissing, soft layers alignedโbut your fingers wonโt listen. The tissue makes that papery sigh again. Your stomach pitches.
The bathroom door opens.
Heโs there in the doorway, towel low on his hips, hair dripping in silent commas down his throat. The room smells like heat and soap and something faintly medicinal. He doesnโt look at the chair first. He looks at you. The angle of your shoulders. The way your hands hover, useless, just off your ribs.
โI forgot the razor,โ he says, utterly ordinary, then sees the jacket lifted and your hands mid-guilt. The sentence folds itself away. His eyes take in the angle of your elbows, the loosened pocket, the counterfeit stillness youโre trying to wear.
โI told you not to move.โ
โChrisโโ Your voice splinters. Your heart is a spotlight that canโt pick a target. โI didnโtโ I was justโโ
โBring it here.โ Not unkind. Inevitable.
You shake your head before you can stop it. The world wobbles. Something helpless and high climbs your throat.
โInside voice,โ he reminds you softly, stepping closer, towel riding his hipbone, heat breathing off him in waves. โNeighbors.โ
โItโsโโ The word fails three times. You force it through. โHis. Thatโsโ itโs hisโโ You canโt say finger and not make it real.
โI know what it is.โ He holds out the hem of the towel, palm hidden, offering fabric instead of skin. โGive it.โ
You almost drop it. Instead, your hands betray you in the safest way they can: they obey. He receives the small weight without looking, wraps once, twice, until the shape is nothing again. He turns and sets it on the closed toilet lid, exactly where a folded towel might live and no one would notice.
Your breath is small and fast. โWe have to callโ we have to tell someoneโโ
โNo,โ he says, utterly calm. โWe donโt.โ
โHe needs a hospital.โ
Chris tilts his head, considering. โThey wonโt be able to help him much.โ
He watches your mouth try to shape the argument and fail. The parcel sits obediently on porcelain. The shower keeps talking behind the curtain, a long even line of sound, as if the apartment could write over this with steam.
โThey canโt help him,โ he repeats, gentle as a correction.
Your breath scrapes. โYou donโt know that.โ
โI can.โ He says. โAnd if you call anyone now, youโll only move your fear from the chair to the door.โ His gaze flicks there, to the latch, then back. โI prefer it where I can see it. Where I can fix it.โ
You shake your head hard enough that black dots crowd the edges of the room. Your hands hover, then clutch the hem of your sleep shirt because you have to hold something or youโll come apart.
โWe have toโโ Your voice thins. โChris, we canโt haveโ thatโhere.โ
Something flickers in his eyes then, and he softens considerably. He tilts your head back with a finger at your chin. โAre you trying to protect me?โ
You flinch like heโs caught you holding a knife by the blade. โIโnoโ Iโm trying toโโ
โTo make it smaller,โ he says, kindly. โFor both of us.โ His thumb at your chin isnโt force; itโs gravity. โSweetheart, you always do that. You hold the bad thing close and hope it stops being sharp, even as itโs digging into your chest.โ
Your throat works. โThis isnโt a bad thing, Chris. Itโsโโ You canโt say it. The word would sit in your mouth like a rock.
โItโs consequence,โ he supplies gently. โItโs the shape safety takes when someone mistakes you for public property.โ He leans closer, steam shining his eyelashes. โListen to me. He put his hands on you like you were an aisle display. Heโll never do that again. Not to you. Not to anyone.โ
โYou donโt knowโโ
โI do.โ He says it with that low, unarguable certainty that makes you feel both furious and steadied. โBecause I removed the choice.โ
Your eyes burn. โYou canโt ask me to be okay with that.โ
โIโm not.โ The smallest smile ghosts across his mouth. โIโm telling you that you donโt have to hold it. Give me the part that shakes.โ He taps your sternum with two fingers, precise and light. โLet me be heavy so you can be soft.โ
Itโs wrong that his voice makes your pulse calm. Itโs wrong that his palm at your jawโwarm, damp, steadyโmakes your knees remember theyโre attached. He watches the fight in your face without gloating, like a doctor waiting for a fever to break.
โLook at you,โ he murmurs. โShivering. Your skinโs trying to crawl away from itself.โ He tips his head at the shower, still hissing behind the curtain. โCome wash it off.โ
He doesnโt pull. He simply offers his hand, palm up, the way he does when heโs certain youโll remember who you are with it. You stare at it, at the nicks and lines and the new marks, and hate that the relief is already cresting.
โYouโll keep looking at that chair if you stay,โ he murmurs. โYouโll imagine stories that are uglier than the truth. Or kinder than it. Either way youโll bruise yourself with it.โ His fingers flex, inviting rather than demanding. โOr youโll come with me, and Iโll soap your wrists and count you back into your body.โ
โThatโs manipulative,โ you whisper.
He smiles. โItโs love,โ he whispers back. โAnd Iโm very good at it.โ Softer. โYou love me.โ
You do. You love him so much, itโs ripping your heart into shreds. Your hand finds his. You tell yourself itโs to stop shaking, to anchor, to prove you can still make a choice. He laces your fingers, warm and certain, and leads you the three steps into steam. The air kisses your face wet; the mirror ghosts your outline.
He lets go of your hand to slip off his towel, stark naked and straight-backed in the way only a person completely confident in their skin can be. He glances up at you, still fully dressed, and smiles slightly.
โClothes on the hook,โ he says. โIโll turn around.โ
โWill you,โ you murmur, but itโs almost an old joke between you, and you hate that too.
He does turn, though, despite the fact that heโs seen you naked a million times before. He faces the mirror, head bowed, palms resting lightly on the counter as if heโs bracing with politeness. You can see him in the glass, ears slightly pink, fingers fidgeting and you can see the parcel on the shut lid and you hate that you can hold both images at once.
You feel ridiculous for noticing how the lines of his back looks in the mirror. You hate that your skin already misses his hands.
You peel your shirt over your head. The steam eats the last of the bar-smell; shame sticks closer. Shorts, pantiesโgone, balled onto the hook by reflex. The curtain whispers when you pull it. He doesnโt look until you are inside with him and the water clasps your shoulders like a warm hand.
When he turns, itโs slow, like heโs letting you get used to the shape of him. His cock is heavy and dark where it hangs, unashamed of what it wants. Your stomach flips traitorously. You hate that your mouth waters more for him than for oxygen.
His fingers find your jaw. โOpen,โ he says, and you do, because thatโs the muscle memory heโs installed in you. He kisses you lazy at first, uncoiling heat, then bites when you chase it. Itโs filthy how quickly you melt. Itโs filthy how your hips rock without your permission.
โLook at you.โ His voice roughens against your mouth. โYou were shaking for the wrong reason. Iโll fix it.โ
โChrisโโ It comes out a whine. You want to curse him. You want to be on your knees. You want both.
โTurn around,โ he murmurs, and walks you into the tile until your nipples brush cool ceramic. His hand spreads at your nape, not pinning so much as arranging. โHands on the wall.โ
You plant your palms. Steam glosses them. Water drums your spine. The disgust curls low and glowingโhow can you want this now, knowing what heโโand then his other hand drags down your belly and sinks between your thighs and the thought scratches out.
He finds you wet like youโd been waiting for him all night. His breath breaks at your ear. โThere she is,โ he says, and the pride in it makes your knees tremble. Shame pricks; your body opens anyway.
His thumb circles your clit in slow, obscene laps, the kind that make heat pool and then surge. Two fingers press at your entrance and the groan you make when he pushes in is so relieved itโs almost a sob. He doesnโt thrust right awayโhe holds you full, spread, thumb grinding shallow circles until your hips start to chase, until youโre whining please without meaning to.
โGreedy,โ he says, delighted. โAfter the little stunt you pulled.โ He sets a rhythm designed to undo youโdeep, dragging strokes that rub the rough pad of his finger against your front wall, the heel of his palm catching your clit on the exit. Your jaw goes slack; your cheeks go hot. Water slicks everything but his grip never slips.
You tremble. He hears it. โSay you need me.โ
โIโneedโโ The syllables fracture around his hand. โI need it.โ
โYou need me,โ he corrects, and crooks his fingers just so. The sound you make would embarrass you if embarrassment could live here. He does it again, patient, cruel, praising you with his breath. โThatโs it. Make a mess on my hand.โ
Your forehead thumps the tile when he speeds upโtiny, ruthless punches of pleasure that light your nerves like a fuse. You bite your wrist. He tsks and drags your arm down. โNo hiding,โ he says, and taps your cheek with his knuckles. โLet me hear you.โ
You hate him; you love him; youโre coming up hard and bright around the fingers of a man you should be afraid of and you arch back into him like a sinner courting the flame. He feels your body seize and laughs, soft and pleased, and claps his palm hard against your clit on the downswing. You break. It rips out of you, filthy and helpless, thighs shaking, cunt milking his fingers like you were made to perform exactly this trick for him.
He doesnโt stop. He rides you through it, wringing the aftershocks until youโre keening, until your hands slip on the tile. โToo much?โ he asks, not stopping, not interested in fairness. You shake your head because honesty would make you beg and you refuse to give him thatโuntil his thumb flicks and you beg anyway.
He gentles. He always knows exactly when to. He drags his soaked fingers to your mouth and taps. You take them like a penitent. You lick your taste off him, eyes closing, shame burning hot as want. His voice goes ragged. โGood girl. Clean me up.โ
He kneels.
The filthy punch of itโChris on his knees in your tub like prayerโmakes you dizzy. He hooks your thigh over his shoulder and eats you like heโs been starving for days. No teasing, no polite tongue; he gets messy immediately, mouth open, sucking your clit into the wet heat of him while his injured wrist braces your hip. You slap the tile, a smacking echo that makes you flush, and grind down because your body is done pretending it has standards.
He moans into you when you ride his face. The sound vibrates through your clit and you jerk; he does it again, greedy for the way you seize. His tongue fucks you shallow, sloppily, then drags up and flattens over you until your knees threaten to go. โChris,โ you gasp, and he answers by driving two fingers into you from below and curling them like a hook. The world whites out around the edges.
โYou taste like you missed me,โ he says against you, voice ruined, and devours you harder. His hand is a metronome between your legs; his mouth is chaos. You let him make you into a noise. You let him use your hips like handles. You hate yourself for how quickly the second orgasm winds you back upโand when it slams through, messier than the first, you cry out loud enough the pipes hum it back.
He stands in one smooth flex and kisses you, filthy, sharing the mess he made of you with a satisfied noise when you chase his tongue. You can taste yourself and him and something metallic you donโt want to name, and the wrongness of that reels you; your cunt clenches uselessly around nothing and he groans into your mouth like he felt it.
โBed,โ he says, hoarse, fumbling for the shower knob. โOn your back. Legs open.โ
You stumble out of the tub, dripping and boneless, and he follows, slinging water across the tile with his steps. You donโt look at the porcelain lid when you pass; his fingers at your wrist give you something truer to stare at. He throws you onto the sheets like youโre soft and expensive and his favorite problem.
He drags you down the bed so your hips kiss the edge and folds you open. โMy pretty mess,โ he says, and spits on you, quick and obscene. His thumb smears it in and your body thanks him before your brain can get a vote.
โCondom,โ you start to say, and heโs already reaching the drawer, already tearing it with his teeth, already rolling it down with practiced, impatient hands. Consideration weaponized. You hate that relief loosens your spine.
He lines up and pushesโslow the first inch, watching your face, then down to the root in one long glide that makes both of you swear. Your mouth falls open. He holds there, deep, letting you feel how utterly inside you he is, how there is no getting him out now that heโs home.
โFuck,โ you whisper, and he smiles like heโs been paid.
He moves. Not fast, not yet; slow, dragging thrusts that grind him right where youโre still trembling from his mouth. His hands climb your body, mapping possession in a language your skin understands better than your head. One circles your throatโnot squeezing, just fitting thereโand the other lifts your thigh higher, folding you until you open the way he likes, until his hips can pin you to every inch of the bed.
โEyes,โ he says, and you drag them up to him. He looks down like heโs blessing you. โSay what you are.โ
โYours,โ you breathe, because lying would be pointless, and his rhythm stutters sweetly, his composure cracked with a sound that curls your toes.
โYou are,โ he grits out, picking up pace. โYour mine.โ He fucks you harder, deeper, the kind of stroke that turns words to weather. The slap of skin fills the room; the wet between you is obscene; your slick coats him and he groans, filthy and pleased. โListen to yourself,โ he pants. โGod, youโre loud for me.โ
Your nails carve his back. He hisses and drives you higher, the bed complaining. The shame surges, searing and numb all at onceโhow can you moan for him when you know what he did, how can you come on a man whoโโand then he pins your wrists over your head in one hand and grinds down exactly right and you choose the smaller sin: you let him.
It builds ugly and perfect. He keeps you there, right on the edge, with little mean circles of his hips that make your eyes wet. โNot yet,โ he says when you reach for it. โHold it. Be good.โ
โI canโt,โ you plead, and he smiles like thatโs his favorite part, and slides deeper, angling to own that spot you canโt protect. Your back arches, your feet slip, your mouth falls open on a sound that feels like confession.
โFine then,โ he says, and the word is a key. You come like youโre being wrung out, like heโs turned you inside out over his hands, like every ugly thought burns away under the heat heโs made of you. You bite his shoulder; he grunts and fucks you through it, chasing his own end now, brutal and beautiful, the lines of his face cut with pleasure.
Heโs right thereโhips hammering, breath tearing out of himโwhen his rhythm breaks. A harsh curse rips from his throat; he wrenches out of you with a wet, obscene drag, condom snapping as he claws it off and flings it aside. His hand wraps himself like he means to bruise, wrist jerking, fist a blur.
โFuckโfuckโlook at me,โ he snarls, voice gone raw. The sound he makes isnโt pretty; itโs guttural, animal, his head thrown back, throat working as he pumps, fast and mean, like every second not inside you hurts. His abs jump; his hips chase the air. Heโs loud, louder than he ever lets himself beโdeep, broken groans punched out of him, a helpless litany of your name and filthy, grateful curses.
Youโre splayed open at the edge of the bed, slick everywhere, thighs shaking, and the sight of you ruins him. His jaw locks; he doubles over you, bracing one palm on the mattress beside your ribs, the other tearing at himself, desperate, frantic. โGod, look at youโmine, mineโโ It pitches higher on the last word, ragged and close.
โChannie,โ you gasp, and thatโs what does it. His whole body tightens; his hand stutters and he shoutsโloud, uncontainedโspilling hot and thick over your stomach in hard, messy stripes. The first hits your lower belly; the next lands higher, a wet heat across your ribs, your breasts, a warm splatter catching your throat. He keeps jerking through it, whimpering now, ruined and beautiful, painting you with it like heโs signing a contract he wrote in his own blood.
He yanks another breath, fist still working, chasing the last aftershocks out of himself until heโs empty. A final, helpless groan punches into your neck as the last spill drips over the swell of your chest and slicks down your side. He shivers, hand loosening, cock twitching in his grip as he milks the last drops onto your belly, smearing them with the flat of his thumb like he wants it everywhere on you.
โFuck,โ he laughs, breathless and wrecked, forehead falling to your shoulder. His chest heaves against your knees; his hips twitch like he canโt stop wanting. For a second thereโs nothing but the sound of both of you trying to remember how to breathe and the obscene slide of his palm as he finally lets go.
He lifts his head, eyes blown and greedy, and stares at the mess heโs madeโat your skin shining with him, at your nipples slick and peaked, at the milky line collecting at the notch of your collarbone. The look on his face is worship and victory tangled into something that scares you and softens you at once.
โPretty,โ he rasps, voice torn to threads. He drags two fingers through the warm spill on your sternum and rubs it slow over your skin, spreading it down, circling your nipple until you gasp again. His mouth follows, open and hot, licking it from you, sucking lazily like he canโt stand to waste a drop. He mouths a filthy path up your chest and licks the spot at your throat where it landed, groaning low when you shiver.
He noses the hollow of your throat and licks a slow, possessive stripe through the warm mess there like heโs tasting proof. A pleased sound rattles in his chest. โMine,โ he says into your skin, and then heโs chasing every slick line downward with his mouth open and greedy, tongue broad and hot.
He drags the flat of it over your collarbone and sucks the spill from the notch like heโs siphoning heat. Itโs obscene, wet, noisyโhe wants you to hear how heโs cleaning you. His hand pins your hip when you twitch. โStay,โ he mutters, and laps lower, patient and ravenous at once.
Your chest lifts helplessly to meet him. He takes his time thereโcircles one nipple with the tip of his tongue, smearing the milky shine until it coats you, then seals his mouth over it and sucks hard. Your back bows; a broken sound leaves you; shame bites; want eats it alive. He hums like heโs been given cream and moves to the other, mouthing it sloppier, licking until itโs slick again, sucking until your thighs tremble.
โLook at you,โ he breathes, pulling back half an inch just to admire the spit-slick flush heโs made. He drags two fingers through the mess on your sternum and paints a crooked line down your ribs; his mouth follows, tongue working, teeth scraping lightly when you gasp. He cleans like a sinner making amendsโthorough, reverent, filthy.
He gets to your belly and slows further, licking in lazy swirls that make your muscles flutter. He collects everything he finds with the soft edge of his tongue and swallows, then goes hunting with the tip, chasing it into your navel until you squeak. He laughs against your skin, low and wrecked. โAll of it,โ he promises, voice hoarse. โEvery drop.โ
He turns his head and bites the tender place beside your hipbone then soothes it with his tongue, lapping at a rivulet sliding toward the sheet. He wonโt let it leave you; he catches it on the underside of his tongue and rolls it back up your skin into his mouth with a groan that ricochets through your gut. Your fingers fist in the sheets. You hate how your body melts under the worship, how your hips tip to give him more.
โOpen,โ he murmurs, nudging your knees wider with his forearms, but he doesnโt go there yet. He drags his cheek over your inner thigh, smearing shine into your skin, then licks it away in long, patient swathes like heโs polishing you. Every time you flinch, he follows the twitch with his mouth and cleans it, tongue insistent, lips soft, breath hot.
When he reaches the juncture of your thigh and pelvis he slows to nothing, holding your gaze as he flattens his tongue and slides it through the thin line he left on your lower belly, collecting the last of what he spilled and groaning like heโs starving for it. Your head tips back on a whimper; you can feel heat pooling low and mean again, traitorous.
โAlmost done,โ he lies, and you know heโs lying because his thumbs are already stroking into the crease where youโre slick for a different reason, and heโs looking at you like dessert is finally plated.
He bends and licks the inner curve beside your mound, not touching your clit, not yet, just cleaning your skin with obscene diligence. He chases a stray smear up and over, mouth open, licking slow enough to make you curse. He hums at the taste and your body answers, a little jerk that gives everything away. He follows it with the tip of his tongue, drinks from you again like heโs earned the right.
Then he finally drags the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, deliberate stroke that leaves you shaking. He tastes you and the noise he makes is grateful and indecent. โSo sweet,โ he says, slurred, and seals his mouth around your clit just long enough to make your vision grit out. He pulls off with a wet pop, breath tearing. โI said I was cleaning.โ A beat. โThis is part of it.โ
He spreads you with his thumbs and eats you again, deeper. Heโs still loudโlow groans and ruined little curses as he licks everything you give him, as if the only way to finish what he started is to pull you back apart with his mouth. Your hips climb his face; he lets them, one arm banding your waist, the other anchoring your thigh over his shoulder so he can get messy. He licks your entrance and fucks his tongue into you, sloppy and insistent, then drags up and sucks your clit in deep, obscene pulls that make your toes curl.
โChrisโโ Itโs a plea and a warning both.
โI know,โ he pants, laughing breathlessly against you, and goes right back to it, tonguing you until your thoughts blur, until shame has nothing to hold onto. He cleans you and dirties you at once, lap after lap, swallow after swallow, until youโre soaked with his spit and your own slick again, until your thighs are shaking and your hand is in his hair trying to push him away and keep him forever.
He takes your wrist and plants your palm over your own breast. โHold it for me,โ he says, and when you do, he moans and licks harder, like the sight is gasoline.
You climb fast. He feels it and chases it, sucking your clit into the heat of his mouth and flicking his tongue exactly the way that breaks you. It hits sharp and hotโyour hips stutter, your breath rips out in a cry, and he hums through your release like heโs proud of himself, like heโs finishing his plate.
He doesnโt stop until you shove at him, half-sobbing. He lets you, finally, lips shiny, chin wet, eyes black with want. He crawls up your body, dragging his mouth along your belly to catch anything he might have missed, then kisses your sternum, each breast, your throat, licking away the last ghost-stripes he painted there.
โAll clean,โ he says against your mouth, and kisses you slow so you can taste the truth of itโhim, and you, and the ruin of the night turned into heat.
You hate that the taste makes you open for him. You hate that your hips lift again when his hand slides down, palm heavy on your belly, thumb stroking low like a promise that he isnโt done. He smiles into the kiss, feral and fond, and licks the corner of your mouth as if there were anything left to claim.
โRoll over,โ he murmurs, voice gone velvet-dark.ย
You roll, cheek to the cool side of the pillow, hips lifting because his hands have already found your waist. He palms you open, thumbs pressing into the dip above the swell of your ass like heโs fitting you to himself.
โLike this,โ he says, low and rough, dragging his mouth down your spine in hot, open kisses. โWant you like this.โ
You know what he means before he says it; your body knows it first. He nudges your knees wider, presses his chest to your back, breath hot at your ear. โNo rubber,โ he murmurs, filthy-soft. โBare. Let me stay.โ
A flare of senseโthin, sputteringโfights up your throat. It dies on the whine you make when he slides two fingers through your slick and pushes them into you to the knuckle. Your hips answer for you, pushing back, shame prickling uselessly under the want.
โSay it,โ he grinds, teeth grazing your shoulder. โTell me to fuck you raw.โ
โYes,โ you breathe, burnt and honest. โGodโyes, Chris. Bare.โ
He groans like you untied something inside him. The sound vibrates in your bones. He drags his fingers out, slow, and you feel the blunt head of him notch against youโhot, heavy, hungry. Thereโs no latex drag, no barrier. Just him, thick and alive, pressing into your heat. Your breath shreds.
โOpen up for me,โ he rasps, and you do, the angle of your hips changing under his hands. He pushes. The first inch makes both of you swear, the stretch almost too much, the slick obscene. He holds there, panting against your neck. โFuck, thatโs itโฆ you feel like you were made to keep me.โ
He sinks the rest of the way in with a slow, ruthless grind that leaves you clawing the sheet. Full. Too full. Perfect. Your mouth falls open on a sound you donโt recognize yourself in. He groans into your hair, broken and grateful. โBare,โ he says again, almost a prayer. โSo warm. So tight. Christ.โ
He moves.
Not careful nowโhungry. Deep, dragging thrusts that smack skin, that grind his pelvis into the soft ache of your clit each time he bottoms out. The bed knocks the wall in a steady, shameless rhythm. Heโs talking without knowing it, filthy praise spilling like heatโgood girl, take me, thatโs it, all of me, fuโck, I can feel you clutchingโโand every word makes you softer around him.
Your head is a riot. Some small, horrified part of you whispers you shouldnโt want this, not after tonight, not after what you saw, not after what you knowโbut the rest of you is a body on fire that only understands yes. He fills every argument with his cock, erases every edge with his hips. You break yourself against him and he thanks you for it, voice shredded, hands sure.
โHands up,โ he pants, and you give them, sliding your wrists to the headboard. He laces his fingers through yours from behind and bears down, changing the angle until you canโt do anything but feel. The new depth knocks a helpless moan out of you; he snarls at the sound and pistons faster, sloppy now, desperate, like heโs racing something only he can see.
โLook at what you do to me,โ he grits, pulling out almost all the way just to slam back in, obscene and wet. โListen to me.โ Heโs loud, uncontainedโdeep curses breaking on your name, harsh, wrecked little laughs when your body clenches and drags him in deeper. โFuck, youโre milking me,โ he gasps, losing composure on a groan. โYouโre gonna make meโโ
โInside,โ you choke, shocking yourself with how fast you say it. โPlease, insideโfill me, Chrisโโ
He makes a sound that isnโt language. His grip on your hands tightens; his thrusts turn brutal, gorgeous, hips snapping, balls slapping wet against you. โYeah? You want it?โ he growls, ragged, almost gone. โYou want me to breed this pretty pussy?โ
โYes,โ you sob, honest and ruined. โYes, yesโChannie, pleaseโgive it to meโโ
That breaks him. He buries himself to the root and holds, shaking, and you feel the first hot pulse spill deep where he wanted it. He shoutsโloud, dirty, unashamedโcrushing your fingers in his as he empties himself into you, each convulsion dragged out by the tight way you clutch around him. He grinds through it like he can push himself further inside, like he can stay, like he can mark you from the inside out.
โTake it,โ he snarls against your neck, voice wrecked to threads. โTake all of itโfffuckโโ Another heavy pulse, another, heat spreading in low, molten waves that make you see static. Your body answers with a vicious, rolling aftershock, milking him, greedy, a drawn-out whimper tearing from your chest when you feel the spill and the stretch and the pressure fuse into something that obliterates thought.
He doesnโt pull out. Not yet. He stays fully sheathed, panting, mouth open against your shoulder. His hips give small, helpless pushes, like his body canโt believe it gets to keep going. Youโre delirious enough to press back, to meet those afterthrusts with your own tiny rolls, the wet, messy slip of him inside you making both of you groan.
โGod, look at you,โ he gets out, laughing breathlessly, delirious and proud. โKeeping me. Holding me.โ He lets one of your hands go and slides his palm down, splaying it low over your belly. The weight of it there, heavy and possessive, makes your eyes sting. โRight here,โ he husks. โRight where you wanted me.โ
When it finally wrings him empty, he stays, buried to the hilt, panting into your skin. His hands stroke over you like heโs patting down a fireโthighs, waist, bellyโpossessive and shaky. You feel him soften and twitch and he hums, sated and obscene, hips giving one last lazy push to seat it deeper.
He slides out slow and you gasp at the loss. Warmth follows, thick and undeniable; he hisses softly, enthralled, watching it. โDonโt move,โ he says, and his voice is wrecked and gentle at once. He thumbs your folds open and groans at the glossy spill, at the way your cunt flexes reflexively against the emptiness. โLook at that.โ
You canโt. You can only feel: the wet weight of him inside you still, the heat slicking your thighs, the filthy satisfaction in his tone.
He presses two fingers to your entrance like a stopper and leans down to kiss the top of your spine. โHold it,โ he murmurs. โHold me.โ Then he withdraws his fingers and uses his thumb to smear his cum up over your swollen clit, slow and obscene. You jerk; he laughs into your shoulder and does it again, lazier. โGreedy even when I give you everything.โ
He rolls you onto your back. The mess slides and you gasp; his eyes go heavy-lidded at the sight. He pushes your knees up and apart, opens you to the night and to him, and watches another warm stripe slip out. He catches it with his fingers and pushes it back in, groaning like it hurts him. โKeep it.โ
โChris,โ you whisper, dazed.
โI know.โ He noses your jaw, voice gone velvet and rough. โYouโre perfect. You took me so good. Youโre going to keep me.โ A slow, greedy kiss.ย
His palm stays spread low over your belly, heat heavy and possessive. He stares at where heโs opened you, at the slow, warm slide he just pushed back in with his fingers, and swallows hard like the sight feeds him.
โGonna sit right here,โ he murmurs, pressing more firmly until you feel the weight of him inside shift deeper, โand let it take.โ He kisses youโslow, druggingโand talks into your mouth like a secret. โWant you walking around full of me. Want you leaking when you get up for water. Want you thinking about it every time you move.โ
Your breath stutters. โChrisโโ
โThinking about us,โ he corrects himself softly, thumb dragging an idle circle just above your mound. โAbout me putting a future in you.โ He nips your bottom lip and soothes it with his tongue, eyes hot and glassy. โTell me youโd carry me.โ
You should say something sane. Instead you whisper, โIโd carry you,โ and his pupils go blown and dangerous.
โThatโs my girl.โ He noses under your ear, voice gone low and ruined. โGonna have you all soft for me. Gonna watch you swell up pretty. Iโll hold your hair when youโre sick in the morning, rub your back when you canโt sleep. Iโll run my mouth to the pharmacy at 2 a.m. Iโll do the lists and the laundry and the dinnersโโ His hand cups your breast, thumb grazing your nipple as if he can picture it already. โโand Iโll kiss you right here when it kicks.โ
A soft, shocked noise spills out of you. Your hips tilt into his thumb without permission; your body is a traitor and a shrine.
โLook at me.โ You do. He looks wrecked and certain and yours. โYouโll tell me when youโre late.โ His mouth ghosts your cheek, your jaw. โIโll buy the test and wait outside the door, hands on my knees like a boy.โ A breathless laugh catches. โThen Iโll drop to the floor when you show me and youโll sit on my lap and Iโll promise you I wonโt let the world put a finger on you again.โ
His words sink under your skin like ink. You donโt know if youโre shaking because youโre scared or because you want it so badly your bones ache with it.
โTurn,โ he whispers. You do, pliant and messy, thighs still slick. He slides down between them again, opens you with his thumbs, and stares at the wet shine heโs made. โSo much of me,โ he says, awed and filthy. โStay open.โ
You whimper when his tongue licks low, not to tease, not to playโjust to gather what tries to slip free and push it back with slow, greedy strokes. He groans into you every time he manages it, as if he can solve biology with his mouth. โKeepโฆ everyโฆ drop,โ he mutters, punctuating each word with a push of his tongue that makes your toes curl.
When he looks up, his chin is slick, his mouth swollen, his eyes devout. โYouโll tell me when your breasts hurt,โ he says, voice shot to velvet, kissing the softness at the inside of your knee. โYouโll wear my shirts when nothing fits. Youโll sleep with my hand on your belly so it knows me.โ
โChris.โ Your throat is raw; your body is molten. โYouโreโโ
โObsessed with you,โ he finishes simply, crawling up until his weight blankets you. He nudges his cock back to your entrance, still heavy, still slick, the head bumping where he just left himself. โI should wait,โ he says, and then he pushes in again, bare, with a wrecked little groan because he canโt. โBut I canโt. Gotta pack it in.โ
The stretch is even easier and somehow filthier; you feel your body swallow him like itโs been taught. He slides to the hilt and stays, hips pressed deep, as if depth alone could write the future he wants.
โAgain,โ you breathe, and he laughs against your mouth, dizzy with you.
โHungry girl.โ He draws back and gives you a slow, claiming thrust, then another, each push deliberate, grinding, designed to seat him high. His hand finds your knee and folds you open, angle obscene, his pelvis kissing your clit at the end of every stroke. โThatโs it. Let me put it where it sticks.โ
โYouโre insane,โ you say, but it breaks on a moan when he circles your clit with two fingertips and fucks deeper.
โFor you.โ His mouth opens against your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make your eyes roll. โYouโll text me pictures,โ he pants, pace tightening, โof test strips on the counter, of sweaters you outgrow, of the crib I build wrong the first time and right the second.โ He laughs, choked and bright. โYouโll sit on my lap while I read names out loud until you kick me and we pick the one you kick for.โ
It shouldnโt soothe you. It does. It shouldnโt turn you on. It lights you up like tinder. You clamp around him and he groans, high and helpless, losing the last of his rhythm for a handful of messy, glorious thrusts.
โSay weโre trying,โ he begs, near-delirious, thumb insistent on your clit. โSay it. Say it now.โ
โWeโre trying,โ you gasp, arching. โWeโreโoh Godโweโre trying.โ
He breaks. The sound that leaves him is deep and wrecked, and he drives in hard and holds there, grinding like he can bury the word inside you with his body. You feel the twitch, the hot spill again, raw and shameless, and your back bows off the mattress at the flood.ย
โTake it,โ he groans, shaking, โtake it, take meโโ And you do, legs locked around his waist, hands in his hair, lips on his open mouth, swallowing the sounds he canโt hold, letting him pour himself into you like he can fill the future in one long breath.
When he finally sags, itโs not collapse; itโs a settling. He turns his head and kisses your palm where it shakes against his cheek, then drags that same palm down to your belly and pins it there under his.
โMine,โ he whispers, reverent and fierce, pressing you like he can feel it happen under your skin. โOur secret for now.โ
You could remind him about statistics and timing and the pill and sensibility. You donโt. You lie there with him inside you, messy and full, and watch his face soften into something youโve never seen beforeโhope unclenching its fist.
โSleep,โ he says at last, lips on your temple. โIโll keep you full.โ He shifts deeper with a satisfied sigh, lazy afterthrusts that make both of you gasp. โIn the morning, we try again.โ
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Strings of You
โฆ โshe was used to being invisibleโuntil he looked at her like she hung the stars.โ
pairings ๊ฐ bang chan ร fem! reader ๊ฑ
word count ๊ฐ ~ 15.9k ๊ฑ
genre ๊ฐ slowburn romance, angst, fluff, slice of life, college au โ married au ๊ฑ
warnings โถ
angst, bullying, hurt/comfort, insecurity, toxic friendships, emotional panic, soft spicy scenes later (obsessive whipped chan energy), marriage fluff (1k-ish words at the end), food mention, swearing, unhealthy coping mechanisms.
โง in which โ reader is the quiet girl always used by others, with only 3 true friends. enter chanโthe loud, popular, outgoing captain of the soccer team. opposite worlds collide when he chooses to know her, to protect her, to love her slowly and entirely. from hidden doodles and secret coffee dates, to public stands and confessions, to a lifetime later where heโs still whipped as her husbandโthis is their story.
authorโs note ๊ฐ hi loves! ๊ฑ
I know, I havenโt posted in a long time and this fic had been on my mind so here it goes โก itโs shorter in comparison to my other fics and I plan on posting a txt fic by this weekend (spoiler: itโs a fan ร idol, soobin's). also, the inbox is open for requestsโsend me all your ideas and thoughts, Iโd love to hear them!
You existed in the spaces between things.
You existed in the quiet sigh you released when Mr. Harrison asked, for the third time this week, if you could please help him organize the papers. You existed in the thin, nearly-invisible line where your notes ended and a classmateโs hurried transcription beganโnotes that would be returned to you with barely a nod, if at all. You were dependable, a fixed point in the chaotic school day, but you were never truly seen. To them, you were an extension of a task, a resource to be used and forgotten. It was a familiar, dull ache that settled in your bones, a quiet resentment that you refused to let surface. You were a good person, you told yourself, and good people did these things. You smiled, you nodded, you said, โOf course,โ and you watched the world move on without you.
Your friends, Mira, Asha, and Dev, were the only ones who saw the pattern. They adored you fiercely, and their love was a blanket that you could hide under when the cold indifference of others became too much.
"Eat, you're too nice for your own good," Dev would say at lunch, shoving his container of fries toward you. It was his way of feeding you warmth, of acknowledging the quiet exhaustion that lived in your eyes.
You'd laugh it off, batting his hand away with a gentle smile. โItโs fine, Dev, really. I donโt mind.โ But you did. You minded the way the world seemed to take and just take from you, leaving you with a hollow space inside. You minded being the invisible one, the girl whose name was only spoken when a favor was needed.
From across the cafeteria, you could see the sun. His name was Christopher Bahng. He was the nucleus of the entire school, surrounded by a constant, buzzing orbit of friends and admirers. His laugh was a loud, joyous sound that echoed off the walls. The soccer team chanted his name, their voices a triumphant symphony, and he would grin, his face bright with an easy, unburdened confidence that you had never known. He moved with a loud grace that seemed to defy the ordinary rules of physics, and you watched him from the quiet corners of your world, a world of half-eaten sandwiches and neatly organized papers. You were the moon, he was the sun. The thought made you feel both small and safe, as if the immense distance between you was a protective force. He was too bright, too brilliant for someone who spent her life in the shadows.
But the universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
He saw you.
It wasn't when you were helping with the papers, or when you were lending your notes. It was after everyone had left the lunch tables, leaving behind a battlefield of crumpled napkins, empty water bottles, and discarded wrappers. It was a mess that nobody, least of all the captain of the soccer team, would ever think to touch. But you saw it, and the sight of it, left to fester, was a small wrong that you felt compelled to make right.
You moved quietly, your hands working with a practiced, almost automatic rhythm. You collected the trash, your eyes downcast, a quiet, mournful ghost gliding through the empty space. Christopher, however, was still there, leaning against a locker, talking to a few remaining friends. He wasnโt watching the conversation; he was watching you.
The question formed in his mind, sharp and insistent. Why is she always cleaning up when no one else cares? It was a small, almost insignificant action, yet it was the first time he had truly noticed you as a person, and not just as another face in the crowd. Your quiet, unassuming dependability was an anomaly to him, a stark contrast to the loud, demanding world he lived in.
He said something to his friends, a quick goodbye, his eyes never leaving your back. A nervous energy hummed in his veins, an unknown curiosity that he couldn't explain. He watched you finish your task, your shoulders a little slumped, and then you were gone, melting back into the silent hallways.
The next day, it happened. The first real interaction.
The bell had just rung, and the classroom was a chaotic sea of chatter and motion. You were packing your backpack, trying to shrink into the corner of your desk, when you saw it. A pen, a simple black pen with a silver clip, had rolled off Christopher's desk and lay forgotten on the floor. It was nothing, a small object that he probably had ten of, but a small part of you felt a pull to return it. It was what you did. You were the one who made things right.
You walked over, the noise of the room seeming to grow louder with every step. You picked up the pen, your hand trembling slightly, and you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, his face a bright, warm surprise that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
"Hey," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the din. You held the pen out to him, your eyes fixed on his chin, unable to meet his gaze.
A slow smile, different from his usual brilliant one, spread across his face. It was a gentler, more genuine smile that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. He took the pen from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment that sent a shiver down your spine.
"Thanks," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Didn't think anyone noticed."
The words hit you with the force of a tidal wave. They were so simple, so small, but they were the words you had been waiting to hear your entire life. Someone noticed. You couldn't handle the weight of that sincerity. You simply nodded awkwardly, your face flaming, and fled the classroom before you could overthink it.
You were halfway down the hallway, your heart still pounding, when you heard Mira's voice behind you. "Ohhh, the captain noticed you."
You scoffed, the sound shaky. "Don't be ridiculous. He's just being polite." The lie felt sour on your tongue. You wanted to believe it, you needed to believe it, because the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.
Across the hall, Christopher leaned against a locker, a small smile on his face. He replayed the moment in his mind, your shy smile, the way you had looked at him before you ran. He sensed something genuine about you, something quiet and unassuming and utterly real, and it was a stark contrast to the endless demands for his attention that he was so used to. He couldnโt explain why he was so curious. He didn't know your name, but he knew your hands were gentle and your heart was honest. And thus, curiosity, a strange and insistent feeling, planted the first seed in his mind.
That night, lying in bed, you replayed the moment in your mind. The brush of his fingers, the look in his eyes, the simple words that had meant so much. You told yourself it was nothing, that he was just being nice, that you were overthinking it. But a small, hopeful part of you, a part you had long forgotten, couldn't help but wonder. Was it possible that you, the invisible one, had finally been seen? And in a different part of town, Christopher lay awake, his mind replaying the moment, his chest filled with a strange, new feeling he couldn't quite name...
--- x ---
You were a walking library, a mobile fortress of books held together by sheer hope and the delicate balance of your chin resting precariously on the top one. It was a strategy born from a desire to carry everything in one trip and avoid a second interaction with the gruff librarian. Your arms ached under the weight of the novels and research materials, but you were so close. Just a few more feet and you would be free.
Then, the world tilted.
A loud, familiar laugh cut through the hallway noise, followed by the clatter of cleats and the energetic chatter of the soccer team. In the seconds before impact, you knew exactly who it was. The sun, Christopher Bahng, was heading your way, too absorbed in his conversation to notice the human pile of paper in his path.
You braced yourself, but it was no use. The collision was a soft thud followed by a loud, echoing crash as your fortress came tumbling down. Books scattered everywhere, their spines splayed open, pages fluttering like startled birds. You felt a flash of mortified panic, a heat that rushed to your face as you knelt immediately, desperate to gather your life before anyone could notice the quiet girl who had just caused a scene.
"Oh noโsorry, sorry!" a voice exclaimed, and you didn't even have to look up to know it was him. "Let me help."
He was kneeling on the cold floor beside you, his presence filling the space with an energy you were not used to. His voice was soft, genuinely apologetic, and for a moment, you forgot to be embarrassed. Your hands, however, were still frantic, darting from book to book. Your fingers brushed his as you both reached for the same worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.
It was a small, fleeting contact, but it felt like an electric shock. The touch was warm and solid, and you quickly pulled your hand away, muttering, "It's fine, don't worry." You focused on grabbing the remaining books, not daring to look at him. You could feel his eyes on you, his frown as he noticed your avoidance, the way you were trying to shrink in on yourself. The silence was louder than the laughter and chatter that surrounded you, and you couldn't stand it. You gathered your books, clutched them to your chest, and stood, muttering another quick "Thanks," before hurrying away, your cheeks still burning.
Christopher watched you go, his brow furrowed. He had been expecting a scolding, a sigh of annoyance, a loud protest. But all he got was a quiet apology and a hasty retreat. At soccer practice later, his friends noticed his distracted air.
"What's with you, Chris? Why'd you bother with her? She's weird," one of them said, laughing.
Christopher snapped back without thinking. "She's not weird. She's justโฆ different." The words hung in the air, a defense he hadn't planned on, and he realized with a jolt that he meant them. She was different. Unlike everyone else, she didn't want his attention or his apologies. She wanted to be left alone, and that, more than anything, intrigued him.
His curiosity grew into a conscious effort. He started noticing where you sat in class. You were always at the edge, the last desk in the last row, a sentinel guarding your own quiet solitude. He saw you scribbling notes with a meticulous hand, and when you thought no one was looking, you would doodle. Your pen would move across the page, creating intricate patterns and small, detailed sketches that seemed to tell an entire story.
One day, he couldn't take it anymore. You were alone, as usual, doodling while you waited for the next class to start. He walked over, his heart pounding a little too fast, and stood by your desk. "You like drawing?" he asked, his voice low.
You froze, your pen still, your hand hovering over the paper. The question was so simple, so direct, that it caught you completely off guard. You quickly covered your notebook with your arm. "It's nothing," you stammered. "Justโฆ passing time."
He smiled, a gentle, understanding expression. "Well, it looks cool. A lot better than my stick figures."
You looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in your eyes. He wasn't teasing you. His smile was warm, and his gaze was sincere. The tension in your shoulders lessened, and a small, unexpected laugh escaped youโyour first laugh around him. It was a soft, melodious sound, and Christopher felt his heart stutter in his chest. His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him as he realized, with a sense of pure, innocent panic, God, why is her laugh so cute?
You immediately regretted laughing. You brushed it off as him being nice, a simple gesture from a genuinely kind person. He was, after all, Christopher Bahng, the sun, and you were justโฆ you.
But you were wrong. Across the room, Mira noticed him looking over at you often now, a different look in his eyes than the one he used for everyone else. "You sure he's not staring?" she asked you later.
"No," you insisted, scoffing at the thought. "Guys like him don't look at girls like me." You had built your walls high, and you had no intention of letting them fall.
That night, alone in his room, Christopher sat at his desk. He wasn't thinking about soccer practice or the upcoming game. He was thinking about you, about your shy smile and that quiet, unexpected laugh. He opened his notebook, the one filled with messy song lyrics and ideas, and found himself copying your doodle from memory, your intricate patterns filling the margin. He didn't even realize he was smiling at it, a genuine, content grin that only appeared when no one else was watching. The invisible girl was becoming more visible to him every single day. And he, the sun, was drawing her world into his.
Your friends were your shield, your protectors, and the first line of defense against a world that you had learned to navigate with quiet caution. They had watched the subtle shifts in Christopher's behaviorโthe lingering glances, the soft smiles, the way he seemed to gravitate to your orbitโand their suspicions had reached a boiling point. They were not malicious, just fiercely protective. They had seen too many people take advantage of you. They had seen the way your light dimmed each time someone took without giving, each time your kindness was mistaken for weakness. Their love for you was a wall, and now, someone was trying to breach it. They were not going to let him pass without a fight.
One afternoon, Asha decided to act on it. She was blunt and brave in a way you couldn't be, armed with a fierce loyalty that left no room for subtlety. She found Christopher by the vending machines, his attention momentarily absorbed in choosing a drink. Dev stood by her side, a silent, unyielding presence, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture radiating a quiet but firm disapproval.
"What's your deal with her?" Asha began, her voice low and direct, meant to be heard only by the three of them. "Is this some bet? Some joke?"
The question hung in the air like a storm cloud, thick with accusation. Christopher, who had been humming a song under his breath, froze. The easy, friendly warmth that had been a permanent fixture on his face for weeks vanished, replaced by a coldness that made his eyes go flat. He had expected this. He knew people would talk, would assume the worst, but hearing it directly from your friendsโfrom the people who loved youโstung him more than he could have anticipated. It was an accusation that went deeper than just him; it was an insult to you, and he felt a flash of white-hot anger at the thought.
"What? No," he said, the words sharp with frustration. "Why would you even think that?"
Dev stepped forward, his voice a low rumble, the words a painful confirmation of your deepest insecurities. "You're the soccer captain, Christopher. You'reโฆ you. People like you don't notice people like her unless it's for fun. Or unless you need something from her." It wasn't just a warning. It was a statement about the way the world worked, about the rigid social hierarchy that kept everyone in their place. It was a line drawn in the sand, one you had always instinctively known not to cross.
Christopher's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping in his cheek. He hated the way they were categorizing you, as if you were some quiet, insignificant project he had stumbled upon, a new toy to entertain him. He had spent his life navigating a world of people who wanted something from himโhis influence, his attention, his popularity. You were the first person who seemed to want nothing at all, the first one who saw him as just another person, and it was a relief he hadn't known he was craving. He hated that they couldn't see that.
"She's not a joke," he said, his voice firm and unwavering, each word a stone-cold promise. "She'sโฆ someone I actually want to know."
Asha and Dev exchanged a look, half-suspicious, half-surprised. The sincerity in his tone was hard to dismiss. He saw their hesitation and pushed on, an almost desperate urgency in his voice. "She means a lot more than you think. Even if she doesn't realize it." With that, he turned and walked away, the weight of his words hanging in the tense, silent air.
Later that afternoon, Asha reported back to you, her voice a mix of disbelief and grudging respect. You were organizing your locker, your head down, trying to disappear into the familiar rhythm of the school day. "He didn't deny it," she said, her eyes wide. "He's serious."
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, hummingbird beat that made it hard to breathe. Your hands, which had been neatly stacking books, froze. "Please," you scoffed, your voice shaky, a desperate attempt to sound nonchalant. "Christopher Bahng? No. Don't play with me." The thought was absurd, a ridiculous fantasy that you refused to entertain. You had spent so long building your walls, reinforcing the idea that you were not someone who could be seen, let alone wanted, by a boy like him. The idea that he might genuinely be interested was more terrifying than the thought that he was just playing a cruel joke. At least with a joke, you knew the end was coming. But a genuine connection? That was a vulnerability you didn't know how to handle. But the seed of doubt Asha had planted, a tiny, persistent thing, shook the foundation of your well-guarded walls.
Meanwhile, Christopher was restless. The confrontation with your friends had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was used to people wanting things from him, but their assumption that he would use you for a joke was a new kind of low. He hated that they saw him that way, and he hated even more that they saw you as someone who could be so easily dismissed. The anger simmered in his chest, a constant, low-level burn that he couldn't shake.
At practice, his frustration bubbled over. His friends, oblivious to the confrontation and the emotional weight he was carrying, teased him relentlessly. "Got a new project, Captain?" one of them would say, nudging him in the ribs. "What's the goal with this one, anyway?"
"She's not a project. Shut up," Christopher snapped, his voice venomous, his eyes dark with a rage that was entirely disproportionate to the comment. His sudden, brutal anger shocked them, and they fell silent, their confused stares a new kind of pressure. He realized then that he was more protective of you than he thought. The thought of anyone seeing you as a joke, as a project, filled him with a quiet, simmering rage that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
He needed to show them. He needed to show the world. And more importantly, he needed to show you.
The next day at lunch, you noticed it immediately. The noise of the cafeteria, the blur of facesโit all seemed to quiet as you saw him. He was walking toward your table, not with a soccer player's confident swagger, but with an almost hesitant, purposeful stride. He didnโt sit with his teammates. He sat with you and your friends, sliding into the empty spot next to Dev, a subtle but monumental shift in the social landscape of the entire school.
He started small, a gentle infiltration into your world. He joked with Dev about soccer drills, the two of them a surprisingly easy pair. He learned Mira's favorite song, humming a few bars to get a genuine smile out of her. He even engaged in Asha's sarcastic banter, his own wit a match for her sharp tongue. He was trying to show your friends, I'm not here to hurt her. His eyes, however, kept finding yours, and in them, you saw a sincerity that you were terrified to believe.
You watched him, your mind a whirlwind of confusion. Why me? you thought. Out of everyone here, out of all the people who would fall at his feet, why me? You kept your gaze fixed on your plate, your heart a frantic drumbeat in your chest. His presence was a constant, unsettling force, a reminder that the quiet, predictable life you had built for yourself was now in danger of being torn apart.
Christopher, on the other hand, had a different thought. He saw you, sitting there, your shoulders a little tense, your eyes still holding that beautiful, quiet sadness. He saw the way you listened to your friends, the way your small smiles were so genuine. He saw you as you truly were, stripped of the pretense and performance that defined the world around him. He was exhausted by the constant need to be perfect, to be the charismatic leader everyone expected him to be. And in your quiet existence, he found a profound sense of peace.
In his mind, the answer was simple, the most honest truth he had ever known. Because youโre real. And that's all I've ever wanted.
The universe, in its own strange way, seemed to be conspiring to bring you together. The sky, a bruised tapestry of purple and grey, opened up with a torrential downpour, a sudden and violent wash of rain that canceled soccer practice and stranded Christopher inside the school's quiet sanctuary. You, however, had nowhere to be but the library. The storm was a symphony that muted the frantic energy of the hallways, and the rain-lashed windows provided a perfect backdrop for your sketching. It was your element, a world of quiet contemplation where you could exist without the demanding, watchful eyes of others.
You were completely lost in your own world, a world of intricate lines and gentle curves. Your pen moved across the paper with a practiced, almost subconscious grace, the tip leaving a delicate trail of graphite in its wake. The rain hammered against the glass, a rhythmic drumbeat that lulled you into a meditative state. You didn't even hear him approach, his usual loud, confident stride replaced with a careful, quiet grace that you had never known he possessed.
He simply pulled up a chair and sat near you, the silence between you a soft, comfortable blanket that was a stark contrast to the storm outside. He was not the loud, boisterous captain of the soccer team you knew from the hallways. He was just Christopher, a boy with damp hair that clung to his forehead and a restless energy that seemed to quiet the moment he sat down. He wasn't reaching for you, or demanding anything from you. He was justโฆ there.
"Show me?" he asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble that was barely audible over the sound of the rain.
You froze, your pen still, your hand hovering over the paper. The question was a simple one, but it felt impossibly heavy, weighted with all the unspoken things that had passed between you. It was one thing for your friends to see your doodles, but for him, the sun, to ask? Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, nervous beat that made your hands tremble. The act of sharing your art was an act of profound vulnerability, a laying bare of your inner world. You hesitated, the walls you had so carefully constructed threatening to crumble. But something in his gaze, a quiet sincerity that you were beginning to recognize, made you give in. You flipped the page reluctantly, revealing a detailed sketch of an old, gnarled tree, its roots twisting like a forgotten symphony and its branches reaching into a dark, stormy sky.
He stared, genuinely amazed. He didn't just glance at it; he truly looked at it, his eyes tracing every line, every shadow, every intricate detail you had poured your soul into. The silence stretched between you, but this time, it was an appreciative, thoughtful silence, not an awkward, painful one. "This isโฆ beautiful," he said, his voice a whisper of pure awe.
You laughed, a nervous, almost self-deprecating sound. "It's just lines on paper." The words were a defense mechanism, a way to deflect the vulnerability you felt. You weren't a great artist, just a girl with a sketchbook and a lot of quiet hours to fill. You didn't want him to think it was more than it was.
He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on your drawing. "No," he said, and his voice was so firm, so sure, that you believed him. "It's not just lines. It's you. Quiet, butโฆ it says so much." His words were a mirror, and you saw yourself reflected in them in a way you had never done before. He wasn't seeing just the drawing; he was seeing the emotions behind itโthe loneliness, the resilience, the quiet strength.
His words made your cheeks warm with a blush that you couldn't control. You looked away, your gaze fixed on the rain streaming down the window, a desperate attempt to hide the raw emotion on your face.
He seemed to sense your discomfort because he didn't push. Instead, he pulled out his own notebook, the one you had so briefly seen on the day of the book collision. He flipped it open to a page filled with messy, frantic song lyrics, words scribbled in the margins, and an energy that was palpable. "Don't laugh," he said, a genuine nervousness in his voice that made him sound so much younger, so much more vulnerable than you had ever thought possible. "It's rough."
You took the notebook, your fingers brushing his as he passed it to you, a now familiar shiver running down your arm. You read the lyrics softly, and your eyes widened as you read his words. They were raw and honest and filled with a quiet melancholy that was so completely at odds with the loud, charismatic person he presented to the world. They were filled with loneliness and the pressure to be someone he wasn't, to constantly perform. You looked at the words and you looked at him, your gaze filled with a new kind of understanding. "Thisโฆ this is you, isn't it?"
He nodded, a vulnerable, almost shy expression on his face. "Yeah. No one else sees this stuff."
And in that moment, the world shifted. You realized you were seeing a side of him that no one else hadโthe boy who wrote poetry and music in the quiet moments between soccer games and loud laughter. He was more than the loud, bright sun. He was a universe of his own, filled with a quiet, introspective sadness you recognized. He had given you a glimpse of it, a silent invitation into his world, and in turn, he had shown you that he truly saw yours.
He relaxed around you, the conversation flowing as naturally as the rain outside. He talked about music, about late-night walks, about the quiet pressure he felt to be perfect all the time. He talked about the loneliness that came with being everyone's idol, the constant feeling that people loved the idea of him, but never the real person. You listened without judgment, a quiet, non-demanding presence that he seemed to crave. He didn't have to be anything for you. He could just be Christopher.
A comfortable silence fell between you, a heavy, warm quiet that was a far cry from the awkward silences you were used to. The air was thick with unsaid things, with the growing weight of your shared vulnerabilities. It felt like a safe space, an emotional bunker you had both unknowingly built.
He broke the silence, his voice a low, almost surprised whisper. "Youโre easy to talk to. Like I donโt have to perform."
You smiled softly, the feeling a foreign but welcome one. "Maybe that's because I don't expect anything."
He caught himself staring at you again, his pulse quickening as he realized how much he craved your quiet presence. His eyes, dark and searching, held yours for a moment, and you felt your own breath catch in your throat. He wasn't just looking at you; he was studying you, as if committing every detail to memory.
He leaned in, his voice barely audible, as if he were saying a secret to himself. "Yeahโฆ thatโs why I like being here."
You didn't catch it. The words were a whisper, and your mind was too busy unraveling the mess of emotions you were feeling to pay attention. But across the room, tucked away behind a row of bookshelves, Mira saw the way he was looking at you. She saw the genuine warmth in his eyes, the soft smile on his face, the quiet intensity of his gaze. And she knew, without a doubt, that he wasn't just being polite. He was falling. And you, oblivious and caught in your own walls, had no idea.
The afternoon sun, a tired and golden light, slanted through the tall classroom windows, casting long, dusty stripes across the desks. It was the last period of the day, a collective, heavy silence that had settled over the entire class like a thick blanket. The low, incessant hum of the air conditioning was the only thing keeping most of you from falling completely asleep. Your pen had slowed to a near halt, your notes a jumble of half-finished thoughts and a series of geometric shapes that were slowly turning into something more intricateโa castle of polygons, a fortress built from your own fatigue. You were tired, the day's constant, quiet performance of being โfineโ weighing you down in a way that felt physical.
Mr. Peterson, your math teacher, was a kind man who had a penchant for terrible puns. He had just finished explaining a particularly complex algebraic equation when he paused, a mischievous glint in his eye that you recognized with a tired sigh. โNow, remember,โ he said, drawing out the words in a slow, dramatic fashion, โan angle is acute when itโs soโฆ little.โ He paused for a beat knowing he was giving the most useless and known information out ther, but with a hopeful smile on his face, waiting for a laugh that never came.
A collective, exhausted silence followed. A few people offered a courtesy chuckle, a polite gesture from a class that was too tired to do anything else. But for the most part, the joke landed with a thud, a hollow, echoing sound in the quiet room. You, however, had your own brand of quiet humor, one born from a lifetime of internal monologues. Without thinking, the words slipped out, a soft, self-deprecating murmur under your breath that was meant only for yourself. โWell, at least the numbers and angles are more balanced than my life.โ
Next to you, Mira snorted, a sharp, surprised sound that she quickly tried to stifle with a hand over her mouth. But from a few rows ahead, a sound so explosive and unexpected it made the entire class jump erupted from the back of the room. It was Christopher Bahng, and he was laughing. Not his usual loud, boisterous, soccer captain laugh, but a genuine, unrestrained sound that started as a choked gasp and ended in a full-throated, joyous roar. His laugh was a waterfall of pure, unadulterated amusement, and it seemed to break the very silence of the room.
Every single person turned, their eyes wide with shock. Christopher never laughed like that. He was a constant source of effortless cool, a controlled smile always in place, but this was different. He was laughing so hard that tears were starting to well in the corners of his eyes, his shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to contain it. He felt the heat rise to his ears, the flush of embarrassment spreading across his neck, and he quickly tried to quiet down, pressing a hand over his mouth, his chest still heaving with silent giggles.
You, meanwhile, felt a wave of mortification wash over you. Your joke was meant for you and Mira. It was a joke for the invisible, a shared moment of dark humor that was meant to exist only in the shadows. It was not meant for the sun. You felt your face burn as you looked at him, your voice barely a whisper. โโฆIt wasnโt that funny.โ
He shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. His eyes, when they finally met yours, were sparkling with a light you had never seen beforeโa light of pure, unvarnished delight. "Noโit was," he managed, his voice still thick with laughter. "It was. Youโre funny. Likeโฆ stupid funny."
The words were so sincere, so honest in their clunky delivery, that they left you speechless. He wasnโt mocking you. He was genuinely, truly, hilariously impressed. You hid your face in your hands, the embarrassment almost unbearable. It wasn't just that he had laughed; it was that he had laughed at your joke, a joke that was so inherently you, so personal and quiet. It was the most seen you had ever felt.
For the rest of the day, the image of your laughing face was burned into his mind. He found himself grinning at random moments, a warmth spreading through his chest every time the memory of your whispered joke and your startled, embarrassed laugh replayed in his head. The weight of his world seemed to lift, replaced by a simple, joyous lightness. He was so used to hearing jokes that were loud and obvious, jokes that were meant to be heard and appreciated by a crowd. But your joke was a quiet whisper, a small, perfect thing that only he had been able to catch.
At soccer practice, his focus was gone. He missed a simple pass, something he never did, and the ball rolled harmlessly out of bounds, his teammate yelling in frustration. Christopher barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere, lost in a quiet classroom with the afternoon sun slanting through the windows. He couldn't concentrate. He was usually so precise, his movements sharp and calculated, but today he felt clumsy, his feet tangled in a way he couldn't explain.
His teammate, sensing something was wrong, came over, his expression concerned. "Yo, what's with you, Chris? You've been off all day."
Christopher shook his head, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. โNothing,โ he muttered. โJust tired.โ But in his mind, it wasn't the heat or the drills or the pressure that had him distracted. It was the sound of your laugh, a quiet, unexpected melody that he couldnโt get out of his head. He replayed the entire conversation, the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had widened when he called you "stupid funny."
That night, he was restless, unable to focus on his homework. He couldn't shake the memory of your joke, the way it had broken through his composure. It wasn't just funny; it was real, and it was a glimpse into your world that he desperately wanted to know more about. He pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over his contact list, before finally landing on Mira's name.
He texted her, a simple, direct question. โWhat kind of jokes does she usually make?โ
The reply came back almost instantly, a string of emojis and a knowing, teasing line. โOh, so the Captain is interested, huh?โ
He groaned aloud, but he didnโt deny it. He couldn't. He knew there was no going back. The seed of curiosity had blossomed into a full-blown obsession, a need to know you, to see you, to hear your quiet wit. He wanted to hear you laugh again, and he knew, with a sudden, startling clarity, that he was the reason for it.
The next day, he sat by your group again at lunch. You saw him coming, and you knew exactly what he was doing. You rolled your eyes, a half-playful, half-serious gesture. โWhy are you here again?โ
He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned forward, his voice a low, teasing whisper. โWaiting for my daily dumb joke.โ
You stared at him, your defenses crumbling. You had no witty comeback, no sarcastic retort. You were completely disarmed by his directness, by the way he was so shamelessly, openly, and playfully invading your space. You stared back, your expression a mixture of surprise and confusion, and for a fleeting moment, he was flustered, the tables turned on him.
From across the table, Dev muttered, shaking his head with a resigned smile. โGod, heโs whipped already.โ
Christopher laughed, the sound easy and genuine, but deep down, a profound and startling realization settled over him. He wasn't just curious about you anymore. The crush he had been fighting, the attraction he had been denyingโit was all so much bigger than he had ever thought. He was in too deep. And with a silent sense of relief and quiet panic, he realized that he was falling.
The easy, comfortable silence between you and Christopher became something else entirely. It became a public, unspoken language that those who were paying attention could read with alarming clarity. What started as quiet moments in the library and whispered jokes in the back of the classroom had blossomed into something more tangible, a physical orbit you couldn't seem to escape, nor did you truly want to.
It started with small things, so subtle you almost didn't register them as new. You would be gathering your books at the end of class, your shoulders already aching from the dayโs weight, and he would simply be there, leaning against the doorframe as if heโd been waiting for you all along. His presence was a subtle shift in the air, a warmth that you felt before you even saw him. "Heading to the library?" he'd ask, his hands in his pockets, a casual smile on his face that was anything but. You would shake your head, muttering, "Just to my locker." He would shrug, his grin widening, and say, "Cool. Iโll walk with you." He made it sound like a happy coincidence, a convenient overlap in your schedules, but you knew, with a quiet, certain part of your heart, that it was a deliberate choice to insert himself into your world. His presence was a warm blanket you didnโt know you were cold without, and you had grown to crave the quiet rhythm of his stride beside yours, the comfortable way he would fill the silence with the sound of his voice, talking about music, about late-night walks, about the mundane pressures of his life.
One afternoon, your arms were heavy with a stack of textbooks that felt particularly unforgiving. The weight was a physical manifestation of your exhaustion, the kind that made your shoulders ache and your knuckles white. He saw you struggling from across the hall and jogged over, his hands reaching for the books without a moment of hesitation. "Here," he said, his voice soft, as if you were a fragile thing that could break. "Let me help."
You flinched back, your grip on the books tightening so much your fingers went numb. The thought of him carrying your things, of the two of you walking together, was too much. It was too visible, too blatant a display ofโฆ something you couldn't even name. You couldn't handle the inevitable stares and whispers, the way their curious, judgmental eyes would follow you both. "No, itโs fine," you protested, your voice a little shaky. "Iโve got it."
He stopped, his brow furrowed in confusion. A fleeting look of hurt crossed his face before he masked it with a light, teasing smile. "What? You think Iโll drop them?" he joked, trying to lighten the tension.
You shook your head, your eyes fixed on a spot on the floor just past his shoulder. The words came out in a rush, a quiet admission of your deepest fear. "Noโฆ I just donโt want people staring."
The easy smile on his face faltered, replaced by a quiet understanding that was more devastating than any anger. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the crowded hallway, and he saw it. He saw the subtle, knowing looks, the small groups of people whose eyes followed your every move, like a flock of vultures circling a single, vulnerable bird. He saw the hushed conversations, the way they would suddenly fall silent as you passed. He saw it all, and it made him angry, a hot, protective rage that he had to swallow down. He lowered his hand, the offer of help rescinded, and simply walked beside you in silence, his presence a solid, unyielding wall against their prying eyes. Because you were right. People were staring.
The whispers started small, a low, buzzing static in the background of your life that slowly began to crescendo. You heard them in the hallways, in the crowded cafeteria, and in the worst place of allโthe bathroom. You were washing your hands, your gaze fixed on your reflection, the tired girl with the kind eyes staring back at you. Two girls walked in, their voices pitched low, their words a knife twisting in your chest.
โDid you see Christopher with her?โ one of them whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of envy and disbelief. โI justโฆ donโt get it. Like, why her? Sheโs soโฆโ a long, cruel pause, a searching for the right word. โโฆplain.โ
The word, when it came, was a poison in the air. It was spoken with such casual cruelty, such a careless lack of concern for the person it was describing. "I mean, sheโs nice and all, but she justโฆ blends in."
The other girl laughed, a brittle, sharp sound. "Heโs just being nice, you know? Heโs the Captain. Heโs always being polite. Sheโs probably just reading too much into it."
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. You felt your chest tighten, a familiar, agonizing pain that you had spent your life trying to ignore. You had always known you were plain, that you were the type of person who blended in. But hearing it spoken aloud, in connection with him, in connection with the quiet, hopeful thing that was growing between youโthat hurt in a way nothing else ever had. You kept your head down, not daring to move, not wanting them to know you had heard.
That night, lying in bed, you texted Mira, the words a raw, honest confession that felt like a betrayal to the fragile hope in your heart. โItโs not real,โ you wrote, the words a desperate plea for her to agree. โHeโsโฆ just bored.โ
Miraโs reply was almost instant, her words a lifeline in the suffocating darkness of your self-doubt. โYou think heโd waste this much time if he didnโt care? You think heโs bored enough to learn about your weird doodles and listen to you talk about old books? Heโs not bored. Heโs into you. Seriously.โ Her words were meant to be a comfort, but they only fueled your insecurity. The logic was sound, you knew it was, but a part of you couldn't accept it. It was too easy for Christopher Bang, the sun, to get bored. To him, you were a puzzle, a quiet mystery, and once he solved you, he would move on. You struggled to believe that you could be enough, that you could be the real thing he was looking for.
Meanwhile, Christopher was fighting his own battles. His world was full of noise and constant feedback, and it was hard for him to tune it out. His teammates, who were used to his laser focus and unwavering dedication to the game, were getting frustrated. They saw the distraction in his eyes, the way he would miss a pass or be a beat too slow. They didnโt understand, and their frustration turned into a quiet, resentful curiosity.
โWhatโs with you and that girl?โ one of his friends asked him in the locker room after practice, his voice a low, teasing whisper, his eyes a cold, judgmental assessment. โBet sheโs just using you for clout.โ
The words were so disgusting, so far from the truth of who you were, that Christopher felt a hot, blinding flash of anger. He spun around, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes a storm of furious protectiveness. โSheโd never,โ he snapped, the words a harsh hiss. โDonโt talk about her in that manner.โ His sudden, venomous anger shocked them all into silence. They had never seen him so protective, so quick to anger. It was a clear, unmistakable line in the sand, a stark declaration that you were no longer a topic for their locker room jokes.
The next day, you noticed he was quieter. The usual easy banter was gone, replaced by a simmering tension in his shoulders that you instinctively felt. He seemed heavier, the light that usually followed him dimmed by a shadow you couldnโt quite place. You waited until lunch, until his friends had walked away to get their food, and leaned forward, your voice soft with genuine concern. โDid something happen?โ
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his eyes meeting yours with a profound weariness. โNah,โ he said, the word a forced casualness. โJustโฆ donโt listen to what people say, okay?โ
His gaze was so intense, so full of unspoken things, that your heart stirred in your chest. His protectiveness, raw and simple, was a powerful thing. He was fighting for you, in a way that you had never thought anyone would. But the insecurity, the fear that you were just a phase, that you were just a quiet girl he would eventually grow bored of, lingered. The whispers still echoed in your ears, the words โplainโ and โboredโ a constant, nagging refrain.
That night, lying awake in bed, Christopherโs mind was not on his team or the upcoming finals. It was on you, and on the quiet, fragile thing he was trying to protect. He thought about the fear in your eyes when you asked him not to stare, the way you had flinched away from him. He realized, with a sudden, bone-deep clarity, that he wasnโt just crushing on you. It wasn't just a crush. It was more. He didn't just want to know you; he wanted you to be safe. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the person who could make you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in your life. The weight of that realization, the sheer vulnerability of it all, terrified him more than the soccer finals ever could. He was in too deep. And he wasn't sure he wanted to get out.
The goodbye was a soft, gentle thing, a quiet moment in the chaotic blur of the school parking lot. You stood beside your friends, trying to smile, trying to act like this was just a normal departure. Christopher was surrounded by his team, their cheers and excited chatter a loud testament to the final game. It was a regional championship, the biggest game of his uni-life, a chance for his team to make history. He deserved to be focused, to be free of any distractions, and you were determined to not be one.
โWin for us, Captain,โ you said, your voice a little shaky, a false brightness to it that you hoped he wouldn't notice. You tried to project a calm, unwavering confidence that you were far from feeling.
He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that you would cling to for the next few days. He reached out and ruffled your hair, a small, familiar gesture that made your heart flutter. "For you," he said, his eyes finding yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than they should have. "Always." The word was a promise, a quiet vow that sent a shiver down your spine.
Then he was gone, a blur of red and white as he climbed onto the bus. You watched the bus drive away, the exhaust a faint cloud in the humid air, and as it disappeared around the corner, a hollow, empty space bloomed in your chest. It was a physical ache, a profound sense of loss that felt both familiar and new. You were a planet without its sun, and you were already beginning to feel the cold.
At first, everything was normal. The halls were still crowded, the classes still mundane, the lunches still loud. But as the days bled into one another, his absence became a tangible thing, a vacuum in your world that sucked all the light out of the room. The noise seemed louder, the stares more pointed. The whispers, which had been a low hum, now felt like a crescendo, a venomous chorus that followed you everywhere.
The popular girls, who had been silenced by his presence, were now emboldened. Their whispers were louder, their glances more direct. You overheard them in the lunchroom, their voices sharp and cruel. "She thinks she's special just because he talks to her." The words, so stupidly simple, lodged themselves in your brain, an echo of your own deepest fears. You felt a wave of nausea, the familiar self-doubt a bitter taste in your mouth.
His friends on the team, not as kind or as mature as Christopher, saw an opportunity. They didn't understand the bond between you two. To them, you were a distraction, a quiet girl who had somehow taken up too much of their Captain's time. They would sneer as you passed, their voices dripping with contempt. "He's bored of you already," one of them said as he walked by you in the hallway, the words a cold knife in your back.
You shrank into yourself, the familiar weight of your quietness a shield you wrapped around yourself. You brushed off the comments, pretended not to hear the whispers. You could handle this. You had always handled this. It was a part of your life, the quiet dismissal, the unseen labor. But your friends, your three fierce protectors, noticed the way your shoulders had begun to slump, the way you would subtly change your route to avoid a hallway, the way your smiles no longer reached your eyes.
Mira, her jaw clenched with a simmering fury, grabbed your arm one day in the cafeteria. "Say something to Christopher," she insisted, her voice low and urgent.
You shook your head violently, a wave of panic rising in your chest. "No. He doesn't need this. Not when he's away." You thought of him, focused and determined, his eyes on the prize. The last thing he needed was your petty high school drama. You were a minor distraction, a footnote in his life. You could handle this on your own. It was a fierce, desperate kind of pride that made you refuse to reach out.
But the bullying escalated. The snide comments turned into malicious acts. An "accidental" spill of water on your notes in the library, your meticulous handwriting a blurry, ruined mess that made your heart ache with every illegible word. A shoulder check in the hallway that sent you stumbling, your books scattering across the floor like a second collision. One girl cornered you by the lockers, her face a mask of bitter jealousy. "He'll drop you the second finals are over," she hissed, her voice a low, ugly sneer. "He just likes the chase. You're not special."
You swallowed the tears that burned in your throat, gripping the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink, your knuckles white. You looked at your reflection, at the girl with the tired eyes, and you whispered the words that had been your mantra your entire life. "It's fine. I'm used to this. I can handle it." But your friends, standing outside the door, knew better. They exchanged worried looks, their hearts breaking for you. They knew you were breaking.
Dev, the quietest of the three, spoke the words that they were all thinking. "She won't tell him. So we will."
They huddled together, their phones a small circle of light in the dim hallway. They drafted a message to Christopher, the words a careful, concise explanation of everything that was happening. They hesitated, their fingers hovering over the send button. They didnโt want to be the ones to ruin his concentration, to distract him from his dream. But Mira, her face set in a determined scowl, pressed the button. It wasn't about the finals anymore. It was about you.
Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, Christopherโs team was celebrating a hard-won victory. The cheers were loud, the music was blaring, and the air was thick with the triumphant smell of sweat and adrenaline. He held the trophy in his hands, but it felt hollow. Something was missing. He pulled out his phone, a little annoyed, and saw a text from Mira. He read the first line, then the second, and his chest dropped with a sick, twisting panic. "She's not saying anything, but they're destroying her here. She's getting bullied."
He reread the words three times, his mind refusing to accept them. The elation of victory vanished, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his hands began to tremble. His whole world, which had been so bright and so focused on this victory, came crashing down around him. He didnโt think. He didn't process the cheers or the congratulations. He just knew he had to get back to you.
"I have to go back," he muttered, his voice hoarse, the words barely audible over the music.
A teammate, overhearing him, grabbed his arm. "Are you crazy? The finalsโthe media's waiting for you!"
Christopher pulled his arm away, his eyes wild with a fear that was deeper than any he had ever felt on the field. "She's more important," he said, his voice a quiet, resolute promise. "Always." He turned and ran, leaving behind the victory, the celebration, and the stunned faces of his teammates. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Pleaseโฆ please let her be okay. He was running on pure adrenaline, a desperate, undeniable need to get back to the only person who mattered. He would leave the trophy behind, leave the cheers, leave the victoryโit all meant nothing without you.
The world had shrunk to the size of a single desk. The classroom, once a place of quiet refuge, was now a suffocating space filled with the low hum of whispered poison. You sat there, pretending to take notes, your pen moving across the page with a practiced, automatic rhythm. But the words on the paper were a meaningless blur, and the page might as well have been blank. Your mind was a frantic cacophony of fear and humiliation, replaying every cruel comment, every sneer, every dismissive glance you had endured in the last two days. It was a vicious cycle of remembered pain, a silent torture that left you feeling like a ghost in your own body.
You had become a target, a quiet scapegoat for a jealousy you never asked for. The girls who had been silenced by Christopherโs presence were now emboldened, their words a constant, nagging refrain of your own deepest insecurities. "She thinks sheโs special," one would whisper as you passed, the words a low hiss in the crowded hallway. "He's just bored," another would mutter, her eyes a cold, judgmental assessment that cut you deeper than any physical blow. You tried to be invisible again, to shrink back into the shadows you had so painstakingly crawled out of, but it was no use. The quiet space you had carved out for yourself was gone.
A crumpled paper ball hit your desk with a soft thud, a silent act of aggression. You didn't flinch. You didn't dare. You just stared at it, a knot of pure misery tightening in your stomach. When you finally looked, a quick, furtive glance, you saw the words scrawled in an angry, jagged handwriting: Not worth his time. The phrase was a dagger, a cold confirmation of your worst fears. Your chest tightened, a sharp, searing pain that felt like a physical wound. You clenched your pen tighter, your knuckles white, fighting the hot, humiliating tears that threatened to spill over and betray the quiet composure you were so desperately clinging to. You felt so utterly alone, so impossibly exposed, as if the entire room could see the words on that paper ball, could see the fragile state of your heart.
Suddenly, a wave of gasps rippled through the room. The quiet, monotonous drone of the teacher's voice stuttered to a halt. A hush fell over the classroom, a stunned, collective silence that was so profound it felt like the world had stopped spinning. The air crackled with a strange, frantic energy. You looked up, your eyes wide with confusion, and that's when you saw him.
He was standing in the doorway, a living, breathing anachronism in the orderly world of the classroom. He was still in his soccer jersey, sweat-soaked and rumpled from a game you had heard had ended in a triumphant victory. The jersey was a brilliant red, but it looked faded and dirty from the road. His hair was a mess, his face pale and drawn, and his chest heaved with the heavy, uneven breaths of a man who had run a thousand miles to get here. He looked less like the undefeated captain of the soccer team and more like a lost boy who had just run through a storm, fighting against every obstacle just to stand in this room.
His eyes, frantic and wild, scanned the room. They passed over the shocked faces of his teammates, the stunned silence of the popular girls, the confused expression on the teacher's face. They were searching, a desperate, frantic search for a single face, and when they finally landed on you, your heart stopped. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the chaos and the noise of the room fading into a distant, buzzing static. For a brief, terrifying moment, you were the only person in the world who existed to him.
"Y/N," he said, and the sound of your name, spoken by him for the first time, was a soft, ragged whisper in the heavy silence. The sound of it, the way it rolled off his tongue, was a beautiful, disorienting thing. It was so simple, and yet it held all the weight of the universe.
You froze, a shot of pure panic shooting through you. He was here. He was supposed to be celebrating. He was supposed to be a million miles away, enjoying his victory, basking in the glow of the media. This was a nightmare. This was all your fault. You stammered, the words getting caught in your throat. "W-what are you doing here? Your finalsโ"
He didn't listen. He didn't even hear you. He was already striding forward, his boots a loud, heavy drumbeat against the linoleum floor. He ignored the stunned silence, the disbelieving stares, the murmurs of his teammates. His gaze never left you. He reached your desk and knelt, his hands gripping your shoulders, his touch firm and grounding. He held you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, his eyes searching your face for any sign of a wound. "Did they hurt you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, a raw rumble of emotion that made every hair on your arms stand up. "Tell me."
You shook your head furiously, the tears you had been fighting so hard to suppress finally breaking free and running hot and fast down your cheeks. "No, noโyou shouldn't be here," you insisted, the words a desperate, broken plea. "This is my faultโI shouldnโt haveโ"
"Donโt you dare blame yourself," he cut you off, his voice cracking with a raw emotion you had never heard from him before. He didnโt give you another moment to protest, another second to pull away. He pulled you from your chair and into his arms, crushing you against his chest in a tight, desperate hug. His touch was so strong, so protective, so utterly real.
Gasps erupted around the room. It was the moment that broke the spell, the moment that shattered the silence. The whispers were no longer quiet, but loud and venomous.
One of the popular girls, her face a mask of bitter jealousy and confusion, found her voice. "Chan, what are you doing?! Think about your image! You just won!"
His teammates, still stunned, shook their heads in disbelief. "She's no one, man," one of them said, his voice laced with disgust, as if he were talking about a stray dog. "Remember who you are!"
Christopherโs arms tightened around your trembling body, holding you in a fierce, unyielding grip. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as if you were an antidote to the poison in the room. He didnโt respond to the protests, to the outrage. He simply looked up, his head still low, and glared at them. His eyes were not the easy, confident gaze of the Captain they knew. They were the cold, unwavering stare of a lion protecting his cub.
"Sheโs not no one," he snapped, the words a thunderclap in the room. His voice was laced with a raw, undeniable fury that made every single person in the room flinch and take a step back. "Sheโs everything. And if you canโt respect herโyou donโt respect me."
Silence crashed over the room, a profound stillness that was more terrifying than any noise. His words hung in the air, a final, unyielding declaration. You buried your face deeper in his chest, trembling harder. The solid warmth of his body was a fragile fortress against the sudden, devastating weight of his words. You had never been chosen before. Not like this. Not so loudly, not so unapologetically. You were terrified, but you were also safe.
"Theyโll hate you for this," you whispered, the words a broken sob against his chest. "Youโll regret it."
He lowered his head, his lips pressing against your hair, his words a low, fierce murmur meant only for you. "The only regret Iโd have is not protecting you."
And in that moment, in the middle of a stunned classroom, with everyone watching, you finally believed him. He had chosen you. And for the first time in your life, you felt like you mattered. You were not a side character, a background player. You were the main event. And he had just told the world exactly why. He had left his victory behind, and come running. For you.
The classroom was a battlefield, and you were the sole casualty. After the explosion of that afternoon, a sudden, blinding storm of raw emotion, the school buzzed with a low, electrified energy. The whispers were no longer just whispers; they were a frantic, unyielding chorus of questions. Everyone wanted to know. Why her? Why would Christopher, the golden boy, the soccer captain, throw away his victory, his image, for the quiet girl who no one ever noticed? You felt a crushing, unbearable weight on your chest, convinced that you had single-handedly ruined his life. The shame was a physical thing, a hot flush that rose from your stomach to your cheeks every time you heard your name.
You avoided everyone. You walked with your head down, your hands clenched into fists, a desperate, silent prayer on your lips that no one would acknowledge you. You changed your routes, you ate lunch in the library, you lingered in the bathroom until the last possible second. But the walls had ears, and the rumors followed you like a cloud of poison. In the hallways, you could hear them. โI saw it with my own eyes,โ a girl would whisper, her voice dripping with disbelief. โHe snapped for her? Whatโs so special about her?โ The words were a bitter pill, confirming every single one of your insecurities. You felt the hollow ache in your stomach deepen with every passing minute.
Lunch the next day was a particularly painful ordeal. You sat tucked away in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, a single plate of food a sad, lonely testament to your solitude. You were a planet without an orbit, a moon with no sun. You tried to read, to lose yourself in the quiet world of your book, but the words were a meaningless jumble. The whispers were louder here, a constant, buzzing commentary that made your skin crawl. You heard your name again, a name that had once been so private, now a common currency on the lips of strangers. Your hands trembled, and you dug your nails into your palms, trying to ground yourself.
Then, the murmurs stopped. A sudden, jarring silence fell over the room, a collective intake of breath that was more powerful than any noise. You looked up from your book, your heart lurching with a terrible premonition, and saw him. He was walking toward your table, a resolute, unyielding force. He ignored the stunned stares, the gaping mouths, the quiet, judgmental assessment of the entire cafeteria. He was still in his worn soccer hoodie, his shoulders broad and a tense line to his jaw, and he slid into the chair directly across from you, his presence a loud, unmistakable declaration.
Your chest tightened with a fresh wave of panic. You leaned forward, your voice a desperate, urgent whisper. "What are you doing? Don't make it worse." You couldn't bear to look at the faces watching you, the silent judgments that you knew were burning into your back.
He reached across the table and covered your hand with his, his touch warm and firm. "I donโt care what they think," he said, his voice low and unwavering, meant only for your ears.
You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. The tears you had been holding back for days burned in your throat. "You should," you whispered, the words choked with a quiet, defeated resignation. Your heart ached, not for yourself, but for him. He was losing his friends, his reputation, everything he had worked so hard for. And it was all because of you.
His chest ached at your defeated tone. He saw the way you were trying to shrink into yourself, to become invisible again, and a fresh wave of anger pulsed through him. He had faced down a raging crowd, he had thrown away a victory, but the raw, unadulterated pain in your voice was more terrifying than any of it. He wanted to shake you, to tell you to look at him, to see that none of it mattered, but he held back, his hand a gentle, steady presence on yours. He knew he couldn't push you too hard, too fast.
That night, alone in your room, you avoided his texts. You sat in the dark, your phone a beacon of light on your nightstand, its screen lighting up with a quiet persistence that broke your heart. The messages were so simple, so painfully sincere. "Are you okay?" "Please talk to me." "Don't shut me out." You couldn't respond. The shame was too great. The fear of being a burden on him, of taking any more from him than you already had, was a paralyzing, unbearable weight. You curled up in bed, crying silently into your pillow, a deep, mournful sob that shook your entire body. You were so alone. You had never been chosen before, and you were convinced that you had ruined the one person who had ever chosen you.
The next day, he cornered you. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were leaving class, your head down, trying to escape the room before he could find you, but he was waiting for you, his back against the wall, his arms crossed. The hallway was empty, the quiet a sudden, unnerving thing. He looked at you, his eyes raw with a mix of frustration and profound sadness.
"Why are you running from me?" he asked, the words a low, painful plea.
You flinched, your body tensing, a thousand excuses dying on your tongue. You finally looked at him, and you saw the deep ache in his eyes, a pain that mirrored your own. You couldn't lie. You had to tell him the truth. You whispered, the words catching in your throat, "Because I don't want to be your downfall."
His heart cracked. The words were a dagger, a testament to the quiet cruelty he had seen over the last few days. He had expected anger, frustration, but not thisโthis bone-deep resignation, this conviction that you were the one to blame. He took a step forward, his hands reaching out to cup your face gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch was so soft, so careful, as if he were holding something precious and fragile. He forced you to look at him, to see the sincerity, the love, the deep, abiding truth in his gaze.
"You're not my downfall," he said, his voice a low, fierce murmur that was meant only for you. "Youโre the only reason I stand tall."
You gasped softly, a little broken sound that you couldnโt suppress. His eyes, dark and unwavering, were so full of a truth you had never dared to believe. You were lost in his sincerity, in the warmth of his hands, in the raw honesty of his expression. You were just a girl who had always existed in the shadows, and he was the one who had come running, a bright and powerful force, just to bring you out into the light. The silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid words, with the crushing weight of everything you had gone through, everything he had sacrificed.
Finally, you pulled back, the trembling in your body a thing you couldn't control. "Please," you whispered, "justโฆ give me time."
He exhaled, a pained but understanding sound, and nodded, his hands falling slowly from your face. "I'll wait," he said, his voice a quiet, resolute promise. "For however long you need."
From then on, he didnโt push. He stayed close but quiet, a silent, unwavering presence in your life. He walked you home, his footsteps a gentle, steady rhythm behind you. He studied beside you in the library, his quiet, focused presence a comfort you were slowly growing used to. He was a shadow, a silent guardian, a soft whisper that said, "I'm here," without ever having to say the words. And as the days turned into weeks, you began to realize that his silence, his quiet, unyielding presence, spoke louder and more truthfully than anyone elseโs words ever did. He was your quiet constant, and the world finally felt a little less lonely.
Months passed like the turning pages of a book you couldn't put down, each one a testament to a truth you were still too terrified to believe. The awkward silence that had once defined your interactions, the tense anticipation, the paralyzing fearโit all melted away, replaced by a comfortable rhythm of shared, stolen moments. Your world, once a quiet, monochromatic place, was now filled with vibrant color. It was in the hushed study sessions in the library, the late-afternoon walks home when the sun bled into the horizon, and the secret, lingering smiles you exchanged when no one else was looking.
He was no longer just Christopher, the soccer captain. He was Chris, the boy who liked to listen to old records on his scratched-up vinyl player, the one who found solace in the quiet of a shared space. He was the boy who would gently push a loose strand of hair from your face when you were focused on an essay, and the one who made you feel seen in a way you had only ever dreamed of. The way he would notice the smallest thingsโa new drawing in the margin of your notebook, the subtle change in your mood, the small, shy smile that would only appear when you were truly happyโfelt like a secret language meant only for you.
The change wasnโt just in your world; it was in his as well. He seamlessly integrated himself into your quiet orbit, a sun that had found a home in the shadows. He helped Dev with soccer drills, a patient mentor who never made him feel inferior. He would join Miraโs musical banter, surprising her with his knowledge of obscure artists and effortlessly singing along to her favorite songs. He even laughed at Ashaโs biting sarcasm, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he delivered a witty retort. Your friends, once so wary and protective, had slowly but surely accepted him. They saw what you sawโa boy who was so much more than his public persona, a boy who treated you with a quiet, unwavering reverence that made their initial suspicions seem like a long-forgotten memory.
You felt lighter, safer, as if the crushing weight you had carried for so long had finally been lifted. For the first time, you felt a sense of belonging, not just in your friend group, but in the world at large. The constant background noise of insecurity, of feeling like you were an afterthought, had faded into a soft hum. But with that lightness came a terrifying new fear. The fear of what would happen if you let yourself believe it was real. You had spent so long building your walls, convincing yourself that you were unworthy of this kind of attention, that the very idea of it was a dangerous, fragile thing that could shatter at any moment. You were terrified that if you let him in, truly let him in, you would scare him away and be left with nothing but the broken pieces of a dream.
One evening, as the semester wound down, he found you on the school rooftop, your usual quiet spot. The sky was a deep, velvet blue, sprinkled with the first shy stars of the night. The cool evening air was a welcome contrast to the humid heat of the day. You were sitting on the ground, your knees pulled to your chest, your gaze fixed on the quiet, sprawling cityscape below. He sat beside you, not too close, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. The silence was comfortable, a silent conversation you had perfected over the past few months.
You broke it first, your voice a soft, teasing murmur. โBet the captain of the soccer team doesnโt usually waste time stargazing.โ
He smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your heart do a nervous little flip. He didn't look at the stars; he looked at you, a soft, unwavering gaze that made your cheeks feel warm. โOnly when itโs with you,โ he said, the words so quiet they were almost swallowed by the night.
Your chest fluttered, a wild, frantic thing, but you hid it with a small, nervous scoff. "Don't be cheesy, Christopher," you said, your voice a little shaky. The name felt strange on your tongue now, a formal remnant of a person you barely knew. You had started thinking of him as Chan, and sometimes, in the quiet solitude of your own thoughts, as Chris.
Silence fell between you again, but this time it was different. It was thick with a tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying. You could feel his knee touching yours, a gentle, solid presence. He was fiddling with his bracelet, a nervous habit you had come to recognize as a sign of his vulnerability. Your heart began to race, a frantic drumbeat in your chest.
"Can I tell you something?" he whispered, his voice so low and raw that it sent a shiver down your spine.
You glanced at him, a nervous energy humming in your veins. You were so used to keeping your emotions locked away, to being the quiet one, that his sudden vulnerability felt like an earthquake. "You're scaring me," you whispered back, a nervous laugh catching in your throat.
He chuckled softly, a sound filled with a hint of pained truth. โGood,โ he said, his voice dropping a little lower. โThen maybe youโll take me seriously.โ He turned to face you fully, and in the faint glow of the city lights, you could see the raw honesty in his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then the words, the words that would change everything, spilled from him, trembling and sincere.
"I like you," he confessed, the three words a world-shattering sound. He leaned in just a little, his eyes searching yours for a sign ofโฆ something. โMore than I should. More than I planned. I like you, Y/N.โ
The use of your name, your real name, the one he had never spoken directly to you before, hit you with a force you couldnโt have anticipated. It was a formal declaration, a stake planted in the ground, and it made the air feel thin and hot. You stared at him, wide-eyed, a panicked denial already forming on your lips.
"Noโฆ no, you don't. Not me. You can'tโ"
He cut you off, his voice now rough with frustration, a mix of hurt and anger. "Why not you, Y/N?" he demanded, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch so gentle it was a contradiction to the fierce frustration in his eyes. "Tell me. Is it because you're quiet? Because people think you're plain? Because they've been using you your whole life?" The last part was a quiet, pained whisper, a testament to what he had seen, what he had understood. "Thatโs why I like you. You're real. Youโre everything Iโve ever wanted, and everything I never knew I needed."
Tears, hot and sudden, pricked your eyes. You had no defenses left. All your carefully constructed walls, all the quiet self-deprecating thoughts, all the years of feeling invisibleโthey were crumbling to dust under the weight of his sincerity. You felt a soft sob catch in your throat, a quiet, broken sound that echoed the ache in your chest. You had never believed you were worthy of something so real, so honest, so profound.
He saw your tears and his gaze softened, his thumbs gently wiping a single tear from your cheek. He leaned closer, his voice a low, rough murmur. โSomeone like me has only ever wanted someone like you,โ he said, the words so full of a truth you had never dared to believe. He wasn't a hero, a captain, a sun. He was just a boy, and you were just a girl. And in that moment, in the soft, hushed privacy of the night, nothing else mattered.
A quiet, broken laugh escaped you through your tears, and you buried your face in your hands, the embarrassment of your emotions a fleeting thing against the overwhelming wave of happiness and disbelief. He pulled your hands down gently, his touch a careful, steady presence. He was grinning nervously, his eyes filled with a hope that made your own heart ache.
"So?" he whispered, his voice filled with a hopeful anticipation. โDo I get a chance?โ
The question hung in the air, a final, monumental decision. You looked at him, at his hopeful, sincere eyes, and you knew. The fear was still there, a tiny, nervous thing, but it was nothing compared to the blossoming warmth in your chest.
After a long, breathless silence, you whispered, "โฆYes. But don't regret it."
A profound sense of relief washed over his face, and he exhaled, a long, shaky breath that was both pained and relieved. He pulled you into a crushing hug, a gentle but firm embrace that made your heart feel safe for the first time in your life. You buried your face in his chest, your own hands clutching his shirt, and a soft sob of pure, unadulterated relief escaped you.
"Regret?" he murmured, his voice muffled in your hair, his arms tightening around you. โThe only regret would be if I never asked.โ
The confession on the rooftop had been a dam breaking, a release of a lifetime of suppressed emotion. But in the days and weeks that followed, your relationship with Chan wasn't a loud, public affair. It was quiet, private, and tender, a secret garden you cultivated away from the prying eyes and judgmental whispers of the school. You didnโt need grand gestures or public displays of affection. Your love language was one of hushed moments, soft touches, and whispered truths.
Your first "date" wasnโt a planned event. It was simply a continuation of a familiar ritualโwalking home together. The only difference was the nervous, electrified energy that hummed between you. Your shoulders brushed with an almost agonizing lightness, a silent communication of your newfound status. He nervously cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the pavement, a blush creeping up his neck. "Soโฆ is this a date?" he asked, the question so simple and raw that it made your chest ache with affection.
You looked at him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. The captain of the soccer team, the confident sun of the school, was so endearingly flustered. You couldnโt resist teasing him. "If you want it to be," you said, your voice a soft murmur. His ears burned red, a sign of his charming embarrassment. He looked at you, a soft, unwavering sincerity in his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself for a leap of faith. "Then yes," he said, the words a little shaky but firm. "It is."
Your friends noticed the difference immediately. It wasn't in the way you held hands or kissed; it was in the way Christopher looked at you. Mira whispered it to Asha one afternoon, her voice filled with a profound wonder. โHe looks at her like sheโs the only star in the sky.โ The boys on his team, too, noticed the change. He was still the fierce, dedicated captain, but a newfound softness had settled into his features. His grin, once wide and boisterous, was now a private, tender smile reserved just for you.
Your world became a series of small, perfect moments. You'd sneak out for late-night coffee shop visits, the air thick with the smell of espresso and the quiet murmur of conversation. He would scribble lyrics on napkins, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to put his whirlwind of emotions into words. When he got too serious, too lost in his own head, you would gently take his hand and doodle on his skin with a small pen. Your little sketches of cats and stars and constellations would bloom across his knuckles and the back of his hand, a quiet protest against his intense focus. He would pretend to grumble, a playful frown on his face. "I'm the captain, you know. People take me seriously." You would laugh, the sound a light, melodic thing he had come to adore. "Not when you've got cats and stars all over your skin," you'd tease. But you knew he kept the doodles, refusing to wash them away, a silent promise that you were a part of him now.
At soccer practice, his teammates would groan in frustration. "Bro, focus!" one of them would yell, after he missed a pass he should have easily made. He would glance at the stands, distracted, and his grin would widen as he saw you sitting there, a silent, unwavering presence, a small wave of your hand a promise of a future you were slowly learning to believe in. "I am focused," he would shout back, his eyes twinkling. It was true. You were his focus now, the one thing that mattered.
After practice, he would run to you first, sweaty hug and all. You'd wrinkle your nose in mock disgust. "Gross, you smell like turf." He would smirk, his breath a little ragged, his eyes full of a playful tenderness. "Still hugging me though."
On weekends, you'd study together in the library, the quiet so thick you could almost taste it. He would be poring over a textbook, his face a mask of concentration, and you would find yourself just staring at him, mesmerized by the quiet beauty of his profile. The way his brow would furrow in thought, the way a loose strand of hair would fall over his forehead, the perfect, gentle curve of his lips. He would catch you staring and your cheeks would burn, your heart racing with a familiar panic. "What? You had something on your face!" you'd stammer, your voice a little too loud in the silent room. He would chuckle, his eyes warm and knowing. "Yeah, sure. On my face."
Slowly, his quiet, unwavering devotion began to earn your trust. It was an unspoken, fragile thing, a promise that he wasn't going anywhere. One night, huddled on a bench in the park, the streetlights a warm, golden glow against the dark sky, you finally confessed. "I kept waiting for you to get bored," you whispered, the words a raw, honest admission of your deepest fear. He frowned deeply, his eyes filled with a profound sadness. He gripped your hand, his touch firm and reassuring, as if he were trying to physically burn the words into your memory. "Bored? I could spend a lifetime and still not get enough. You're the most fascinating person I've ever met." His words made you cry, the tears a hot, silent stream of relief and gratitude. He wiped them away with his thumbs, his touch a tender, gentle thing.
He leaned in, his gaze fixed on your mouth. The kiss was gentle, trembling, and almost shy. It was a question and an answer all at once, a silent confirmation of everything you had built, everything you had whispered in the quiet of the night. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath a warm, steady rhythm against your cheek. "I'm yours," he murmured, the words a vow. "Completely."
From then on, he became your loudest protector. The gossip still existed, a constant, buzzing irritation in the background, but he shut it down instantly. When his teammates or friends would start to say something cruel or insensitive, he would simply look at them, his eyes hard and unwavering, and they would quiet down immediately. And when people would ask what was so special about you, the quiet, unremarkable girl who had somehow managed to capture the sun, he would only smile, a tender, knowing grin that reached his eyes. "Everything."
---x---
Fifteen years. A lifetime ago, you were just a girl with a stack of books and a quiet heart, and he was the sun, a force of nature who seemed to exist on a different plane entirely. Now, fifteen years later, the world had settled, and the vast, intimidating universe had shrunk to the space between you. The boy who had once run across a field just to make sure you were okay was now the man who still woke up before you every morning, a soft, unwavering smile on his face as he watched you sleep. His gaze wasn't just loving; it was a profound, quiet worship, a silent testimony to the miracle of your existence.
It was a familiar, constant ritual. You'd groan, your voice thick with sleep, a pillow clutched to your face. โStop staring. Itโs creepy.โ
He would simply grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The lines on his face were new, a testament to the years of shared laughter and late-night talks, but his grin was the same as the one that had made your heart stutter on the school rooftop all those years ago. โSorry, canโt help being proud I married you,โ heโd whisper, his voice a low, husky sound that was just for you. Heโd lean in and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as if to imprint the feeling of you being right there, next to him, forever.
He still insisted on cooking breakfast. The sounds of him in the kitchenโthe clatter of pans, the gentle sizzle of oilโwere the soundtrack to your mornings. And just like fifteen years ago, heโd still manage to burn the eggs. The smoke alarm would chirp a nervous little protest, and youโd get up, your hair a messy halo, to find him pouting in front of the stove. โCaptain, you canโt even flip an omelet,โ youโd tease, laughing softly as you took over, your movements practiced and easy. He would hug you from behind, his arms a warm, solid presence around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. Heโd nuzzle his face into your neck, a familiar, comforting gesture. โStill whipped for you though,โ heโd whisper, the words a low, happy rumble against your skin.
Your home wasn't a grand, perfect space. It was a lived-in canvas, a testament to your shared life. The walls were filled with doodlesโnot just the intricate sketches you made, but also his. Heโd frame your sketches and place them beside his neatly handwritten lyrics, a silent testament to how he saw you. In a small, lacquered box on his nightstand, he still kept the old, crinkled napkins from your first coffee dates, a secret treasure heโd pull out on quiet nights when he wanted to remember where it all began. The house was a quiet echo of the quiet love you had built.
Sometimes, a song would come on the radio, a forgotten tune from a high school dance, and heโd pull you into his arms. The music would be low, but the laughter between you would be high, a chorus of joy that filled every corner of your home. He still wrote songs, but now, he didn't have to search for inspiration. You were in every lyric, a muse for his melodies, a quiet presence that defined his every note.
When you were working too hard, hunched over a drawing tablet with a deadline looming, heโd pout dramatically. His voice would be a theatrical whine that still made you laugh. โWhat about your husband? Neglected and starving.โ
โYou literally ate five minutes ago,โ youโd say, a grin on your face as you threw a pillow at him. He would catch it, his grin wide, and heโd kiss you until you gave in, the gentle press of his lips a soft plea that you never had the strength to deny.
Your friends, now a tight-knit family of their own, still visited often. Theyโd watch the two of you, a quiet, knowing wonder in their eyes. "Heโs still obsessed with you after all these years," Mira would say, her voice a mix of humor and sincere awe.
Chan would simply shrug, a proud, contented smirk on his face. โOf course. I told youโsheโs everything.โ He wasnโt a loud, boastful man, but when it came to you, a quiet, confident pride would settle over him.
On your anniversaries, he still planned chaotic but heartfelt surprises. A picnic with a wobbly blanket and a basket of burned food, a rooftop dinner where the constellations were the only light, homemade gifts that were more sentiment than artistry. Youโd laugh at his corny speeches, but youโd always cry too, the tears a hot, silent stream of gratitude for a love that had grown so deep it had become a part of you.
Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, a flicker of that old insecurity would creep into his eyes. โAm I enough for you?โ heโd whisper, the question a vulnerability you still found breathtaking. You would cup his face in your hands, your touch as tender and sure as his had been on the school rooftop. โYouโve always been more than enough.โ
Your nights were filled with soft, sacred intimacy, a gentle obsession, an endless affection. He worshiped your body like it was sacred, his voice a low, reverent murmur against your skin. โMine. Always mine,โ heโd whisper, the words a possessive, loving vow. And then, the morning after, heโd be back to being goofy, burning pancakes, his hair a mess, and his eyes filled with a love so pure and honest it made your chest ache.
Even after fifteen years, he refused to let you carry any burden alone. If someone, even a stranger, tried to use you or take advantage of your quiet nature, heโd step in immediately, his gaze hardening with a familiar protectiveness. Youโd tease him, a soft, loving smile on your face. โStill my bodyguard, huh?โ
Heโd smirk, kissing your forehead, the gesture a silent promise. โStill your biggest fan too.โ
Their love was slow, steady, a quiet, deep-burning fire. He had never stopped trying to show you how adored you were, and in every single one of his words, his actions, his glances, you felt it. And when people would ask what his greatest achievement was, what he was most proud of, Chan would always smile, his eyes finding yours across the room. โHer. Always her.โ
in whichโฆ chan has always wanted to be a dad, and it was finally his turn to experience the pure joy of parenthood.
warnings: mentions of failed pregnancies, pregnancy of course, tears from stress and joy, a lot of time skips (soz), chan doubts himself as a father at one point.
authors note: give this man a family jyp๐ i also havenโt edited this so ignore any errors
when you first met chan seven years ago, both in your early twenties, you immediately bonded over the want for a family.
it was a common topic that the pair of you loved the fantasise and dream about. one where chan finally had more time away from the company and had time to be at home with you and the potential baby.
you both never thought that would happen, but over the years, the work began to spread out a bit more, due to chan back dating loads of songs, which were then ready for years to come.
it made life a whole life easier for him, and the relationship.
which is why he decided it was a perfect time for this family he so desperately wanted.
you and chan had tried for years, and it just seemed like it was never your time. failed test after test. tears after tears, with the whispered promise from chan, โitโll happen soonโ.
but how long was soon?
until that one cold day in november when the test sat on the bathroom counter felt different. you for once were hopeful.
you pulled chan into the bathroom as you both sat on the edge of the bathtub.
โhey,โ he muttered, as he took ahold of you hand and rubbed the back of it, โwhatever it says, weโre okay. thereโll be another time for us,โ he promised.
you nodded through watery eyes, and a breath that shook. you let go off his hand and slowly reached for the test.
you took a second to yourself before flipping it over and staring at the answer.
| |
two lines.
you gasped out a broken sob, full of emotion, as chan grabbed a hold of you and pulled you closely in. chanโs shoulders shook as he cried with you.
โweโre having a baby,โ he muttered into your hair, holding you tightly, โyouโre gonna be a mom, and iโm gonna be a dad!โ he whispered, as if saying it too loud would take it all back.
a few months laterโฆ
lucky for you, you were one of the lucky ones who didnโt show much during their pregnancy.
this was great, especially in yours and chanโs situation, with the boys and the world, who knew about you, as you were allowed to be open with the relationship.
however, once it came around to the second trimester and it was definitely confirmed that your baby was healthy, you both agreed this was the time to share the news with the boys.
you invited all the boys over to your home the following night, wanting this announcement to be small and private with those you both loved dearly.
โsoโฆ what is this?โ seungmin started, eyeing you and chan suspiciously.
โyouโre not like getting divorced are you? please donโt tell me your getting divorced!โ han rambled quickly.
โno! no! god no,โ you laughed, responding to han, who calmed down.
โwe wanted to actually tell you, that, weโre pregnant,โ chan told the group.
they blinked at him for a moment, glancing over at you, who already had tears in your eyes.
โwait what?!โ changbin asked.
โyour pregnant?โ felix looked at you, to which you nodded.
han was the first to react, jumping up and screaming practically.
the other boys shortly followed as you and chan stood up, recovering various words of excitement and congratulations, while also receiving hugs from each member.
during your pregnancy, chan hated working. he hated missing moments of this; of the family that was soon to happen, even if the baby wasnโt here yet.
you insisted he went to the studio though. the boys still needed him after all, and the baby wasnโt here just yet.
but moments when chan would walk through the front door late at night, ways past the time he said heโd be.
to find you snuggled on the couch, phone open on yours and his chat, clearly to ask him how much longer. all the while you had a hand placed gently on your ground bump.
chan sighed at moments like this. he hated not being here for you, and he sometimes felt like he was already failing. but he tried; and you knew that.
july
come july, it was finally coming up closer to the due date of the baby. chan had managed to push the work off for a couple of weeks, while the two of you prepared for the baby.
the boys were absolutely ecstatic to meet the baby. anytime they saw you, they would immediately pile over on you like puppies to their mother, in desperate need of any updates about the baby.
so that one final night, when you woke up and seven hours later gave birth, youโd finally met your baby girl.
chan was there the whole time. from the moment you stirred in your sleep, groaning with pain, to when you stepped into the hospital.
even when you lay on the bed, crying your eyes out from the pain, chan stood by your side, holding tightly onto your hand.
chan cried the moment she was born, (he actually cried the whole birth, but you didnโt need to know that). but seeing you and his baby girl together for the first time was an experience he could never describe.
his two girls right in front of him. it was everything he ever wanted in life, and here it was.
a few months later
chan couldnโt love life any more than what he had right now. you were healthy, his baby girl was healthy, and he finally had the family he always wanted.
the first few months were different. a good different. a lack of sleep due to her crying throughout the night and not being the best sleeper.
but luckily, chan was use to the lack of sleep, spent in the studio, so he found solace in these moments.
the months were spent learning. learning about how to be a parent, while raising a literal baby.
there were tears. good and bad.
youโd have a few moments where you believed you werenโt a good mother. that maybe this wasnโt right for you. but chan was always there for you.
you and chan rarely co-slept with her, due to the risk. but day time naps, you sometimes like to join her.
moments like these were chanโs favourites.
where he could just watch you sleeping next to him, his baby girl in between the two of you, as you both leaned into his side. this was all he ever wanted.
the boys loved her.
jeongin was no longer the baby of the group, she was. and they all loved having her around.
it gave the other boys something to look forward to for the next few years with their own partners.
they saw the way chan and yourself were with your baby girl, and the love you had for one another, her birth bringing the pair of you even closer. and they all longed for a family like yours.
more months later
stray kids had gone on tour a month or so ago. touring the world and making many memories that chan loved sharing with you.
youโd both agreed it was too soon for her to attend, due to how young she was. so you both watched her daddy through the tv or on the phone, as she would squeal โdada!โ anytime chan became the main focus of a livestream or interview.
but chan. he secretly hated it. he missed so much while he was gone.
the time you were recording yourself and her, and she finally took her first few steps towards you.
chan had to watch it through a phone.
he missed those real important milestones; the ones that really mattered. and thatโs what hurt him the most.
but you were always there to reassure him, โsheโll walk again soon,โ you promised.
but despite your promises, he still doubted himself.
he lay awake at night in the various hotels, clutching his phone to his chest, as he replayed the videos of you and his baby over and over again, his chest wracking with sobs.
chan sometimes use to feel like he failed as a leader, but feeling like he failed as a dad, hit him a lot more than anything.
a few years later
as she reached a more appropriate age, which perfectly lined up with the next stray kids world tour, the pair of you agreed this was a perfect opportunity.
as the tour hit off its leg in australia, you and your girl moved into chanโs parents home for a while.
this was great.
they loved you and their grandchild, and you loved being around them. you were also immensely close to hannah, chanโs sister.
so on the day where his family had planned to attend, he also reserved two tickets for his family.
it was secured off in the pit. far enough but not too far; close enough so that she could see her dad.
you held her on her hip so that she had a clear view of the stage, dressed in her wolf-chan outfit; light-grey dungarees, with some ears on her head.
she looked adorable.
and she loved it.
chan even made it his mission to spend as much time during the concert waving over to his daughter and wife, ensuring they both felt very special. sheโd giggle into your neck every time it happened.
when the concert was over, you were all led backstage. at this point she could walk really well; too well actually. she was now able to run off, without falling over.
which she insisted on doing in attempt to find her daddy.
as she rounded the corner, into one of the main dressing rooms, she saw her dad stood in the middle, talking to seungmin.
she squealed out in excitement, causing chan to turn around and open his arms wide. โhi baby,โ he responded back, just as excited.
he placed her on his hip, as she rambled on about the show, asking silly questions about everything.
eventually, youโd managed to wrestled her off of chan, so that he could go see his family after the show, leaving you and her with the other boys.
as annoying as she could be, the boys still loved her.
she loved lee know, mainly because of soonie, doongie and dori, as she loved cats. but despite his sometimes hard exterior, it immediately melted when she was around.
changbin was probably her favourite. he was the biggest girls girl to ever exist, which you already knew, but he continued the prove it as she grew older. โchangbinโs salonโ became something even more common everytime you brought her around or showed up at the studio.
hyunjin helped her draw and create. she liked her crafts, especially paint, which you and chan cringed anytime she got her hands on it, due to how messy she was. but hyunjin didnโt mind the mess, he encouraged her to, especially in his art studio in his apartment back in seoul.
han was probably the second favourite uncle of her. she loved his silliness, as she was also a very silly child. they bounced off of one another easily, especially because of hanโs childlike personality at times.
felix was her kindest uncle; the one she turned to when she began to cry if her mommy or daddy werenโt around. he always held her with the upmost care, constantly carrying her anywhere, as he always managed to fall for her dramatics. he just couldnโt say no.
despite seungminโs โmeanโ exterior, and banter with his members, it was clear how good of a dad he would be. he taught her a lot of things, including baseball, which he loved being able to share with someone, who was so excited for the world. he always offered to help the two of you. you and chan knew how badly seungmin wanted a kid of his own one day.
ayen loved not being the youngest anymore. he loved not being the โmaknaeโ of the family. that he finally had someone to take care of, just how the members had with him. he was similar to seungmin. ayen always volunteered to babysit, but only if he could have assistance from one of the other boys. so typically seungmin and ayen were the babysitters.
chan finally had the family he wanted, the one he always dreamt about and told STAYS about on bubble. it was finally his, and she truly was a bundle of joy.
โ when chan casually reveals a piece of his past he never thought mattered... you realize how much of his pain heโs been carrying alone..since teen years
you go to him... and for the first time, he lets himself be held... and understood.
โง w/c: 1,979 words
โก trope:
hurt/comfort โ emotional vulnerability โ childhood friends to lovers โ idol x non-idol โ soft angst โ reassurance
cw:
(related to the bubble msg he uploaded recently)
mentions of past physical abuse โ insecurity โ overworking โ emotional distress โ no proof reading is done
author's note:
I will be again disappearing after this fic, stay safe!
thank you for 2.6K followers!
The notification came while you were rinsing out a cup on your part time job. Water flowed over your fingers, warm and steady, grounding you...until it didn't.
Your phone buzzed again. You almost ignored it. Almost.
But his name always caught your attention.
'bang chan' on bubble
A small smile formed on your lips without thinking. You wiped your hands on your apron and unlocked your phone, expecting something light, something silly, something from him.
Instead, your eyes froze. You read the message once.
Then again.
Then slower.
And something inside you sank.
โBack then, I used to get hit a lot. I didnโt really think much of it. I guess it was just normal at the time.โ
The noise of the cafe faded away.
You couldnโt hear the chatter, the clinking cups, your manager calling out orders...nothing.
Just those words. Your fingers hovered over the screen.
Your chest tightened so sharply that it almost hurt to breathe. โNo...โ you whispered, shaking your head slightly. โNo, thatโs not...โ Thatโs not something you ignore.
Thatโs not something you just drop in a message. Your mind raced, trying to understand it. He had shared other things. He told you about sneaking food to the girls (twice), about getting scolded for it, about long practices and sleepless nights.
He talked about those experiences with a laugh, as if they were softened by time.
But this? This was different.
This was something he had never even hinted at. Your throat went dry. You read the rest, noticing how he brushed past it, almost joking, as if it didn't matter... as if it wasnโt heavy, pressing down on your lungs just to read it.
Like he didnโt matter.
โHey, what are you doing? That orderโs been waiting--โ
โI need to go.โ You didnโt realize you had said it until your apron was already off.
Your manager frowned. โWhat? Right now?โ
โIโm sorry,โ you said quickly, grabbing your bag.
โItโs urgent.โ You didnโt wait for a reply. You couldnโt. The drive felt wrong.
Everything felt wrong. The roads and signals were the same, the people moved around you like nothing had changed--but something had.
Something big. Something you should have known. Your grip on the steering wheel tightened until your knuckles turned white.
โWhy didnโt you tell me...โ your voice cracked, barely audible. Images you didnโt fully understand filled your mind... a younger version of him, smaller, alone, scared... still trying to smile through it.
Your chest ached. You pressed the accelerator harder. His apartment was too quiet. You pushed the door open, barely remembering to take off your shoes.
Your bag slid off your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud that you ignored.
Then you heard it. Faint. Music. You followed the sound without thinking. Each step felt heavier. And then you saw him. Sitting there. Curled slightly over his setup, headphones half-on, fingers moving over the keys, completely lost in whatever beat he was creating.
Focused. Calm. Safe. Like nothing had ever touched him. Your throat tightened painfully.
โChannie...โ He turned, startled. Then his expression softened instantly, his eyes lighting up in a familiar way that always warmed your chest.
โBaby?โ he blinked, sliding the headphones down.
โYouโre home early... what happened?โ He smiled. That smile. Like the world had never been cruel to him. Like he had never been hurt.
Something inside you shattered. You didnโt respond. You just walked to him quickly. Then you wrapped your arms around him. Tight. Too tight.
Your fingers clutched at the back of his shirt, as if you were trying to hold him together... like if you didnโt, something would break or worse he might just disappear.
He froze for a moment, surprised. '...hey?โ His hands rose slowly, resting on your back, unsure.
โWhatโs wrong?โ he murmured, his voice now softer and more careful. โDid something happen?โ
You shook your head against his shoulder. Your breath was uneven.
No. Something had happened. A long time ago.
And you werenโt there. Your grip tightened.
โBaby...โ he said again, a small nervous laugh escaping him.
โYouโre scaring me a little.โ
You pulled back just enough to look at him. Your eyes were glassy. Confused. Hurt.
โWhy didnโt you tell me?โ His brows furrowed immediately. โTell you what?โ
Your voice trembled. โThe message, Chan.โ Silence. It hit him. You could see it flicker across his face, quick and almost hidden.
โOh...โ he exhaled softly, leaning back slightly. โThat...โ
โThat?โ your voice cracked, sharper than you intended. โThatโs all you have to say?โ
He blinked, surprised. โI mean, itโs not really--โ โDonโt.โ Your voice dropped. Not loud. But it stopped him instantly.
โDonโt make it small.โ The room felt heavier. He looked at you... really looked this time... as if trying to gauge your seriousness.
โBaby, that was a long time ago...โ he said carefully.
โI didnโt think it mattered that much.โ Your chest tightened. โYou got hurt.โ He paused. โI was a trainee... it happensโโ โIt shouldnโt have.โ
The words came out quieter but more firmly. Your hand moved to his face, your thumb brushing lightly under his eye, grounding yourself as much as him. โYou were thirteen, Chan,โ you whispered.
โYou were alone... in a country that wasnโt even yours... and someone thought it was okay to hurt you...hit you...โ He didnโt reply. His gaze fell.
You felt the shift... subtle, but present. โI didnโt want to make it a big deal,โ he murmured after a moment. โEveryone was dealing with their own stuff... I wasnโt special.โ
That word. Special.
As if pain needed to be earned. Your heart ached.
โYou donโt need to be special to deserve better,โ you said softly.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. โIt wasnโt all bad...โ he added, almost as if needing to say it.
โI learned a lot... I met people...โ You watched him closely. The way he still defended it. The way he tried to balance it out. โChan...โ you said gently, shifting to sit on his lap, forcing him to look at you directly.
โYou can have good memories... and still admit some parts were wrong.โ His hands moved to your waist automatically. Warm. Familiar. But there was tension in his grip now.
โI just thought...โ he hesitated, his voice quieter. โIf I complained... it meant I wasnโt strong enough.โ
Your throat tightened.
โAnd if I wasnโt strong enough... maybe I didnโt deserve to be there.โ
There it was. The truth. Not about them. About him.
Your hands slid up to his shoulders, steadying him.
โYou deserved to be there because you worked for it,โ you said firmly. โNot because you could endure pain.โ
He released a slow breath. His fingers tightened slightly against your sides. โI still feel like Iโm not doing enough,โ he admitted, as if the words were being dragged out. โLike I need to work harder... be better... or Iโll fall behind.โ โThatโs why you overwork,โ you whispered.
He nodded slightly.
โI donโt want to disappoint anyone.โ
โYou wonโt.โ
โBut what if I do?โ His voice cracked, barely there. โWhat if Iโm not enough?โ
Your chest ached. So you cupped his face again. โYou are.โ
He shook his head slightly. โYouโre biased.โ โYeah,โ you replied softly. โBecause I love you.โ
He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but it didnโt reach his eyes. โThereโs a lot about me thatโs not... great.โ
Your brows furrowed. โLike what?โ He hesitated. And then, quietly--
โMy nose.โ You blinked. โWhat?โ โItโs too big,โ he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.
a/n: (he doesnt get that STAYS ARE CRAZY ABOUT HIM LIKE SWEETHEART. WE NEED A MAN LIKE YOU. BUT YOU ARE ONLY 1. SIGHS. HE IS SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL! Like the gods sent him as an apology for the rest of the men.)
โAnd my curls... theyโre messy. My hands...โ he looked down at them as if they didnโt belong to him. โTheyโre not... nice.โ
Each word felt like a sharp object pressing into your chest. โ
And sometimes I just...โ he swallowed. โI feel like Iโm not giving you enough. You deserve someone normal... someone who can actually be there.โ
Your expression shifted. โChristopher.โ That made him look up.
Your voice was softer now but serious.
โYou donโt get to decide what I deserve.โ He froze. โI chose you,โ you continued. โNot the idol. Not the schedule. Not the chaos. You.โ His breath caught slightly.
You reached up, fingers sliding into his curls, gently pushing them back from his forehead. โI love these,โ you murmured. โDo you know how many times Iโve played with your hair while you were working and you didnโt even notice?โ His lips parted slightly.
โI love your nose,โ you added, brushing lightly against it. โItโs yours. It fits you. I wouldnโt change it.โ His grip on you tightened.
โAnd your hands...โ you took one, turning it gently, pressing your lips against his palm. โThey hold me,โ you whispered. โThey create music through which many survive. They take care of people... How are they not beautiful?โ
His eyes softened. Something fragile... something that had been held in for too long... began to shift. So you leaned in. And you kissed his nose. Slowly. Gently. Then his cheek. Then his jaw. Lingering. Intentional.
Like you were undoing every word he had ever told himself. โYouโre enough,โ you murmured against his skin.
His arms wrapped around you again. Tight. Almost desperate. Like he needed to feel you, needed to make sure you were real. You held him just as tightly. Fingers in his hair, nails tracing pattenr's on his back through his shirt.
โIโm sorry...โ he whispered into your shoulder.
โFor what?โ
โFor not telling you, for acting like it didnโt matter.โ
You shook your head, pressing your cheek against his. โYou survived the only way you knew how,โ you said softly. โIโm not mad at you for that.โ He exhaled slowly. โBut you donโt have to do it alone anymore.โ
His grip tightened again. You felt it. The shift. The way he leaned into you just a little more. Like he was finally letting himself.
โStay tonight?โ he murmured. You pulled back just enough to look at him. A small, soft smile formed.
โAlways, love.โ His lips curved faintly. Real. Tired. But real.
You leaned in again, kissing him slowly. This time deeper, warmer, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, holding him there. He melted into it, like he had been holding everything in all day and finally had somewhere to put it down.
When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. โYouโre not alone anymore, Christopher,โ you whispered. His eyes closed for a moment.
And this time he didnโt argue.
--
A/N:
yes i came off my hiatus just to post this, i havent proof read it and i will prolly disappear again for god knows how long. Stay safe!
Someone please tell chan we are proud of him. It was painful watching him laugh it off on bubble.
synopsis: another bubble video from Chrisโit was routine by now. but ever since you first watched it, you couldn't get that necklace out of your head, and the thoughts you had were a little outside the norm, even for you. (2,9k words)
warnings: unprotected sex; oral sex (f!receiving); dry humping; lots of edging; teasing; praising; nipple play; overstimulation
authorโs note: unless he stops posting videos on bubble, I wonโt stop writing about them, never.
taglist open! comment under this post to join.
For about ten minutes now, youโve been fixated on the video Chris sent on Bubble. With your breath hitching and your lips parted, you took him in piece by piece: the upward glance he gave each time, the flex of his biceps, the way his chest swelledโฆ and then there was the necklace.
You hadn't expected it to affect you this much, but the anticipation of him arriving and what youโd do together had completely taken over. So many thoughts were flooding your mind thatโ
โIโm home, baby.โ Hearing the door close followed by Chrisโs voice, you quickly swiped out of the video and bolted upright from the couch.
โHey, babe.โ With a soft smile playing on your lips, you masked your anticipation. You closed the gap between you to press a lingering kiss to his lips.
Chris returned the kiss, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you in. When he pulled away just enough to see your face, he tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. โWhatโs with that look?โ
You just shrugged, blinking up at him through your lashes while your gaze drifted back to his necklaceโthe one that had been stuck in your head all day, sparking thoughts that were anything but innocent. โNothingโฆโ You managed, forcing your gaze back to his face, but it was too lateโChris had clearly caught on that something was up.
Chris let out a low chuckle and shook his head slowly. โCโmon, spill it. Whatโs on your mind?โ
You let out a deep sigh, unable to stop yourself from smiling as you looped your fingers around his chain to pull him closer. โYou really havenโt gotten tired of posting those videos on Bubble, have you?โ
Chris raised a brow, giving you a look of mock surprise. โWhat have you cooked up in your mind this time? Letโs hear it.โ
Instead of answering, you crashed your lips against his. You felt him gasp into the kiss before his arms hooked around your waist, pulling you in. โThat damn necklace has been torturing me all dayโฆโ You murmured against his lips as you started backing him toward the bedroom.
He pulled back just an inch to breathe, a soft laugh escaping him. โYouโre insane.โ He said, shaking his head slightly before returning to the kiss.
His hands tightened their grip on your waist, his mouth slanted over yours again and again, hungrier each time, until youโre making him stumble backward under the sheer force of you. He spins you around, guiding you with a control that makes your breath hitch, and when your knees hit the edge of the bed, you collapse onto the mattress, breathless.
He doesnโt stop kissing you as his body follows yours down, hovering above you, caging you in. The weight of him doesnโt touch you fully, but itโs close enough that you feel his heat radiating through the fabric of his tank top, the ridges of his muscles shifting with every move.
His lips move over yours with a rougher edge now, pressing harder, deeper, like heโs determined to fulfill your dreams. The cool scrape of his necklace teases you at every angle, sending sparks down your spine, and every time you gasp for air, he seizes the chance to taste you deeper, his tongue stroking yours with maddening precision.
Your hands instinctively fly up, fingers tangling in his necklace, and you grip his shoulders, dragging him closer. He smirks against your mouth, knowing exactly what that means.
โWant me to lose the necklace?โ He asked between kisses with a knowing grin, clearly aware of the answer before the words even left his mouth.
โNo, noโabsolutely not.โ You shook your head rapidly, your fingers curling tighter around the chain.
That smirk of his grows slow, dangerous. โYouโre driving me crazyโฆโ He murmurs, his voice low, taunting, and his chest heaving against yours.
He captures your bottom lip gently between his teeth, his hands roaming over yours possessively. His fingers hook into the thin straps of your top, playing with them teasingly. The kiss turns hungry, passionate. His other hand slides up your thigh, getting closer to the sensitive area between your legs.
His thumb traces the edge of the thin fabric of your shorts before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
And then he plants his mouth on your neck and sucks softly, full lips flush with your heated skin, which pulls a gasp from you and sends shivers down your spine. His lips and tongue leave gentle marks as he trails kisses down to your collarbone. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing against the undersides of your breasts through the soft fabric.
When you gasp, he smirks against your skin before biting down gently on that sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands slowly push the straps of your top down, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze.
He pulls back, his lips shining with saliva, groaning before pressing his face in between your soft mounds, his hands gripping your hips, grinding his against you.
He inhales deeply like heโs trying to breathe you in. His hands squeeze your hips possessively, grinding his hardness against you.
He presses kisses to the valley between your breasts, looks up at you, his pupils dilated with desire. โYouโre perfectโฆ Gosh.โ
You look down at him. โChrisโฆ please.โ You say breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair lightly.
โPlease what?โ He asks, eyes locked on yours as he switches his attention to the other breast, sucking harder this time as his hands tighten their hold on your hips.
You can feel exactly how hard he is as he grinds against youโthick and straining against his pants.
Your hips lifting to meet his, moaning as your back arches off of the bed, hands tugging at his curls. โI-I need youโฆ Chris, pleaseโโ
He groans against your breast, and without waiting any further he takes your top off following with his; grinding against your hips, the friction is delicious, his thick length sliding between your folds even through the fabric of his pants and your soaked shorts. He wraps his lips around your nipple again, sucking hard as his teeth graze the sensitive bud.
His fingers curl under the waistband of your shorts and slide them down your legs along with your panties. He kisses your thighs as he slides the drenched fabric down before throwing it to the side, eyes locked on the wet flesh before him.
His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you lying before himโlegs spread open for him. He kisses a path up your inner thighs, his hands pushing your legs further apart to give him better access.
The first swipe of his tongue is slow, deliberate, tracing the seam of your folds as if heโs savoring the taste. โFuck, Chrisโโ You breathe, your thighs instinctively clenching around his head, but Chris only smirks against you, his tongue pressing deeper.
The sight alone makes your head spinโChris on his knees between your thighs, broad shoulders spread against the mattress, his mouth buried in your wetness while his chain dangles with every drag of his tongue. When his eyes lift to meet yours, it feels like the air gets knocked out of your lungs.
You canโt look away. Heโs watching you as he eats you out, watching every twitch, every gasp, every desperate shift of your hips. His lips glisten with your arousal, the silver chain catching the light each time he drags his tongue across your swollen clit.
โOh, Godโโ
The moan that breaks from your throat seems to fuel him. His tongue moves faster, his mouth gets greedier, and when the overwhelming pleasure makes you grab at his hair, tugging hard, he groans into your cunt like he can die happily at the moment. The vibration sends another shockwave through you, your hips bucking against his face.
He doesnโt relent. If anything, he doubles down, one hand pinning your thigh open while the other presses hard against your hip to hold you in place. His tongue works you in slow, devastating strokes one second and rapid, precise flicks the next, always bringing you right to the edge before easing off, dragging another shameless moan out of you.
โLouder.โ He mutters against your slick folds, voice muffled but clear enough for you to comprehend. โLet me hear you.โ His eyes are still locked on yours, dark and glinting with something both menacing and unbearably hot.
Your thighs tremble, every muscle in your body strung tight as Chris devours you. The relentless drag of his tongue, the sinful words he saidโitโs all too much and yet not enough. You can feel it coming, the swell in your belly, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until youโre right there, seconds away from snapping. Your voice breaks on his name, desperate, needy. โChrisโpleaseโoh, Godโโ
Your cry cuts off into a frustrated whimper as he pulls back just enough to let the cool air ghost over your drenched cunt. He licks his lips deliberately, catching your taste on his tongue as he smirks up at you.
โNot yet, baby.โ He says, voice low and smug. His thumb traces lazily along your inner thigh, close enough to make you shiver but never touching where you need him the most. โYou sound too good when youโre begging, love.โ
You glare down at him, chest heaving, but itโs impossible to hide the way your hips twitch, aching for more, and his smirk deepens.
โDonโt look at me like that, cโmon.โ He murmurs, leaning in to press one slow, devastating lick up your slit. Your body jerks, but he pulls back before you can chase the sensation. โIโll give it to you when I think youโve earned it.โ
Youโre panting, flushed, and your hands are still tangled in his hair, torn between yanking him back down and pushing him away before he ruins you.
But Chris settles himself between your thighs again, utterly unhurried, eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he teases another languid stroke over your folds. You can feel yourself getting wetter, needier, desperate to give in.
His mouth hot and hungry against your core. His tongue curls just right, and the pressure builds so fast itโs almost unbearable. Your back arches, thighs trembling as you gasp his name, so closeโ
โFuckโChrisโโ You let out a strangled cry, tugging hard at his hair as he pulls away for the second time, just when youโre seconds away from falling over the edge.
โNot yet. I wanna hear you scream for it.โ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking like the cocky devil he is.
Your hips buck toward him, shameless now, but he just presses a hand to your stomach, pinning you down. His touch is firm but teasing, like he owns the pace, owns youโwhich he does.
The next time his mouth returns, itโs worse but better. He alternates between deep, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, never settling long enough to push you over the edge. Youโre dripping, writhing beneath him, the sheets damp beneath you. Your moans are wrecked, pleading, begging without even realizing. Again, right as your body clenches and youโre seconds away, he pulls back with a wicked grin.
You nearly sob.
You choke out a frustrated sound, glaring at him through your haze of need. โYouโre so fucking cruel.โ
Chris only laughs under his breath, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hand goes to the waistband of his pants, and when he tugs them down, your breath hitches even though youโve seen it a thousand times. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy, the tip wet. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, heat coiling even tighter in your stomach.
He fists himself slowly, lazily stroking up his thick length as he looks at you with that grin of his. โWho is cruel now, huh?โ
Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, but his other hand pushes them open again, spreading you wide for him as he pumps himself, letting you watch.
The sight alone has you dripping, clenching around nothing, your body betraying your protest.
โYouโre quiet now.โ He teases, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock as he groans softly. He leans forward, letting his tip drag up your soaked folds, not pushing inโjust enough to make you gasp.
Your lips part, a shaky breath leaving you, your eyes fixed on him. The edging, the sight of his swollen cock so close, the teasing wordsโit all winds you tighter, pushing you closer to breaking.
โYou want me to fuck you properly? Then take me. Every inch of it.โ His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch is overwhelming, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders.
Your body clenches desperately around him. You take himโevery inch of himโwith your back arching into the sheets, and Chris notices.
โFuckโโ He breathes, low and wrecked, before his smirk curls back in place. โYouโre taking me so well.โ
Without warning, he draws his cock almost all the way out, leaving you painfully empty, only to slam back inside with a force that makes you cry out in pleasure.
โYeahโโ He groans, watching your body react to the thrust. โThatโs what I want. That sound. Just like that, baby.โ
He repeats it, cruelly slow withdrawal, then a brutal snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. With every thrust, his necklace brushes against your jaw, making you clench around him even tighter as your moans grew louder. Each time he slammed in harder, heโs hitting that spot inside you that makes your body writhe.
His pace grows erratic, his hips snapping against yours with raw urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin mixes with your ragged moans, with his sharp grunts.
It feels like the world has shrunk to just thisโjust him inside you, stretching you, filling you, unraveling you.
As you stuck out your tongue and took his necklace into your mouth, you felt his breath caught in his throat sharply.
โFuckโโ He bites off his words with a moan, hips grinding deep into you, chasing the heat that coils tighter inside him.
Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him closer, and he groans when your walls clench around his cock. His control shatters further, his thrusts harder, needier, less measured. โShitโif you keep clenching around me like that, Iโm gonnaโโ
He can barely finish his sentence. He buries himself to the hilt, grinding against your spot with desperate precision.
Your moans spilling into his mouth, feeding his loss of control. Your body trembles beneath him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his waist.
Every thrust drags another broken moan out of you, your body overstimulated, yet he just keeps pushing deeper, slower at first, savoring the way you whimper and twitch beneath him. He takes your breast into his mouth again, tongue flicking your nipple, and you nearly sob at how good it feels.
Your nails rake down his back, leaving red trails on his skin, and he only groans, fucking into you harder.
All you can hear is the sound of Chrisโs hips slamming into you, the wet drag of him sliding in and out, and your own voice breaking with cries of pleasure you canโt hold back.
He leans in, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he growls. โCome with me.โ
The words push you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, your walls spasming wildly around his cock as you scream his name. He thrusts erratically, chasing his own release, and with a guttural moan, he follows, hot spurts of cum flooding your cunt, filling you as his body tenses, arms crushing you to him.
โFuck, yesโtake it all" He grunts, mouth back on your nipple, sucking through the aftershocks.
He collapses against you at last, chest heaving, sweat-slick skin pressed to yours. for a long moment, thereโs only breathingโyour mingled gasps, the sound of your hearts trying to slow.
His weight is heavy, grounding, and you donโt mind at all. Your arms are still around him, holding him close, as though if you let go the moment might slip away.
You feel the tremor in his shoulders when he exhales a shaky laugh against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. He presses a kiss there, lingering, soft in contrast to everything before.
โFuckโฆโ He mutters, still catching his breath, โYou were so good for meโ Another kiss, this time to your collarbone, his lips curved into a small, proud smile, โSo perfect, every second. And alsoโฆ I didnโt know you had a thing for my necklaceโโ
โThatโs notโoh, shut up.โ You say, flushed and embarrassed.
Chris let out a low chuckle in amusement. โHonestlyโฆ it was hot as fuck, the thing you did, when you took it into your mouthโโ
โChrisโฆ please.โ You groan in protest, a flush creeping up your face with his words.
At this moment, he canโt stop his laughter, he dangles his necklace just to get under your skin.
โStop it, Goshโฆโ You groan in annoyance but canโt help the way your lips curl upward slightly.
He bites back a grin before leaning in to whisper in your ear. โTell me now, what kinks do you have that I donโt know?โ
You groaned again and you knew that no matter how much you denied it, he wouldn't believeโand he wasn't going to let it rest.
let me know your thoughts about the fic in the comments below, thanks for reading :)
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The keys jingled in Chanโs hand when everyone spilled out of the restaurant in a laughing, stumbling mess.
Not drunk drunk โ just loose with the night. Warm from soju and beer, cheeks flushed pink, voices louder than usual, every joke suddenly the funniest thing anyone had ever heard.ย
Three rental cars waited beneath the streetlights, still dusty from the beach parking lot earlier that afternoon.
โOkay,โ Changbin announced from the other side of the lot, pointing dramatically. โStrong team with me.โ
โYou mean loud team,โ Seungmin said.
โYou mean nightmare team,โ Jeongin corrected.
You ended up in the second car exactly where youโd expected: Han was already climbing into the backseat, somehow still carrying snacks in his hoodie pocket (and probably in his cheeks as well), Felix sitting beside him with his seatbelt half twisted, and Chan standing by the driverโs door, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand.
He looked beautiful in the soft, ugly parking-lot lighting. Which was unfair.
Cap low over his forehead. Sleeves pushed to his elbows. Hair messy from wind and seawater. His smile was there, touched with the kind of tired happiness that comes after a day well spent.ย
Heโd only had one drink hours ago and switched to water after, but the day had been long โ sun, swimming, driving, making sure everyone was where they needed to be, checking maps, checking reservations, checking on members, checking on you every ten minutes like you might evaporate.
You stepped closer. โBaby.โ
His head lifted immediately. โHm?โ
โLet me drive.โ
His eyebrows rose. โYou wanna drive?โ
โYou're tired. And I'm sober too.โ
โItโs okay. I can do it.โย
โI know that you can,โ you said softly. โBut you donโt need to. Youโre tired.โ
โIโm fine.โ
โYou just tried to unlock the car with the house key.โ
Chan let out a soft laugh, head dropping for a second, and you saw it then: the real exhaustion under the playful refusal. The kind he always ignored.
You reached for his wrist.
His fingers turned instinctively, fingers sliding through yours like they belonged there.
Your voice dropped so only he could hear.
โChris.โ
That did it. It always did.
His eyes flicked to yours.
You reached up, face leaning in towards his, and smoothed a thumb under one of his eyes. โYouโve been taking care of everyone all day. Please let me take care of you for twenty minutes.โ
Something in his expression shifted.
Small. Barely there.
That look he only got when you slipped past the leader everyone knew and spoke to the man underneath it all.ย
He glanced down at your joined hands, thumb brushing once over your knuckles. Then he sighed through a smile and leaned his forehead against yours.ย
From the backseat, Felix made a scandalized little sound. โTheyโre being cute again.โย
โThey can do that any other time,โ Han whined. โI wanna fall into bed.โย
Chan huffed a laugh through his nose and pulled back.
โYou sure?โ
โMhm.โ
โYou know the route?โ
You nodded and held out your hand.
After a second, he dropped the keys into your palm.ย
โOkay.โ
You smiled and tipped your head towards the passenger side. โGo on then.โ
Chan blinked at you once, clearly too tired to argue, then shuffled around the front of the car without protest.ย
As he turned, you gave him a light, friendly smack on the butt.ย
He stopped mid-step and turned back, scandalized. โHey.โย
โPassenger princes donโt talk back, baby,โ you said sweetly, opening the driverโs door.ย
Chan shook his head under his breath, smiling now despite himself, and slid into the passenger seat.ย
You settled behind the wheel, adjusting the seat back from where Chan had it too far for your comfort. His cologne lingered in the fabric, mixed with salt air and the faint scent of sunscreen.ย
From the backseat, Han gasped dramatically. โSheโs driving?โย
โOh, youโll survive,โ you said, fixing the rearview mirror until Han's face appeared in it. โIf not, youโre also welcome to walk back.โย
He slumped lower in his seat, arms folding across his chest in exaggerated sulkiness. โ โwas just saying, your driving is kind of scary.โย
โYou donโt even have a license,โ you said, starting the engine. โSeatbelt, Jisung.โย
โThatโs why my opinion is pure,โ Han said, reaching for the seatbelt with a pout. โUnbiased. Untainted by experience.โย
Felix laughed so hard he immediately yawned afterward, eyes watering.ย
Chanโs mouth twitched, trying not to smile.
โโโโโ
Five minutes later, Han was dead aleep.
The road curved dark and quiet along the coast, the sea only visible in flashes between trees.
Chan sat in the passenger seat with the chair leaned farther back than he ever let himself do.ย
But he kept looking at you.
Every time you glanced over, his eyes were already there.
He had one arm folded across his middle, the other tucked between you on the center console where his fingers occasionally squeezed yours. Not out of nervousness, but out of habit.
The boys in the back had gone from loud to silent with shocking speed.ย
Han was asleep first, cheek smushed against Felixโs shoulder, mouth slightly open.ย
Felix lasted another three songs before his head tipped sideways onto Hanโs hair.ย
You glanced in the rearview mirror and nearly laughed.
โLook.โ
Chan turned his head.ย
His smile came slow and helpless.
โThey always act tough,โ he said quietly, โthen become babies after one drink.โ
You smiled as well. โYou gonna carry them inside later?โ
โThe hell I will.โ
You hummed innocently. โBut theyโre your babies.โ
โTheyโre adults,โ he said at once. โHeavy adults. They just happen to complain a lot and expect to be pampered.โย
โYou raised them that way.โ
โI did not.โ
โYou absolutely did.โ
He gave a soft scoff but didnโt argue harder than that.ย
Sleep was already pulling at him now, loosening every sharp edge. Without the need to steer, navigate, count heads, answer questions, make decisions, remind people to hydrate, remember where everyone left their bagsโ
There was nothing left for him to hold up.
No leader face.
No responsibility voice.
Just your boyfriend, warm, happy and slowly falling asleep in the passenger seat.ย
His thumb traced over your knuckles once. Twice.
โYouโre staring,โ you murmured.
โIโm appreciating.โย
โYou should rest those eyes, not look at me.โ
โCanโt help it. You look really pretty when you drive.โย
You laughed under your breath. โThatโs the sleep talking, babe.โย
โNo.โ His eyes were half closed, voice low and certain. โBeen thinking it for ten minutes.โย
โShouldnโt you be resting?โ
He leaned his head back against the headrest. โCanโt.โ
โWhy?โ
โLike looking at you.โ
You stopped at a red light. The intersection was empty, traffic signal glowing red over the quiet road.
You looked over at him again.ย
He was already looking at you.
Slowly, he lifted his free hand.
His fingers brushed your cheek first, palm settling there gently like he wanted to hold your face for a second before anything else. His thumb swept once across your cheekbone, slow and absentminded.ย
Then, he leaned across the console and kissed you.
Soft.
Unhurried.
Sleepy in the sweetest way.ย
You froze for half a heartbeat before kissing him back, one hand tightening on the wheel, the other moving to rest on his shoulder.
He was warm, lips slow and gentle on yours.
As he pulled away, your stomach flipped so hard it made you forget where you were.ย
When you opened your eyes, it took you a second to remember the car, the road, the sleeping passengers.
You turned your head.
Han was still dead asleep against Felix, entirely unaware of the world.ย
Felix hadnโt moved at all, breathing deep, arms wrapped around his folded jacket like a stuffed animal.ย
You let out a slow breath and looked back at Chan.ย
Who looked impossibly soft like this.
Hoodie half-zipped. Curls messy beneath his cap. Lips parted slightly with sleepiness.
And his eyes โ so full of love โ it made something in your chest ache.
โTired?โ you asked softly.ย
โNo.โ
โClose your eyes.โ
โCanโt.โ
โWhy?โ
โNeed to make sure everyone gets home safe.โ
Your chest ached in that familiar way.
Even now.
Even here.
Even with his members unconscious in the back and the day finally over, he was still holding the invisible strings of everyone elseโs comfort.
You reached over and squeezed his arm.
โIโve got them,โ you said. Then softer, โIโve got you too.โ
He went very still.
Then exhaled like heโd been waiting all day to.
When the light changed, you gave him one last smile before turning back to the road and easing the car forward.ย
โYouโre cute,โ he mumbled after a minute.ย
โYouโre delirious.โ
โProbably.โ
โYou happy?โ you asked.
โMhm.โ
โWhy?โ
He leaned his head against the window, still watching you.
โMy girlfriendโs driving me home~โ
You snorted. โThatโs all it takes?โ
โSheโs pretty.โ
โChristopher.โ
โShe smells nice too.โ
โYouโre half-asleep.โย
โIโm in love.โ
The words came so simply, so sleep-heavy and sincere, that your chest tightened.
You squeezed his hand.
โGo to sleep.โ
โYes, maโam.โ
He squeezed your hand back once, then his grip loosened as sleep began pulling him under, yet still holding onto your hand like he didnโt know how not to.
OR โ when chan meets his boiling point after your relationship is leaked, boundaries are crossed, and your wellbeing is on the line. nobody fucks with his baby.
idolbf!chan x girlfriend!reader
word count: 6.4k
content: fluff, fulfilling ending, mild angst (worries of forced breakup), angry leader mode chan, relationship is leaked and internet makes big deal of idols in love, reader is shoved around and touched in public, chan doubts himself A LOT, readerโs protection comes first, skinship (chanโs way of knowing reader his okay) lack of protection from security so chan takes things into his own hands, reader is hurt to the head, very very angry chan, eating food, chan kisses reader in between eating
authorโs note: wrote up on this anonโs request, thank you so much for requesting! took a few creative liberties hope you donโt mind! writing this got me thinking about how chan deserves domestic life where he can do as he pleases without scrutiny :โ) this was made with love and tender care as always <3
โ
That feeling when you know the good streak is going to end soon. The suspicion that things are going too well. Chan felt it in his trainee days every time he got closer to success before being pushed back. He feels it when the day goes too perfectly in the studio and rehearsal, all for Chan to feel a sickness overtake him or one of the boys. He feels it in the sound of joy and the feeling that pairs with it, followed by the dread of knowing this high will wane off.
That dread followed him into sleep, and was only bated by the girl who he took into his arms each night.
Chan had once found comfort in the sound of an airplane engine from the inside seating. It meant he was doing something new, being somewhere new and exciting. Getting to see the world and explore what it had to offer was his specialty.
All that fills his stomach is that familiar dread. He finds himself wanting to hide from the world, because as of right now, you've fallen victim to his lifestyle.
Staff had informed Chan when the plane was refueling for the journey from Seoul to Milan of something out of nightmare. Of all the things that staff could've informed Chan of, he would've rather preferred that all of the luggage was lost in transit to the loading station.
They'd tried to be as calm and placating as possible, he'll give staff that. Not that Chan is easily angered so long as something can be resolved with communication. However, when he saw the look on their faces, it was all over.
You were on the plane, curled up in your seat in a cocoon of a throw blanket and his black distressed hoodie. Peaceful, an image of bliss with the hood drawn up over your face.
Staff had handed him a phone. Said phone had a simple picture. If it was a third party viewing, they'd have no idea what they were seeing. However, Chan knew better. That picture was taken from a strange angle, perverse and unbeknownst to the two subjects in the photo. A high angle from something like a building or a parking complex. Those subjects were you and Chan, a snapshot taken hours earlier when you and Chan were coming out of the company van before boarding.
It was unmistakably Chan in that photo, it couldn't be hidden. His blonde fringe was peaking out of his black Chrome Hearts beanie. There was a lack of people aside from staff and you-- sweet and innocuous to the photo as you clamber out of the van behind him. Empty handed, and Chan holding your carry on with a small Wolf-Chan keychain hanging off the zipper.
Worst of all, he's holding your hand. His eyes are forward, a small content look on his face. You look all sleepy and lax. It's such a simple action, barely anything that anyone should care for. But suddenly, your hand in his feels like the end of the world.
Not for him, but for you. Which you may never recover.
It's a dark photo. It's pixelated and rough and it still had Chan's heart sinking to stomach in such a fast decline, he'd rushed to the bathroom to dry heave over the bowl. He's thankful that Fendi had provided Chan with a private jet for Fashion Week. Chan doesn't know if he could've handled any more prying eyes than the one's on the internet who must've been dissecting that picture.
When he'd come back from the bathroom, and down the aisle to his seat, staff is already looking at him. He rubbed his clammy palms on his sweatpants and reclined in his seat. He hates the look on their faces, equal parts pity and "I knew this was a bad idea". Love was never a bad idea when it came to you.
You, who is still sleeping soundly. Who wonโt wake up until Chan says so, to let you keep as much peace to yourself as possible.
You donโt deserve this. You donโt deserve any of what is waiting after this flight.
That was hours ago. And naturally, Chan has been a ticking time bomb with his head in his hand against the armrest of his seat. He couldnโt work on his beats. Music was just a reminder of why he was in this situation in the first place. That was the cruelty of being an idol, a suffering he never thought heโd feel.
Chan yearned for love for so long, and you fell into his lap like a blessing. Would it be taken away? Would the damage be too much to mend?
The jet is landed on the private strip, but thereโs a week ahead of him with interactions and paparazzi. Thereโs fans and detractors. News outlets and media and messages andโ
โSweetheartโฆ? Weโre landed.โ Be a leader. Do it for her. Be her brave man.
Chanโs voice tries to coax you away, running a crooked finger over your cheek. That was something constant, his comfort. Heโd never give that up, he felt he was doing something right in this moment of strife in his mind. He pulls the hood back of your, no, his hoodie and watches your eyes go back and forth under your eyelids before they crack open to the harsh interior lighting.
It makes his chest hurt and his throat ache. Youโre too peaceful for the news heโs about to don on you.
โHeyโฆโ you whisper, voice all tired and rasped with sleep. Chan smiles lopsided, a boyish grin that wavers at the corners of his mouth. Be brave.
โSleeping beautyโฆ All good?โ
โAll goodโฆโ
God, he feels like the biggest bastard on planet Earth. Does someone have information on you by now? Are there netizens wishing ill upon you? Do they even know who you are, maybe someone found your private socials. What if they found your family, your jobโ
โChannieโฆ? Are you good?โ
Youโd sat more upright while Chanโs eyes turned vacant and distant, like he was looking past you. He realizes his smile is vanished, the tips of his ears feel hot and pounding with the rush of blood. And if thereโs one thing Chan isnโt, itโs a liar. He can be cheeky. He can tease. But this? This isnโt something he can shield you from. And that terrifies him to his bones.
You repeat his name again, more serious as you say โChris?โ and put a hand over his. Heโs shaking like heโs been left in sub-zero temperature. But his temperature feels hot and clammy.
The sound of staff unloading his and your carry ons is like white noise. He feels like his clothes are touching him funny. His knee is bouncing a bit. And youโre still looking at him with those heartbreakingly soft eyes.
Your eyes look to staff, men and women who refuse to meet eyes with you. And that speaks volumes. Somethingโs wrong, they just carry on as if they know this behavior of Chanโs will take a minute to recoup. Your hand finds his, remembering an off-time something similar to this happened before.
Chan had come off stage after a performance and just slumped against you. Shaking. Vacant eyes, like now. Like if he didnโt focus on breathing, heโd forget how.
So, there you go. Taking his hand into his and rubbing soothingly.
โHey, heyโฆ Chris, look at meโฆ Breathe, Iโm here. Iโm not going anywhere.โ
You tell him to breathe, and Chan feels like it suddenly becomes harder. Because you can see heโs a wreck. Youโre not supposed to see him like this, heโs supposed to take care of you, of everyone. He nods, hurried and childish, his eyes looking down at your hand. You said, โIโm not going anywhereโ, but Chan doesnโt know if thatโll ring true in a few hours.
Itโs just you and him, he ignores the sound of staff talking about him and what they should do with the situation in low voiced Korean.
โChrisโฆ Talk to me, what happened?โ
Youโre such a sweetheart. Sweetheart. He knew he chose right in giving you that nickname years ago. You loved the Australian lilt in the way he said it, and he loved the way it made you permanent in his life. Youโre so fucking sweet, you donโt even think for a second that something utterly terrible just happened.
Chan takes a deep breath, lungs filling and deflating in a few seconds. Rattling. How does he say this to you? How does he tell you that for the first time in his life, he might fail in protecting someone he loves? His voice comes out weaker than he expects it to, like a wince.
โThereโsโฆ they found out.โ
Heโs met with silence. A soft murmur from staff pretending to busy themselves with cleaning out the jet cabin. Theyโre really just making sure Chan doesnโt pass out on them.
You stop that sweeping motion of your thumb over his hand. He feels when you squeeze his hand for a millisecond. Such a sweetheartโ you donโt need him to explain. Not when youโve had conversations like this before. โFinding outโ. It made it sound like the love that you both shared was something wrong. Illicit. Perverse.
Chan watches that fear spark in your face. He knows all your little tells, because now youโre not even looking at his own face anymore. But in a miracle from above, that little sweeping motion of your thumb starts up again. Youโre comforting him.
โAlrightโฆ Okay, umโฆ H-How did theyโฆ Walk me through it.โ
He blinks twice. Youโre an insane and stupidly amazing woman. He almost wants to laugh. He couldโve told you the sky was falling and youโd justโฆ ask for the prognosis?
โSomeone, umโฆ took a, uhโฆ a picture. At the airport, in the back lotโฆ Staff is trying to trace the person back, umโฆ Y-You canโt really see you very well, but I am holding your hands and luggage, which someone is totally going to research and stalk intoโโ
You coughed a laugh. A beautiful sound bubbling out of you that gives Chan a reprieve from his turmoil. A few heads of staff look at you warily. His eyes narrow, roving over you as a nervous, grimaced smile appears on his face.
โIโm sorry?โ he says, voice cracking at the end.
โN-No, Iโmโฆ Iโm sorry, evenโฆ Even when our relationship is leakedโฆ youโre putting yourself first.โ
โDonโt. Donโt start, sweetheart.โ
Chan knows where youโre going with this, and you still sit upright all noble and so damn wonderful.
โYou remember the first time we talked about this?โ
How could he not? Youโd been dating for 3 months, but Chan had already knew it was serious. Something built and crafted carefully to last. He wasnโt letting you get away. You were so insane, waking up at all sorts of odd hours to walk with him when the boys were asleep after heโd brainstormed some lyrics or instrumentals.
Youโd walk side by side to the Han River. The city was quiet and lit up with city lights on the horizon that looked like stars reflected back on the water. Heโd told you being with him wouldnโt be easy. Loving him wouldnโt be easy, was what he wanted to say.
Youโd looked up at him like heโd said the dumbest thing ever, and said a cheesy line about โnot wanting it if itโs easyโ.
Chan grinned all square and dimpled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head to assuage his nerves. Heโd then told you that heโd have to treat you like a secret. That he couldnโt love you as freely as he wanted, but he wanted you nonetheless. Told you he knew it wasnโt fair and he understood if you wanted a way out.
Youโd flicked his nose and called him stupid. You said you knew what you got yourself into the moment that he said he was an idol. You made it clear in your little declaration that you werenโt going anywhere when you said jokingly, staring into the dark water of the river, โSomeone will have to pry you from my cold, dead handsโ.
Smitten. Absolutely in love with you. He knew you were serious, thatโs how you loved. With pure intentions and strength.
So as he looks upon you now, and you ask him if he remembers the terms youโd both set up, the mutual understanding of how this would all go? He nods. A bit shy for even thinking youโd turn away and cower from this. You duck your head a bit to meet his gaze and smile when he averts his eyes again.
โYes, this is scary. Believe me, Channie, Iโmโฆ Iโm really scared right nowโโ
โPlease donโt be scared, sweetheart.โ
โChannie. Listen.โ
That quiets him. Lips faltering for a rebuttal to quell you. He doesnโt like the thought of you being in fear. But he listens anyhow, even with the underlying discomfort.
โIโm scared right now. This veryโฆ finite moment. I told you I knew what I was getting intoโฆ It was bound to happen, okay? A-And yeah, we didnโt get to announce on our own terms, butโฆ It feels kind of freeing, doesnโt it? Liberating.โ
You truly are insane. Any other sane person would be hyperventilating at the idea of millions knowing of their relationship. Something seen as โtabooโ in the industry yet here you are again. Calling the murder of your livelihood liberating.
Chan shakes his head, already tasking for the worst. โThe second we get back home, Iโฆ I canโt even begin to prepare you for the shitstorm thatโs on its way.โ
โI know, Channieโฆโ
โThe company, I-Iโllโ Iโll work this out over the week here, theyโll issue a statement, theyโll say I was just helping a staff member out of the van in the pictureโ Weโll be okay, youโre okayโฆ Sweetheart, I canโt lose you.โ
Chan is a rambling mess and you see his face turn a bit pink. His brain is picking through every worst scenario to prepare for it. He doesnโt even want to check his phone to see what people are saying about you. People claiming to be Stays wishing the worst for you. For him.
โYouโre not losing me, Iโm not goingโโ
โYou canโt promise that. Not whenโฆ Not when they might force us apart.โ
Heโs not talking about distance people behind a screen. He means the company. Chanโs seen it his fair share of times before, and while Chan is more than welcome to date under his contractโฆ This could get messy. What if the boys are dragged into this? If people started blaming his Kids for menial things, what if his relationship with you breaks their careers?
He studied your silent face. That familiar, pensive look. His clever girl, he knows it all too well. Itโs the same face when youโre figuring out a board game with him, or deciphering the layers of music on his laptop when he shows you his proud work.
โNo one has that power over us.โ
Simple words. Chan swears his breathing stops for a moment before he releases it with a desperate whisper of your name.
โSweetheart, Iโฆ I can barely protect myself in this situationโฆโ
โLet me protect us for onceโฆ I-I canโt talk to masses orโฆ your company, but let me fight for us. Iโm not letting you slip away,โ you whisper into his skin as your lips come down onto his cheek, pulling back to see a small determination in Chanโs eyes.
Staff alerts him that they have ten minutes of personal time left before itโs time to go to claim luggage and head to the hotel. Right, the Fashion Week event. He was allowed to invite you with him, even if you couldnโt be seen with him. Or next to him. Or talk to him.
It all felt like an even bigger slight against you. Sweetheart, darling girl, who he wants to declare his love from the rooftops.
Chanโs eyes meet yours, and you give him your signature, beautiful yet halfhearted smile. Youโre trying to soothe him; and damn you, itโs working a bit. Even if itโs just a fraction. All he can do is endure. Thatโs what he does best.
He takes opens his backpack from under his seat, pulling out a medical grade disposable mask. His fingers ghost your skin as he places the loops around your ears securely. Even concealed like this heโd recognize you from a mile away. You say nothing as he tugs your hood back over your head, cupping the back gently with small little scratches.
โJust look forward. Donโt talk to anyone. Security should be around you, youโll be behind me. Ifโฆ If anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, say my name. I donโt care, baby, justโฆ Itโll be fast. Customs. Bags. Van. Hotel. Weโll work it out there, yeah?โ
A hastily formulated plan that is utterly him. Diagnostic.
A your lips tighten into a thin line before you exhale off nerves and exhaustion.
โOkay. Letโs go.โ
โI love you.โ
Chanโs declaration is sudden and whispered. Like staff doesnโt deserve to hear it right now, his private tender moment. He doesnโt know why he says it other than the feeling that it fit right into the moment. You bring his knuckles up to your lips. A promise. Youโll be okay.
โI love you, Chrisโฆ Iโll be close by. Donโt worry about me.โ
โ
A shit show. Chan is familiar with those.
The first thing he sees through the glass after going through customs was a swarm of paparazzi, press, and fans welcoming him for the weeks ahead. Nothing out of the ordinary, just another airport arrival.
No, the problem was when you were spotted. And fuck, heโd forgotten that hoodie you were wearing was his.
Amidst the snapping of camera shutters and flashes, his heart is racing. Heโs glad he too is wearing a mask on the lower half of his face, or youโd see how distraught he really was. Under the fabric of his tank top, his heart feels like itโs going to fly out of his chest.
Focus. Walk in silence. Make sure youโre safe.
The second thing Chan notices is that thereโs more people than usual. Or maybe the walls of the airport in Milan are more narrow than he remembers. The provided security of four men suddenly seems like nothing. He does the math as he walks when his bags are handed to him:
Youโre about 6 people away, tailing behind between staff and security. Donโt get distracted. I know you like sweets sweetheart, donโt look at the treats in the shops. God, Iโll buy you all the sweets you want when weโre at the hotel. Run you a bath and decompress to forget about this. Twenty minutes to the hotel, a ride should already be waiting.
The sound of people is louder. And the second Chan turns the corner and a guard opens the double doors of frosted glass, his heart sinks.
Cameras are naturally always on Chan. But for today especially, he wants them gone. Lenses, smartphones, all of it. Video equipment with recordings. A woman comes awfully close, to which he politely nods his head and continues walking.
More people swarm and he sees phones before he sees actual people. Security does their best to ward off these people, but he notices that with the amount of foot traffic, their entourage is moving slower. The sounds, the questions, the voices all grow more and more over time.
โChrisโโ
His head is turned in a heartbeat. He doesnโt care if he makes a fool of himself, heโs stopped dead in his tracks and looking back for you with a bobbing head. His body is jostled by the movements of the tight fit, the arms of security banding away the swathes of onlookers.
Your head is down. Youโre trying to move but you canโt. And someone has the audacity to grab at you by the arm? Heโs cutting through his own people, ignoring how cameras are shoved into his face, ignoring how thereโs so many bodies surrounding him as well. Youโre being tossed around like nothing, a few phones trying to duck under your head, and Chan is with you in a millisecond.
โDonโt touch people, please,โ he grits out as he forms a barrier between you and the people on your right side. Great. The crowd is held up, naturally as people wanted to convene to Chan. He has to add the formality of โpleaseโ as an afterthought. Youโd want him to be polite. Itโd be a meltdown if he said what he really wanted to.
What he wants to do is smack the phones out of every hand here and tuck you into his arms, walking out like a normal boyfriend would. He canโt afford that. Instead, his hand is ushered with a splayed palm between your shoulder blades. If Chan presses a bit into you to guide you further, he can feel the tension of your muscles.
The clamor of people asking him if this is staff or the โgirl from the pictureโ irritates him to no end. Security was told by Chan himself to corral around you, not him. And for heavens sake, can someone figure out a way from this tight squeeze of a crowd?
Someoneโs arm extends with a camera to catch a picture of Chan, andโ SMACK! Right against the side of your head. The movement causes you to hiss in pain and fall into Chan. He watches your eyes squeeze shut and your eyebrows pinch in pain. And heโs seething.
โAbsolutely notโ Weโre not gonna do that,โ he mumbles under his breath as he gives a disapproving look to the man who is the culprit. His hand reaches out, rings on his fingers and all and shoves the camera lens away a bit roughly. Itโs probably a thousand dollar camera lens, but youโre worth so much more. He can deal with the aftermath of that later.
I wanna smack that punk. Can I smack someone? Would you be okay with that? Probably notโฆ
Heโs then nodding a head to security to corral the man off. He keeps a tight arm around you, fingers itching to cradle your head to his chest. But heโs already doing so much, a display of affection would only make things descend further.
Nosy, mindless chatter about why Chan is being so protective of you. As if that should matter. Heโd do that for any of the people around him. Instead, all that people care of is if this is his partner, either wanted to sneer or pry a glimpse into her.
Another hand reaches out with a phone and Chan doesnโt even think twice before wrapping an arm around your shoulder to shield you. Itโs a bit forceful, and heโll apologize profusely later, but it pulls you into his side. Chan mumbles a curse under his mask and his eyebrows turn taught together.
The motion of moving bodies in the cluster is much easier to maneuver now that they can pass through an opening directed by staff and security. He doesnโt look at you, but he keeps a steady hand on you. So much for laying low, but he could just stand by and let you get hurt.
The second the two of you get into the van that was sent outside of the airport, staff helping you in and loading luggage, he doesnโt say anything. He didnโt even stop for a photo-op. He doesnโt reply when staff asks if he wants water. White noise, an annoying pinching in the back of his ear.
And when the van is out of view, blacked out windows and allโ Only then does he fuss over you, throwing off his mask.
He unbuckles his seatbelt, sliding across the back seat and hold you to him. Clammy hands cupping your face like a precious treasure. Your eyes frazzled and in shock, and it makes him whisper your name thrice into your hairline like a restoring prayer.
โOh my God, Iโm so sorryโ I was a total caveman back there, I had to grab you before anyone hurt youโฆ Youโre hurt arenโt you, from the cunt with the camera? Lemme seeโโ
Faster than the words can come out of him, Chanโs taking your mask off with gentle precision, but as fast as he can. Your hair is all mused when he draws back your hoodie, like a sleepy creature. But a few seconds ago you were just prey thrown into the den. Heโs rifling his hands through your scalp, trying to see if youโve got signs of bruising or bleeding where heavy equipment once stunned you.
โTell me if it hurtsโ Fuck, fuck this shit. โM fucking pissed right now, sweetheart. I swear, if even a hair is missing here, Iโm having words with everyone. Do you feel lightheadedโฆ Can I get some water up here please?โ
You look dazed, even with his soft touch, and Chan canโt tell if youโre going to sleep again or burst into a fit of nervous tears.
โHey, hey, heyโ Donโt do that, pleaseโ Talk to me, sweetheart.โ
He brings his hands back down to cradle the sides of your face, keeping your eyes on him. That mustโve been intense and scary for you, he canโt even begin to imagine whatโs going on in your head. You eventually clasp your hands over his wrists and let your forehead fall onto his shoulder, which makes Chan sigh in relief. At least youโre willing to be touched by him.
He slides his hands slowly up under the hoodie, under your shirt, to touch your bare skin. Youโre safe. Youโre okay. He doesnโt know if those internal words affirm him or you.
You lean into him, pressing your forehead into his neck. โIโm tired.โ
โI know, my sweet girlโฆ Iโm sorryโฆโ
โDonโt apologize,โ you whisper, lips pressed into his neck and trailing down to his shoulder as you rest your cheek flat. Chan feels your breath over his skin. Evened out and calm, though a bit stilted.
โThis is on me.โ So quick to blame, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, holding you tighter and smoothing his hands over your spine.
โOn youโฆ? Because someone took a picture when you couldnโt control it?โ
โI wish I could.โ
โBut you canโt, Channieโฆโ
And he knows that all too well. His perfectionism consumes him sometimes, it bleeds into your relationship. Never touching you, but seeping into the ways that he can shelter you from the public.
Not like a secret. But something sacred in the profane of his eclectic life.
But he canโt. Simple words from you always feel the strongest, like heโs seeing the world in a whole new light. Like youโre some wise sage.
Youโre not this unattainable being whoโs out of his grasp. Youโre right here. In front of him, with raucous laughter in a crowd thatโs as contagious as your smile. Animals come to you in the street, and you immediately bend down to coo and pet. You have a way of looking at the world that proves to Chan that good things are all around.
He canโt do it perfectly, but heโll try. Try his damn hardest to protect you even more, starting with talking to the company once youโre both home again.
Chan pulls back with pitiful eyes, smoothing his hands carefully over your head as they slide out from your clothes.
โAre you sure youโre not hurtโฆ? You took a hit, hm? Sweet, brave girlโฆโ Chan says as he smacks a kiss firmly onto your hairline. You hum and nod your head, just reminding yourself that no oneโs taking him from you. Not a messy breakup through a company mandated NDA. Not a public statement. Not through apologizing to upset fans for being in love.
You look up at him and see every reason why you fell in love with him in the first place. His tact and grit. The concern and worry in his eyes. His soothing touch. How he loves with his whole chest.
โI-I had a welcome dinner for the event, butโฆ Honestly, fuck that right nowโฆ Iโll send someone to represent me. You need me moreโ I need you.โ
The van drives over bumps and cracks in the road, and it sways you against Chan. A small noise breaks in his throat and he wraps his arms around you, chin atop your head as the ride continues to the hotel.
โ
Staying in the hotel room with you meant a complete detachment from any obligation that wasnโtโฆ well, just you.
Fendi brand representatives were more than understanding of the situation, offering a box of sweets to send up to the room as temporary remedial support. Youโd thought it was silly, a third party apologizing for something that wasnโt due to them.
You still accepted the box of pastries and cake, though.
Chan ran you a nice bath, as heโd promised to himself for you, sitting on the closed toilet lid and tracing his fingers over your back. He didnโt want to take his hands off you, not without thinking of the hands that were on you prior. Chanโs index runs down the back of your arm, where someone had attempted to pull you in that crowd.
Youโve got your knees tucked up to you, a plethora of lavender scented suds in the porcelain basin. Chanโs hands rake through your scalp to check for damage one last time before helping you dry off in a fluffy robe.
When it was Chanโs turn in the shower to clear his head, all he could think of was what to do with his anger. Letting the hot spray of water hit over him while you were probably lazing on the bed no doubt. You wouldnโt want him to hold onto his anger, but he couldnโt help it. When he was stripping to take his shower he was looking through all the buzz around you and him.
Photos from the airport. Saying Chan had a โmeltdownโ. Deep dives into who you might be, analyzing every minuscule detail to signs that you were always lingering under their noses. A clip of you getting hit in the head with the camera makes him want to gnaw on drywall until his teeth turn to sawdust.
He saunters out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, phone in hand and wet strands of blonde hair clinging to his forehead. Just as he presumed, youโre flipping through the room service menu, splayed out like a cloud.
You smile and turn a bit sheepish when you see his appearance. That lack of clothing that never fails to disarm you. He pushes his wet hair away from his forehead, and it sticks up in wild directions. Biting your lip, you singsong a โHey, handsome.โ
The tips of his ears turn red, but he just stares at you. Eyes darkened and expression sullen. Tired. Maybe it was the hot water, but you know heโs still thinking of earlier. How could he not?
โNo updates from me. They donโt get a lick of a word from me for a while.โ
Bubble. It sounds silly, but you know thatโs the best punishment Chan can offer. It sends a messageโฆ or in this case, a lack thereof. You snort and sit upright, musing, โYouโre doing the whole โpunish-the-entire-class-for-three-peopleโs-wrongdoingsโ shtick, huh?โ
The corners of his lips quirk upright, a dimple craters his face. โI mean it. This was an overstep. You know how much I hate that shit, babyโฆโ
Chan huffs as he throws himself onto the bed, purring like a cat as he feels your nails rake up and down his skin. He closes his eyes, sighing the tension out of his body. His cheek is pressed against his folded forearms as he speaks.
โSent some messages. People need to learnโฆ Told them off a bit, took my picture downโโ
โYour profile picture?โ you interrupt, a small laugh escaping you as he frowns.
โItโs the best I can do without completely losing it on everyone.โ
โOkayโฆ okay, whatโd you say in your messages?โ
Chan opens his eyes and looks up at you, grunting as he sits up on his elbows to give you his phone. He was already in the Bubble app when heโd come out of the bathroom:
๐ซง 260223
๐บ: It does not matter if I am with staff, a friend, the kids, a lover, etc. You do not behave like this. These people know who they are. You should know better, and it pains me to have to write this.
๐บ: On a personal level, leave the people around me alone ffs. Youโre here for the kids and I, not to push around the people in our lives. Do not write editorials on the people I hold dear to my heart. Donโt say bad things about my loved ones lol. I know them and you donโt.
๐บ: My choices. My decisions. Accept them or donโt bother being a fan.
๐บ: Diabolical.
๐บ: Donโt stick your camera right in my face
๐บ: Respect boundaries please
You look up from the phone and Chan isnโt looking at you anymore. Like heโs mulling over the thought of saying more on the messages. He pinches the lobe of his ear and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
โAs for youโฆ Iโve already emailed the company. Weโll announce it properly that youโre myโโ
โChristopher, are you seriousโ?โ
โโThat youโre the love of my lifeโฆ Youโre mine, and youโve been mine, and this whole day has been insane, but I donโt wantโฆ I donโt want peace if it isnโt with you.โ
Stunned to silence. This is a major step in his career, in his life. But it was bound to happen, even if it wasnโt on your own terms. He watches your mouth flounder for words and sits up on his elbows again, taking your hand in his.
โSweetheartโฆ Youโre not some dirty secret, you never wereโฆ Youโre not illicit, youโre mine. Iโm tired of hiding the things Iโm proud of. Youโve every piece of me, yeah? The ones that no one sees. Theyโve just been for each other,โ Chan leans against the headboard and brings your hand over his chest, your touch feeling how erratic his heart is beating. Heโs just as nervous as you are, even when heโs taking the lead.
Your eyes soften, throat feeling a bit tight with emotion. โWhat ifโฆ What if it goes badโฆ?โ
โThen it goes bad.โ
You laugh, a bit of a wet sound now that glossy tears are starting to pool in your eyes. He smiles so delicately, closing his eyes as he gives you slow popcorn kisses on your cheek to make you feel better.
โI learned that from a girl once. Sheโs amazing. She taught me that sometimes things are out of my control.โ
โShe sounds badass.โ
Chan grins, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he watches you wipe salty tears from your eyes in closed fists. โShe is. And Iโm gonna tell the whole world about her. Butโฆ thereโs a few things Iโm keeping private.โ
His nose brushes yours as he chases your eyes for contact. You feel your face heats with his intensity. How does he still manage to look at you like youโre the only woman on planet Earth?
โWhat would that be, Christopherโฆ?โ
โOh, itโs Christopher again now, is it?โ
He playfully kisses under your jaw and brings you down to play with him on the bed, keeping his arms tethered around you as you writhe from the tickling of his wet hair on your face.
โKeeping these moments private. When I have you to myselfโฆ Just like this," he mumbles against your skin, breathing in the smell of your skin and expelling warm breath against it. You always smell like something fresh to him. Something cozy and intimate that he can't put into words. "They'll know you as my girlfriend. It'll be official. And Stay can get off my ass about me being lonely... Let's order some food, yeah? Think I finally built up an appetite."
The remainder of the night is spent with the hotel curtains drawn at the balcony. Ordering whatever sounds most appetizing on the room service menu, and cozying up next to each other while trying to figure out how the TV channels work.
All he's ever wanted is for your ultimate happiness. Sometimes factors of life get in the way of that, but you're a constant. His Kids are a constant.
Chan watches you happily munch on a burger on the bed, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pets your head a little before puckering his plush lips to kiss you on yours mid chew, much to your chagrin as you groan and pull away. He takes a bite of a pizza slice.
"Channie, 'm eating..."
"Okay? Swallow and kiss me."
"That's what she said."
"Minx..."
You finish your bite and turn your head properly, looking up at him with expectant wide eyes. It makes Chan want to squish your face until your eyes pop out. Cuteness aggression.
Instead he leans in a bit, closes his eyes, and brings a hand under your chin to direct your lips onto his. In his mind, he thinks there's nothing more perfect than this, and that's coming from the master perfectionist. He trusts that you enjoy this longing kiss as much as he does when your lips move against his.
A small sound escapes him, like pure want. He pulls back before it goes any further and he swipes all this food away so he can satiate his other hunger.
โYouโre incredible,โ he breathes out, shaking his head as if he canโt believe youโre his. Youโve got him wrapped around your finger and you donโt even realize it. You just cozy back into his side and continue to eat, watching stupid infomercials and snuggling against him.
Chanโs arm comes over your shoulder and stays. Pulling you closer, like he can fuse into you.
This is the best he can do. Chanโs nervous for the future, as he often is. But with you feeling like this against him, itโs an exciting kind of nervous. What was that word youโd saidโ liberating. Youโre always right, arenโt you?
New terrain is exciting. Even if it terrifies him. Because youโre not going anywhere, even if heโs haunted by the prospect of seeing people come and go from his life. He knows youโre the one that locked him down.
No obligations for the week ahead. Heโll go through his ambassador work. Take some interviews and pictures, an editorial video. And at night, in the late hour of Milan, thatโs when heโll come alive. Heโs going to take you to that small restaurant you wanted to go to so bad. To see architecture and cobbled streets in golden lamppost light.
Chan burrows his nose into your damp hair, whispers a sweet nothing, and closes his eyes. Youโre the peace he strived for. Even when it comes with a storm, heโll chase it away.
Synopsis - The consequence of a certain phone call.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: Established relationship AU. Idol!HusbandChan x NonIdol!Influencer!Reader. Explicit smut, warnings under the cut. Chris is down bad for his wife.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 21+ ONLY BECAUSE THIS IS NASTY STUFF - Only you can control your media consumption - This is a work of fiction, nothing is true. I am delulu as a solulu to this world.
The door closes softly behind you as you step into your apartment. Slipping from your shoes and setting your luggage to the side before poking your head into the front room, your socked feet padding softly on the floor as you check the couch for your sleeping husband.
"Christopher?"
More silence meets you as you step deeper into the apartment. The door of your bedroom slowly opens and there is your sleepy, bed head and all, husband. Your heart plummets to your stomach like you dropped from the high point of the roller coaster. Butterflies take flight as you take him in.
Chris still sleeps in just his boxers but it's the sleepy smile on his face that makes you flush. "Welcome home."
You cross the space in moments and you're arms are around his neck, pressing tightly against him. He hums and slips his hands down your hips and to your thighs, lifting you easily. No other words are shared as he turns and carries you into your bedroom. You lean back to cup his face and you smile warmly when your eyes meet.
"I know this look."
He flushes and places a soft kiss to your jaw, "I keep thinking about our call."
Your lips meet his, loving how soft and pillowy they are against your own. When he holds you like this, you get to control the kiss and it always leaves him whimpering softly. So when you thread your fingers into the hair on the back on his head and tug softly, his steps falter some. Your back meets the doorway of the bedroom and Chris pulls you tighter against him, rolling his hips into you with soft curses leaving him.
His forehead goes to fall into your neck but your stop with with the grip on his hair and sweep him up into another kiss. This time, you cradle his head softly like he would for you before letting your tongues roll and taste one another.
You giggle softly as he lays you down and crawls onto the bed with you, pulling you to him. Chris is hard against your thigh but you ignore it, running your fingers through his hair instead. "My poor baby, wants to be a daddy so badly." You tease and he groans slipping his fingers up your sweater.
He nods and rocks his hips against you, "please, let me?"
"Of course, Chris, we can try. I wasn't joking."
Within seconds of meeting his eyes, your flush deepens and you try to look away but his fingers curl around your jaw, making sure your eyes stay with his. The smile he has turns wicked when he notices your pupils are dilated. "You'll let me breed that beautiful pussy? Let me put my baby so deep in you?"
"Yes." Your voice is desperate and airy, which Chris is already entertained by. It usually doesn't take that tone until later in the evening.
Without warning, your naked from the waist down. You watch him take you in bu before you can say anything, his lips are on yours. The soft sound of surrender you make and the way your hands grip him, Chris groans. One of his hands slips from your thigh, up to where you have coated your heated skin. A low growl leaves him, as he traces his fingers through your arousal. When he meets your soaked core, he quickly finds your clit and strokes his thumb over the pulsing bundle slowly.
The sound you make into the kiss almost makes Chris black out from blood loss, it all very suddenly pooled in his cock. He knew you weren't kidding with how you were begging for him but he had no idea. You're perfectly swollen and soaked for him. The stretch would be the worst part but he would be able to slip right in.
One finger caresses your slit and Chris groans, โfuck baby, all this for me?โ You feel another finger slipping between your lower lips, spreading for him to watch you clench around nothing.
Your whine is one of frustration and pleasure as his fingers quickly coat themselves in your slick before he moves them back up to circle your clit. โChristopher, you dick me down at least once a day, Iโm fine if you just fuck me.โ
โOh but baby girl,โ he splits his fingers, letting them caress the sides of your clit as his thumb rubs slowly. โIt's been a couple weeks and as badly as you need this, I need you to let me take you apart. Will you let me?"
The feeling of his fingers caressing your very sensitive lower set of lips but not giving in to what you've begged for makes you whine but you nod. "Yes."
Anything for him.
His lips are back on yours for just a moment before he is pulling back and removing the remainder of your clothing. You take this time to look him over; beautiful pale skin, his muscles somehow bigger than you saw them last. Your fingers trail over the flushed skin on his lower chest and upper abdominal, loving way everything flutters under your touch. Slowly, you drag your nails over his abs, watching the red lines form, you smirk to yourself before your eyes continue lower. The thick outline of him straining against the material. Even with the dark material you can see the wetness just under the band from where his cock sits and leaks precum. You wet your lips before pulling the bottom one between your teeth.
His hand comes to your line of sight as he palms himself through the black material. His head drops back and a groan leaves his lips. "Fuck, why do you have to look at me like that?"
"Like what?" You look up at him, your eyes widen and inquisitive.
"Like my cock is the next thing you need in your mouth."
"Maybe because it is and because I know my husband loves when I let him fuck my face." You smirk at the way a shiver wracks through his body. "But you want to draw out things you so here, baby." You smirk and hold your hand out, waiting for him to take it.
When he doesn't look right away, you flex your fingers, letting your nails graze his wrist and he quickly takes your hand in his and rests one knee on the bed to get closer. Both of you gasp when your hand meets the hot, pulsing shaft of Chris's cock. Even through his boxers, you know he's already so close.
A broken groan leaves Chris as he braces your wrist softly with his hand before he grinds into your palm. "Fuck, I could come like this, baby girl." He is on both knees now, hovering over you, lost in the feeling of your hand on him for the first time in weeks.
"Why come in your boxers when you could bury your cock so deep in me? You could breed me, Christopher." Your voice has that sultry tone you save for moments like this and Chris almost loses it. The rasp you don't bother to hide shows that you're just as affected as he is.
His cock twitches in your hand and you move your eyes up to his, loving that you're seeing him like this; eyes closed, his lip between his teeth, and a flush crawling down his neck and over his chest.
Sitting up, his hold on your hand tightening slightly as he rocks into your hand. Your free hand curls into the hair on the back of his head, shorter now but still a length you can grab, tilting his head so you can kiss over his jaw.
"You wanted to use me, baby boy," your teeth find that one special spot just under his jaw and he whines, broken and needy. "Use me."
The next few moments happen so quickly you almost feel dizzy. You're suddenly on your feet but bent over beside the bed. Chris is behind you and has his boxers pushed low enough to free his cock. He's holding himself against your soaked and swollen core, letting your slick coat him. Every time the head of his cock nudges your clit, your hips twitch back against Chris.
Once.
Twice.
With the third pass, you feel the way his shaft glides with ease between your lower lips so you reach down to guide and on his next push, his tip catches at your entrance and he slowly starts to sink into you. The stretch of the wide head knocking the air from your lungs, lighting your body on the most delicious of fires.
"Fuck, Chris." Hearing yourself, you bite your bottom lip, almost ashamed at how relieved your breathy toned sounded as he finally breached you.
Behind you, Chris pants heavily through his teeth, a low rumble sounding from his chest. "Fucking shit." His movement stopped with just his tip inside of you, already too close to his own orgasm. "I can't baby."
"It's okay, get down here and fuck me through it. We both know that's what we both need." You wiggle your ass back, both of you moaning at the stimulation.
Getting your lower halves into position, your back arched and your thighs held open by his, Chris leans down, whispers a soft "I'm so sorry" into your shoulder before he snaps his hips forward, shoving the rest of his cock into you.
You scream at the intrusion and the sudden stretch but it is masked that delicious warmth as your walls are finally getting the stimulation they craved. You try to press back as his fingers slip around to slowly circle your clit in loose strokes, just enough to get you to relax.
Chris groans as he feels your walls flutter and squeeze him as they adjust and accommodate his shaft. It's not often that you take him no prep, and even less so after not seeing each other so he knew the stretch burned some. His heart clenched at your scream, even if it was not entirely of pain but that is quickly replaced by his orgasm pooling at the base of his spine.
"I had every intention of teasing the shit out of you but you just look and sound so goddamn sexy in that you have me seconds away from cumming, baby girl." His nose nuzzles into the side of your head. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."
You're panting now, the feeling of fullness paired with the way his fingers play with your clit making you desperate for your own release. "Fuck me, hard, Christopher. Please baby," your break off in a low moan as his hips grind slowly into your, hitting that spot deep inside of you. You're already drenching his fingers and the bed below you.
"Please what, baby girl?" Chris groans as he feels your own orgasm getting closer and closer. "Tell me." His words come through breathless as you clench tightly around him.
"Cum inside me. I need it and then I want to ride you, please, baby."
It's Chris' turn to be feral. He can't take the chance of pulling back so he settles for deep grinds of his shaft into you, pressing into your cervix as he circles your clit in the perfect way. "I'll fill you up so good, baby girl. Give you exactly what you want."
Your already feeling that glass about to tip from the way the tip kisses your gspot and then your cervix with each grind. "Baby, I'm -," you try to warn him but your head drops forward into the bedding as his tongue licks over the faint bruise of his teeth marks.
"Make a mess baby girl, I know it's been a long two weeks." He kisses softly over the ruined skin and allows himself a few shallow thrusts, loving how you mewl into the bedding. "But I want to hear you."
Keeping his elbow in place, he shifts his arm so it slips under your neck. The faintest pressure lifts your head and plays with your air supply. You feel the glass start tipping as your walls clamp down around his shaft. "Chris, fuck," it comes out as a sob when it finally hits.
His teeth latch onto your neck once more and bites down as you moan loudly, disgustingly so, when your climax hits. The waves of white hot heat shooting through your veins as you scream into the room, dripping down Chris's hand and down the side of the bed. Your legs shaking as you try to move with him through your climax and his.
Your orgasm triggered his own. With his teeth still in your neck, his hand shifts to your chest and holds you tightly to him. There are no words as he groans and grinds his way through his climax. It's only when he starts to come down that Chris removes his teeth and whimpers your name.
It takes a few minutes for the both of you to return to your senses. Chris slowly withdrawals and helps you to stretch out over the bed before climbing in to lay beside you. Just as his back hits the blankets, you're on him, climbing astride his waist with your hands on his chest.
With a smirk down at him, you lean down and capture his lips in a slow, sensual kiss. His hands slide up your thighs and over your hips where he grabs hand fulls of you and pulls you even closer. His groan against your lips as he feels your hands slide up, pressing the heel your palms into his muscles.
You feel how his grip on your hips making your core clench around nothing. The way he handles you so gently on a day to day basis paired with the rare times he lets go of some of that control and just grips you, always makes you crave more.
Crave how he loses more of his control.
Shifting your hips back, you moan as your slicked core easily slips over the heavy weight of his still hard cock. The grip on your hips tightens as your lips move to his jaw, nipping softly.
"You drive me crazy," his voice is a hoarse whisper as his grip on you shifts from your hips to your ass, flexing his fingers wide to grab as much of you as he can. "Fucking hell, baby girl."
A smirk comes to your kiss swollen lips as you continue the teasing grind. You slide your palms over the tired muscles of his shoulders making him groan and arch into you. "Feels so good, Chris."
"Yeah, fuck, you do," his lips find your temple as his hips lift to aid into the glide of your slit over his shaft. "Still soaking my cock."
"We have to make sure nothing leaves, baby," is your only warning before your hips tilt and the sensitive tip catches at your entrance and you sink back into him. A low whine leaves him as a contented sigh leaves you. "Fuck yes, baby."
Chris grumbles low in his chest as he uses his grip on your ass to hold you in place before he plants his feet. You smirk and adjust to spread more over him before he quickly slams his hips up to yours, forcing the stretch on you a second time. "Fucking take it then, naughty fucking thing." His grip on you tightens as he rolls and caresses you. "Fuck yourself on my cock, my beautiful wife."
The low gravel of his voice leaves no room for discussion so you lean forward into your knees and slowly start to build a pace that leaves him groaning and gasping. Your swollen and sensitive walls are squeezing and sliding over his overstimulated cock, it's all Chris can do to hold onto you.
The sounds he makes only causes you to grind deeper, rotate your hips slower just to hear more of the breathlessness. Knowing you got him to this level always inflates your ego a bit, so you smirk and slide your hands over his chest as you grind on him in the steady way you know he likes.
"Feels so fucking good to have you inside of me again, Christopher," you watch your words wash over him and your walls flutter around him with the way he whimpers and rolls up against you. "Two weeks away from my brand new husband, not getting to sit on his cock and tell him how good he makes me feel was torture."
One of your hands slip down his abdomen, draining your nails over his skin softly to make him gasp and arch up against you. You only get a couple more rotations of your hips before his hand reaches up and presses where your womb rests, his eyes open and he watches as his thumb caresses the skin there softly.
"Make yourself a mommy, baby girl. Put my baby so deep there is no choice but to stick."
You gasp as the next roll grinds him right into yours gspot, "Christopher,"
"Do it baby, I know you can."
"Is that what you want? You don't think that was-,"
His answer is quick, cutting you off and it is a fucked out whimper, "not enough." His hands knead your ass while you rock and rotate your hips on him, his head thrown back as he lays there and lets you use him.
"Look at me, Christopher."
Chris's eyes open and he groans when his eyes meet yours. The seriousness mixed in with the stars of pleasure and love in your irises. He knows you mean it as much as he does. "Ride me. Hard, baby girl."
A smile comes to your lips and Chris knows he's doomed. It's rare he gives up this amount of control but when he does, you never disappoint. The hand not on his abs moves to cup his jaw, the thumb resting on the pulse point of his neck. The thundering of his heart matches yours but you lean down to deliver a kiss that leaves his cock twitching from deep inside of you and his thighs flexing as he fights not to take what he so desperately wants.
A low whimper makes you clench and roll your hips in the perfect way making you both cry out. Soon you've built a pace that is as demanding as it is pure pleasure. Chris aids you but doesn't move you, while you bounce on his cock. Each time you press down he reaches what feels like to very depths and your own thighs tremble with the kind of pleasure that having Chris truly deep within you.
Your inner most walls always flutter and massage the tip of his cock for the brief moments you force yourself to sit and hold him in you. Feeling him brush that deep almost causes you to cramp but you love knowing how close he is to where you want him.
His cock, his groin, his thighs, the bedding are all soaked. Each time you lower further and hold him deep inside he feels your body drag you both closer to your orgasms. It's on what he knows will be one of the final drags of his cock against your walls that your head falls forward onto his chest.
Your climax snuck up on your both and as his thumb slowly grinds into your clit, you scream against his chest feeling it finally shove it's way through your body. Your release is hot over his fingers and as you clamp down around him, Chris has his arms around you and you're on your back.
He whimpers and groans your name into your skin as he nips and sucks along your neck and shoulder. His hands digging into your hips almost painfully but you're both too lost in each other to care. He pounds into you after shoving your legs up and into the press he knows gets him where he wants. The headboard, if you had one, would lay a steady beat against the wall.
Your nails drag over his scalp and down his back before digging into him. Your hands rest just above that perfect ass and when you whisper for him to cum inside of you, Chris's release tears through him like an electrical currant. He shouts and groans your name as he fills you, pressed directly against your cervix.
After, he's boneless against you, shifted down enough to rest his head on your chest, listening to the beat slowly return to normal. His hands slide up and down your legs to help after he released them from the hold they were in. You hum softly in content, post coital warmth, dragging your fingers through his sweat soaked hair.
"I love you,"
You feel him smile into the heated skin of your chest, "I love you too, my beautiful, sweet wife."
The softness only lasts a few more moments before he's shifting and pulling you up against him once again. "Third times the charm."
You laugh but it softens as he cups your face and nuzzles his nose to yours. He places a soft kiss to your swollen lips, waiting for your consent.
"Breed me, husband. As many times and as much as you want. I'm ready."
His low groan and the twitching of his cock against your hip lets you know you have him the right answer.
โmaybe you'll be disappointed by the results, but don't ever hate yourself for it.โ โ 3RACHA by bangchan, changbin & han
GIVE ME YOUR HAND AND I'LL TELL YOU YOUR FUTURE. (GENERAL MASTERLIST)
then hold my hand, darling. close your eyes and feel the stars that surrounds the beautiful world.
โ here lies the collection of my sfw and nfsw pieces, headcanons, drabbles, and series about the fandoms i write for. enjoy! [ [sfw tag: โ , nsfw tag: โ]
แฏโ SERIES
ใปyou caught my heart :: โ (bangchan) ใป where faces go :: โ (hwang hyunjin) ใป i can hear you :: โ (han jisung) ใป prim and proper... or not? :: โ (han jisung) ใป hometown, baby (smau) :: โ (bangchan) ใป major arcana :: โ (ot8)
แฏโ BANGCHAN
ใป melting point :: โ ใป wrecked and ruined :: โ ใป it's finally time :: โ ใป you're twisted :: โ ใป love is timeless :: โ ใป fake it till you make it :: โ ใป melting point 2.0 ft. hwang hyunjin :: โ ใป poisons & venom :: โ ใป relunctant sub bangchan :: โ ใป i hear you :: โ ใป did you just flinched? :: โ ใป crawling back to you :: โ the devil wears fendi :: โ ใป inspection :: โ ใป backseat driving :: โ ใป coaxing :: โ ใป inspection pt. 2 :: โ ใปarch that back (smau) :: โ ใป make it up :: โ ใป chan's mommy gf :: โ ใป veneers :: โ
แฏโ LEE MINHO
ใป blazing heat :: โ ใป jealous :: โ ใป sharing is caring or whatever ft. bangchan :: โ
ใป light it up :: โ ใป valentine's event :: โ ใป he's doomed :: โ ใป aphrodisiac :: โ ใป who's in charge? :: โ ใป who are you? :: โ ใป you what? :: โ ใป the green-eyed monster :: โ ใป loser han jisung :: โ ใป skin deep :: โ ใป muncher all the way :: โ ใป surprise :: โ ใป arch that back :: โ ใป he's lucky, you love him :: โ ใป rival :: โ
แฏโ LEE FELIX YONGBOK
ใป sly gamer :: โ
แฏโ KIM SEUNGMIN
ใป attention :: โ
แฏโ YANG JEONGIN
ใป arch that back (smau) :: โ
แฏโ OT8
ใป matching your freak :: โ ใป she's not very much single :: โ
แฏโ OTHER GROUPS
ใป girl!dad jung wooyoung (atz) :: โ ใป mean dom!park seonghwa (atz) :: โ what that tongue can do? (atz seonghwa) :: โ
all rights reserved ยฉ 2026 sitri. none of my works shall be produced or reproduced in any form without consent and proper asking.
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The track had been replaying for the fifth time, but you werenโt listening anymore. Not really. Your attention had drifted a while ago, pulled somewhere far more distracting.
To him.
Chan sat in his chair like it was the most normal thing in the world, one leg slightly pulled up, fingers tapping lightly against the desk as he listened. Barefaced. Curly hair falling into his eyes in the most unfair way possible. His lips were slightly parted in concentration, soft and..
No. This was a problem.
You stared for a moment longer, like that would somehow make it better. It didnโt. If anything, it made it worse.
"Chan."
He didnโt even look at you right away. "Yeah?"
You were already moving. Crossing the room, stopping right in front of him, hands coming up before he could react.
"What are you-"
You squished his cheeks together without hesitation, leaning down just enough to be way too close.
"Youโre actually ridiculous." you muttered, like this was something he did on purpose.
A quick kiss landed on his cheek. Then another. And another, like you physically couldnโt stop yourself.
"Wait-"
"You look like this and just sit here like itโs normal?"
His ears turned red almost instantly, eyes finally meeting yours in confusion. "I donโt.. what are you talking about? I look normal."
You pulled back just enough to stare at him properly, like he had just said something completely unbelievable. "โฆnormal?"
And then you leaned in again.
This time, you didnโt stop at kisses. Your teeth pressed lightly against his cheek in a quick bite, followed immediately by another kiss like that somehow made it better.
"Hey!"
You hummed against his skin, clearly unbothered, hands still holding his face in place as you pressed another bite, softer this time.
"Youโre too cute." you mumbled.
"Iโm not. Stop saying that." he said, trying to turn his head away, but you just followed him without effort.
"No. Come back."
Another bite.
"Ow! Are you actually eating me?"
"Maybe.."
You pressed a kiss to the same spot again, lingering just a second longer this time, and when you pulled back slightly, your eyes met his properly.
And for a moment, you justโฆ paused.
Your hands softened where they held his face, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheeks instead of squishing them.
"Iโm serious though." you said quieter now. "Youโre really pretty."
Chan blinked at you, like he didnโt quite process it. "Iโm not-"
"Yes, you are."
There was no teasing in your voice this time. No exaggeration. Just something simple. Honest.
"Barefaced, tired, whateverโฆ you still look like this." you continued, tilting your head slightly. "So donโt say youโre just normal."
For a second, he didnโt say anything. His ears were still red, but his expression softened just a little, like he didnโt fully believe youโฆ but wanted to.
And right as the moment settled.
The door opened. You both turned your heads.
Lee Know stood in the doorway, taking in the scene in one glance. Your hands still on Chanโs face. Chan very much not escaping. The distance between you nonexistent.
A pause.
".. right."
He turned around immediately and walked back out, the door closing behind him like nothing had happened.
Silence.
Chan dropped his face into his hands. "I'm never leaving this room again."
You stared at the door for a second. Then back at him. Then you grinned.
"..so I can bite you in peace?"
"Donโt-"
Too late. You leaned in again, pressing one last quick kiss to his cheek before finally letting go.
หหห mr. bang is in need of a new secretary and lucky him you're eager to get to work, he hopes you can keep up with his pace หหห
โคท a/n : I really locked in for this one and I wasn't even that horny this time, where's hozier to take me to church? >_< anyway boss chan can discipline me any time he wants, and if you haven't watched the movie "secretary", what are you even doing here?? go find somewhere to watch it <3 enjoyy
โคท contains : lawyer! chan x secretary! fem! reader, inspired by the movie "secretary" (2002), office au, teasing, both parties consent!! NSFW -> bdsm, sub/dom dynamics, sadism + masochism, chan makes reader walk around without an underwear, p in v sex, video sex, m! masturbation, m! oral receiving, there's mention to babygirl/naughty girl/daddy [ wc : 1.7k ] โ tags : @lunaslayyyter + @jisungml + @smiileflower
โคท now playing : daddy by ramsey
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang who posts a job opening on linkedin for secretary but itโs a high end law firm so you never applied to it, until a few months later you see itโs still open and just give it a shot, he calls you for a face-to-face interview to which you put on your best tailored suit, perfume, makeup and heels, upon getting into his office you notice all the fancy decoration but specially the glass windows that give the perfect view to the city from above
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang starts asking about your previous experiences and expectations on your career, and you try to answer without stuttering in front of that beautiful man, when he suddenly shifts the questions to if you have a partner and your previous relationships, but before your face could fully heat up upon his cautious gaze he finishes the interview, after thanking him for the opportunity you question him why the position hasnโt been filled yet, he shrugs with a playful smirk saying โthey couldnโt keep up with the officeโs paceโ
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang sends your acceptance message right on the following day, telling you to start as soon as possible, the butterflies on your stomach all ruffling up as you finally get released from the limbo of post graduation unemployment, you pick your best clothes for your first day, already mentally preparing for the new, fast paced environmentโsetting up meetings with executives, arranging lunches and dinners with clients, picking up suits from the laundryโit was all a bit tiring on the beginning but not as much as you thought it would be, though the amount of documents you had to type is far more than expected
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang who after the second week starts getting way more picky with your mistakes and delays when sending an important report, always hovering quietly behind your chair, watching attentively your trembling and hesitating fingers stumbling over the keycaps through every mistake, arms crossed in front of his wide chest covered by his too tight white button up, until he lets out an irritated huff and leaves to his office
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang reveals himself as the most annoying boss you could ever think of, sending back your reports and meeting minutes one after the other, each mistake circled in bright red and at least fifteen notes written on the margins, you stand in front of his large desk shaking in place as he goes on for the thousandth time about how you need to pay more attention to details, but the only thing on your mind is how you would be able to do it properly if he didnโt distract you so much, thighs clenching tighter each time his voice dropped lower
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang who one day stops by the waiting office, where your desk stays right before the entrance of his own, and closes the door behind him, clicking something on his phone that makes the security camera light slowly turn off, he walks closer and stops by behind your chair, dropping another pile of annotated reports on the table top and signalling for you to stand up, you feel a shaky breath leaving your lungs as he bends down slightly over your back, pressing each of his palms over yours while going through each of your mistakes and how you could improve
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang who feels your trembling body way too close to his to be called anything professional, and canโt help the involuntary throb under his pants, awkwardly clearing his throat before pulling away when you brush your little finger over his and just for a second he hesitates, you two stay like that for a hot minute when he finally whisper over your ear โtake off your panties, dearโ, you blink away still processing his demand, quickly reminding him of a meeting he has in a few minutes, he just nods and turns his palm up over the table, with a bite on your lip you slide the piece down your legs and place it on his hand, he carefully closes it and keeps it secure on his pocket, lingering his hand on your waist for a bit
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang now asks for your panties every day as soon as you arrive to the office, noticing your mistakes have declined after this dynamic, but also that the pieces you handed him got sexier over timeโfirst pink with lacy hems, then fully red lace, turning to black thin thongsโwhich he tried his best not to show any reaction until he closed himself into his office, attempting to get started with his daily tasks but not resisting the urge to unclasp his leather belt and release his rigid shaft free, pulsing harder against his tightening grip, a bit of pre-cum already spilling clear over his tip, easing each stroke he gave to his stiffing member, trying to muffle his groans by pressing the thin lace close to his mouth and taking in all of your scent, until he felt a wave of release washing over his entire body as he milked himself to the last drop
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang who starts to take over every aspect of your life, choosing the clothes you used at work, the lunch are were getting with him, the movie youโll watch when you get home, and with each decision he took you could feel yourself concentrating more in each report you handed him, now barely without any mistakes, just a few so he could keep bending you over the table and hitting your ass through the tight pencil skirt, pinching your nipples through your new silky blouse, biting and sucking your collarbones until it went red, purple, blue, when one day he started acting more distant, and in a desperate measure you decide to deliver the wrong document to an A-list client, later that day he quietly signals you to his office, furious expression, and locks the door behind him
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang places his large palm on your back and guides you to face the wide glass window, slowly bending you over his oak desk as he stands behind you, he goes on about how he thought you finally started making progress while gently caressing your ass over your skirt before carefully lifting it up to your waist, he pulls down your black tights and lacy underwear, already feeling his member swelling against his trousers, tracing a gentle line over your soaked folds as he licks his lower lip, you make a small moan and he quickly strikes your soft skin with his hand, making you tremble over the stinging sensation, this time he hits harder and tells you to read all of the mistakes on your last report, and with each tremble of your voice he struck harder against your ass, the growing numbness spreads over to your legs and you know itโll leave a nasty mark on the next day
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang eases his hand over the raw and sensitive skin of your ass, soothing it with gentle caresses, though the slight tremble of his palm makes you turn your head back to face him, which he quickly grasps the nape of your neck and tilts it forward, trying to breathe away his ache when you let out a small moan and he notices you thighs pressing against each other, his length grows larger behind his pants but he still waits for even the slightest refuse on your part, hesitantly taking it off and aligning it with your flickering pussy
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang when he finally sinks into your damp warmth, and you leave the briefest gasp as he stretches your aching core, gripping tight every inch of him with difficulty and longing, sucking him back each time he pushes deeper, the sound of skin against skin growing louder and sloppier as he increases his pace, feeling you clench around him while his length grew inside you and lowering his broad chest closer to your arched back, whispering on your ear โis your pussy hurting, babygirl, I wonโt be able to know if you donโt use your wordsโ, but you just whimper a faint โnoโ and he thrusts harder against your ass, making you arch even deeper and bite back your disobedient moans
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang stays in the office hours after he sends you back home earlier that night, still trying to get a grip of the situation that once felt unimaginable, when he finally arrives at his penthouse the first thing he does is slide off his shirt and suit which still smelled of you, he preps another solo dinner when a small ping on his phone calls his attention already dreading whatever problem he had to solve, only to be surprised by a dimly lit video of your red nails playing with your soaked pussy, your moans dripping lustfully on the background, followed by the text โIโve been a naughty girl, mr. bangโ, with a scoff he seats on his sofa, zipping down his tight trousers and positioning his phone on his chest, shifting the camera to his boxers tearing by the seams and releasing his throbbing member almost bursting over his tip, he grips the base of his shaft and strokes it slowly bottom top, making it flush a bright red with each stroke of his palm as he muffled his low grunts while typing โyouโre playing with fire, babygirl, daddy doesnโt like naughty girlsโ
โ. ๐ ห lawyer! mr. bang who sits with a lighter expression behind his desk on the next day as his business partner shows up on his door to remind him about a meeting in half an hour, also asking where his new secretary was and if he had grown bored of her like all the others, he gives a small chuckle and says sheโs printing some documents on the lower floor, his colleague closes the door with a knowing smile, after a few seconds he leans back on his leather chair with a deep exhale, flashing his eyes down under oak desk with a smirk where youโre sitting on your knees, a single white drop sliding down on the corner of your mouth, fingers resting loosely on the base of his bursting shaft that gave a slight throb upon this heavenly vision, your hands travel up to his carved abdomen and he lets out a breathy laugh โyouโre behaving quite badly, babygirl, I think itโs better for you to call off your night out with your friends cause youโre working overtime todayโ
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