#chan

You grunted in response, collapsing into one of the barstools like you’d been dramatically wronged by the concept of morning itself.

Chan chuckled, already reaching for a mug. “Coffee?”

“You’re my favorite person in the world,” you mumbled, cheek squished against the counter.

“I know,” he said with a grin, setting the coffee down in front of you with that same quiet care he always gave you. “Drink up. You’ve got a shoot today, yeah?”

“Mmm.” You barely nodded. “No energy.”

“You say that every morning. And then you post ten stories looking like a literal angel.”

“Because I am an angel. Just a tired one.”

He shook his head fondly, walking around the counter and tugging lightly at the hood you had up. “You could’ve worn your own clothes to bed, you know.”

“But yours smell better.”

That earned you a half-smirk and a soft pat on the head. “Fair.”

It had been four years since you moved in. What was supposed to be a temporary arrangement; a few weeks to get your life together after cutting ties with your parents, turned into an unshakable routine. A shared home. A rhythm. Chan never pushed, never questioned your decision to stay, not even after he offered to set you up in your own place. A luxury penthouse. Any neighborhood, any view. All you had to do was ask.

But why would you leave? You had everything here. Your safe place. Your comfort. Your best friend who treated you like you hung the moon.

Chan made sure you never lifted a finger unless you wanted to. New car? Done. Spa weekend? Booked. Your favorite snacks flown in from another country? He’d find a way. And when the world got too loud, too cruel, too exhausting—he was there, holding space for you, letting you just be.

You never had to earn his affection. It was freely given, infinite and warm. And never once did you see the sharp edges of his temper directed your way. He could be terrifying when provoked; intense, commanding, even explosive in his rare moments of fury, but with you, it was different. Always gentle. Always soft.

“You want me to drive you today?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his shake.

You blinked at him over your coffee mug. “Don’t you have meetings?”

“Pushed ‘em.”

“You didn’t have to—”

He raised an eyebrow.

You shut up.

Because of course he did. That was just Chan. No matter how much you insisted he didn’t need to baby you, he always would. And deep down, you didn’t really want him to stop.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Anytime baby girl.”

<><><>

The next morning, you danced around the kitchen like you always did on pure instinct, pulling open drawers, prepping ingredients, making enough breakfast for two without even asking. Chan tried to stop you every time. He could afford a chef. He had one on call. But you never listened. This was your thing.

“You know I can make my own eggs,” he said from behind you.

“No, you can’t,” you replied easily, tossing a glance over your shoulder. “You burn eggs. It’s a weird talent.”

“That happened once.”

“Mmhmm.”

He didn’t argue after that, just leaned against the counter and watched you move. You weren’t dressed yet, still in that hoodie he liked seeing on you more than he’d admit, hair messy, face bare. Comfortable. Real. This was what his mornings had become: you humming under your breath, feeding him like it was your mission in life, and making the house feel like a home instead of a museum of expensive things.

Chan didn’t need much. He didn’t ask for much. But you noticed everything. The way his shoulders tightened after late-night calls with his team. How his jaw clenched when he was overwhelmed. How even on his best days, he carried this quiet heaviness like something he couldn’t shake.

So you filled in the spaces.

You did his laundry, folding each item with absurd care. You stocked his favorite snacks, kept his vitamins in a tiny container by the sink, laid out his hoodies when you knew he’d had a long day and just wanted something soft. You never said you were doing it for him, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw it. Felt it. And maybe that was why he never asked you to leave.

Because you were his peace.

You set a plate down in front of him with a satisfied little sigh, then went back for your own. “Eat, you’ve got stuff to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted you with his fork.

He had just taken his first bite when your phone lit up on the counter beside him. His eyes flicked toward it casually, and something about the name flashing across the screen made his brow twitch.

He didn’t say anything, but you noticed. Of course you did.

You reached for the phone and stared at the name.

Eli.

You hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. Not since you blocked his number and told him to stay the hell out of your life.

Your stomach turned.

You didn’t answer. Just locked the screen and tossed the phone aside like it didn’t matter.

Chan watched you closely, chewing slower. “You good?”

“Yeah.” You gave him a quick smile. “Just a ghost.”

His jaw tensed.

He didn’t push you. Not yet. But you could feel the shift in the air—like something had cracked just slightly. Like the bubble you and Chan had built so carefully around yourselves had caught a whisper of the outside world trying to crawl back in.

You didn’t mean to flinch when Chan spoke.

“You gonna block him again?”

It wasn’t the question itself—it was the way his voice sounded when he asked it. Flat. Too calm. Like the kind of calm that only came before a storm.

You kept your back to him, rinsing the last plate and placing it carefully in the drying rack. “Yeah. I mean, I already had him blocked. He must’ve used a new number.”

Silence.

Then, “Persistent.”

You dried your hands slowly, pretending the slight tremble wasn’t real. “He’s not important.”

“He used to be.”

That one hit harder than you expected. You turned to face him, brows pulling together slightly. “You mad at me?”

His expression didn’t shift much, but his jaw moved—tight, clenched.

“No,” he said almost instantly, voice lower. “Never at you.”

But there was something in his eyes.

You didn’t see it often, well atleast not directed at you. Not ever, actually. You’d seen Chan angry before. In business meetings, in defense of someone he loved, once even on the phone with a producer who had crossed the line. But never like this. Not standing in front of you. Not burning behind his stare like that.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

So you just nodded, like that made it all okay, and turned back to finish wiping the counter. Your hands moved on autopilot, scrubbing the same spot twice.

And then, quieter—deadly quiet—you heard him speak again behind you.

“Don’t answer him again.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Of course you wouldn’t. Of course.

But Chan wasn’t done.

“Ever,” he said, voice dropping further. “Or I swear to God—”

He cut himself off.

You looked at him then, really looked. His fingers were white-knuckled around the counter’s edge. His breathing had slowed into something controlled. Too controlled.

And even then, even now, your first instinct wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion.

It was to calm him down.

Without a word, you stepped closer and reached for him. Your arms circled his waist like it was nothing—like you hadn’t just seen a glimpse of something primal behind his usually warm eyes. You laid your cheek against his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“I won’t,” you whispered. “I promise.”

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t even breathe.

Then you felt it—his shoulders sinking, that tension leaking out like someone had pulled the plug. His arms came around you, pulling you in, hands splaying wide across your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“I just—” His voice cracked slightly. “I can’t stand the thought of him near you again. Not after everything.”

“I know.” You pressed your lips to his chest, right where his heart thudded. “He won’t get near me. Not while I have you.”

That was the truth. You didn’t even think about it anymore—how natural it felt to belong here, in his arms, in his home. How much of your life revolved around this man, this space, this rhythm. You didn’t care about penthouses or privacy. You didn’t need freedom when you had this.

Because Chan was your home. And more than that—you were his.

“Don’t forget your water bottle,” you called out, tossing it across the living room.

Chan caught it one-handed like the athlete he always pretended he wasn’t, but the smug grin that followed gave him away. “You just wanna keep me hydrated so I live long enough to keep spoiling you.”

You gave him a look. “Duh.”

He laughed, slinging the strap of his gym bag over one shoulder. He’d been dragging his feet all morning—pretending he was gonna leave, then circling back to ask dumb things like “Do we have any more peanut butter?” or “Should I shave today or keep the scruff?”

Now he was hovering by the front door, sneakers half on, clearly stalling again.

“You gonna go, or do I have to call the trainer myself and tell him you’re scared of cardio?”

“Rude,” he muttered, but he didn’t move. Just eyed you for a moment.

You were back in the kitchen, wiping the counter down for the second time that morning. Another instinct. Another way to make sure his space felt good, clean, safe. You didn’t think about it—you just did it. You always had.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly.

You looked up. He wasn’t asking like earlier. This time, his voice was softer. Less fury, more concern.

You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “Chan. I blocked him. It’s done.”

He nodded. “Still wanna know how he got a new number. Motherfucker’s like a roach.”

You laughed. “Maybe he’s a fan of yours and saw your name in my contacts. Thought you’d forgotten about him.”

Chan’s expression darkened just slightly.

“I didn’t forget. Told him what I’d do if he reached out again.” He didn’t say it like a threat. It was a statement. Calm. Dead serious.

You blinked. “Wait—you talked to him?”

Chan shrugged, casual as hell. “Last time he called you. I answered instead.”

Your eyes widened. “When was this?!”

“Few years ago,” he said, grabbing his keys off the hook. “Told him to disappear. Guess he forgot.”

You stood there, towel in hand, heart thumping for no good reason. Not scared. Not upset. Just… a little stunned.

“Chan.”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You were already going through enough.” He looked at you like it was the easiest decision in the world. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”

You tossed the towel at him. “You terrifying, overgrown guard dog.”

He dodged it and smirked. “Someone’s gotta scare the vermin away.”

You walked over and poked him in the chest. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“So lucky,” he drawled, catching your finger and tugging you just slightly closer.

There it was again—that quiet intensity. Not romantic. Not lustful. Just… full. You filled his world, and he didn’t know how to hide it anymore.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, quick and easy like always. “Go train, old man.”

Chan huffed a laugh and finally turned to leave, but before he stepped out, he paused and said over his shoulder:

“If he texts again, you tell me. No matter what.”

“I will,” you promised.

Because you knew he meant it. And maybe that was why the idea of Eli crawling back didn’t scare you anymore.

Not when you had Chan.

<><><>

That evening started like any other movie night. You padded into the private cinema room wearing one of Chan’s oversized hoodies—soft, warm, and swallowed in the scent of him—because you always did. His cologne clung to the cotton, familiar and comforting, and it made you feel closer to him. Closer than you probably should have.

He was already sunk deep into one of the reclining chairs, phone in hand, a bowl of snacks resting lazily on his lap. He looked up and smiled when you walked in, like nothing made him happier than just seeing you. Like you were all he needed to end the day right.

You curled up beside him without a word, folding into the crook of his side like you belonged there. His arm lifted automatically, welcoming you into his warmth. It wasn’t weird. This was just what you two did.

But it felt different tonight.

You weren’t sure if it was the way his hand dropped to your bare thigh beneath the blanket, fingers drawing mindless shapes against your skin—or the way your own hand somehow found his chest, fingers brushing softly, tracing the shape of his collarbone like you had every right.

You didn’t mean to kiss him.

Not on the mouth, of course. That’d be crazy.

But you’d always been touchy with him, hadn’t you? Just little things. Kisses to his shoulder when he carried you to bed, to his jaw when he bought you something ridiculously expensive just because he felt like it. So why should tonight be different?

Your lips pressed gently to the curve of his bicep, then again, just higher. He tensed slightly beneath you, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t stop you.

Instead, his fingers slipped up under the hem of the hoodie, splaying across the small of your back—warm, possessive.

You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten until you were practically on his lap. The movie blurred in the background, completely irrelevant.

You pressed another kiss to his shoulder. Then another, slow and deliberate. He turned his head toward you, breathing heavier now, eyes hooded.

“Baby,” he said softly.

You froze. “What?”

His hand tangled in your hair, gently tugging you back just enough to look in your eyes. His thumb brushed your cheek like he couldn’t help himself.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Your heart skipped. But you smiled, trying to play it off. “I was just thanking you. You’re comfy.”

“I’m serious.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “You keep doing stuff like this and one day, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”

That hit you like a match to gasoline. You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of how heavy the air had become between you.

But still… you didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t let you go.

<><><>

You were already in a good mood when he came home, but the shopping bags in his hand? That turned it into ecstasy.

“Wait—are those from Dior?” you gasped, nearly tripping over yourself as he placed them casually on the marble kitchen island like he’d just come back from buying groceries.

Chan didn’t even look fazed. “Got bored waiting for a meeting to end, so I stopped by the boutique. Thought you’d like some of this.”

“Some?” you echoed, your voice high-pitched as you tore into the first bag, a squeal leaving your lips when you found a silky black slip dress folded like a secret inside tissue paper. “Channie, are you kidding?”

“Do I ever kid?” he smirked, walking past you, casually undoing his watch and setting it beside the sink. “Try it on. The others too.”

There were others.

Gucci. Prada. Cartier.

And you? You were living. Floating. Glowing. Letting him spoil you was second nature by now, but nights like this reminded you—he didn’t just give you luxury. He wrapped you in it.

“You’re such a menace,” you muttered, eyes sparkling as you slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re gonna ruin me for everyone else.”

He glanced down at you with that lazy smile, the kind that curled slow and deep. “That’s the point, sweetheart.”

You wore the Dior slip dress that same night to the rooftop party Chan reluctantly agreed to attend with you. It fit like it had been painted on, soft and glossy, barely brushing your mid-thigh, your legs on full display in the matching Louboutin's he also got you.

“Baby,” he said when you walked out of your room, one brow raised, voice a little tight. “You’re not serious.”

You twirled for him with a smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He stared. Stared like he was trying to burn it into memory. “Do not disappear from my sight tonight.”

<><><>

You were tipsy. Not sloppy—just glowy, warm in the chest, your limbs loose and fluid with every bass-thumping beat. The rooftop was packed, the skyline glittering behind you like a movie set, and your dress—courtesy of Chan’s impromptu Dior shopping spree—sparkled just as hard.

He’d barely looked at you when he handed it over earlier that night, like it wasn’t several thousand dollars of backless silk. “Wear it if you want,” he’d said casually, as if it were groceries.

You’d worn it.

Now you were dancing. And not just dancing—moving like you had something to prove. Letting your hips roll too slow. Letting a stranger rest his hands too low. Your smile too wide. Your laugh too sweet.

You felt Chan’s eyes on you before you even turned.

He was stalking through the crowd like something out of a damn K-drama, black button-down unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves shoved up, eyes locked on you. You barely had a second to giggle before his hand was wrapping tight around your wrist.

“Outside. Now.”

You squeaked. “Channie, I’m just—”

“I said now.”

Oh. He was pissed.

You let him pull you off the floor, across the rooftop to a shadowed corner near the stairs where the music was distant and no one could hear him grinding his teeth.

“Are you insane?” he snapped, dropping your wrist only to press both hands to his hips like he had to physically restrain himself from pacing. “You don’t let strangers touch you like that. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I looked hot,” you said, crossing your arms—half-defensive, half-drunk. “And it was just a dance.”

He turned to you slowly, brows raised. “Just a dance? Do you see yourself right now?”

You did. You looked like luxury and trouble. And maybe you leaned into that just a little more.

“So what if I had a little fun?” you said sweetly, stepping into his space. “You dragged me out just to scold me like some angry boyfriend?”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he ground out, jaw ticking.

“No. But you act like it.”

That shut him up.

He stared at you, unreadable. Furious, maybe. Or barely hanging on.

So naturally, you kept going.

You twirled around, your dress fluttering around your thighs, swaying again just a little too close, dragging your hands slowly up his chest—pure mischief. “You shouldn’t buy me pretty things if you don’t want people to stare, Channie.”

His hand caught your wrist again—tighter this time.

“You’re really pushing it tonight.”

“I know.” You smiled up at him. “You’ll still let me go home with you though, right?”

His nostrils flared. “You live with me.”

“Exactly.” You beamed. “Now can we go back to the party? Or are you gonna keep playing possessive best friend in the dark?”

You barely had time to blink before he spun you, gently but firmly pinning you to the railing behind you, just inches from his chest. He leaned in close, voice low and dangerous in your ear.

“You don’t want to see what real possessive looks like, baby.”

Your stomach dropped—heat rushing everywhere.

But he stepped back a second later like nothing happened, casually running a hand through his hair.

“Go ahead,” he said, shrugging like his entire body hadn’t just radiated barely-contained rage. “Go dance. But if another guy touches you—don’t expect me to be this nice.”

And then he walked off, leaving you pressed to the railing with your heart pounding, legs weak, and absolutely no idea what game you were playing anymore.

You caught up to him at the bar again—he’d tried to disappear into the crowd, tried to drown his irritation in another glass of whiskey, but you were too far gone and way too stubborn to let him off the hook that easy.

“Chan,” you whined, grabbing his arm and tugging like a bratty little siren, “you ruined my dance.”

“I saved your ass,” he muttered, not even looking at you.

“You owe me.”

He glanced over finally, eyes sharp but dark under the club lights. “Don’t push it.”

You smiled sweetly. Fake as hell. “Just one dance.”

“No.”

You dragged him anyway.

He let you.

Let you guide him right into the dim VIP corner—where the bass was deeper, the lights darker, and the crowd less concerned with what anyone else was doing.

The second the music shifted—low and filthy—you turned, pressed your back to his chest, and rolled your hips into him like you’d done it a thousand times.

Chan froze.

Dead silent.

You were smiling to yourself, just drunk enough to be shameless, just bratty enough to know you were pushing every single one of his buttons.

You grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist, forcing him to hold you as your ass moved in slow, hypnotic circles, rubbing right against him in time with the beat.

“Don’t you dare let go,” you teased over your shoulder.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

You dipped lower, grinding harder, and heard the way his breath hitched behind you.

He wasn’t dancing. Not really.

He was just… enduring.

And you were loving every second of it.

Your fingers slid up his forearm, dragging along the veins you knew always popped when he was tense. You leaned back into him, head brushing his shoulder as your hips kept moving, smooth and slow and deliberate.

“Thought you didn’t want weirdos touching me, Channie,” you said, faux-innocent, breathless from the rhythm. “So dance with me.”

“You call this dancing?” he growled into your ear.

You arched your back, hands in your hair now, dress hiking up just enough to flash more thigh than he’d probably ever seen on you.

“Mmm, yeah,” you moaned softly, throwing it back again—slow, deep, filthy.

He cursed under his breath.

His fingers flexed around your waist, digging in just a little tighter. You were dizzy with music, heat, and alcohol—but fully aware of the way he was breathing now. Shaky. Unsteady.

You had him.

He wasn’t just watching you anymore—he was feeling you.

Everything about the moment was screaming wrong—you were best friends, and this wasn’t how best friends danced—but still, he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t tell you to quit.

He just held on tighter… and let you work.

When the bass dropped again. Darker now. Slower and even dirtier. You didn’t hesitate.

One arm reached back, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck while your other hand guided his—down your stomach, over your hips, until both his palms were molded around you like you were made for him.

You leaned back into him, ass pressing right up where he’d been trying not to feel you—where the thin fabric of your dress was the only thing separating you from him—and you moved.

Dragged. Rolled. Grinded.

Like you didn’t care how many red lines you were crossing.

“Y/N—” he warned, voice raw, lips grazing the shell of your ear, “Behave.”

You didn’t.

You let his hands roam further, teasing his fingers up toward your waist—up your ribs—then dragging one dangerously close to the underside of your breast.

He flinched like you’d shocked him, like your skin was on fire.

And maybe it was.

You turned your head, brushing your lips across his jaw, not quite kissing, just lingering.

“You’re not stopping me,” you whispered.

He growled.

Actually growled.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers sinking into your sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality—like your body grinding against him, soft and sinful, wasn’t about to unravel every last thread of his control.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he grit out.

“So stop me,” you whispered, shifting your hips again—slow and deliberate—dragging yourself up his thigh like a stripclub fantasy gone rogue.

One of your hands slid down to his again, guiding it back to your waist, but lower this time—so low his fingers brushed the curve of your ass and you swore you felt his whole body tense behind you.

You smirked.

Chan didn’t find it funny. He was seething.

His jaw clenched so hard you could feel it brush against your temple, and his voice when it came was low, strained, and barely human:

“Y/N, if you don’t stop…”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. Because he didn’t know what would happen if you didn’t. And neither did you.

You just kept moving.

The second your ass arched back again—grinding slow, sultry, shameless—Chan’s grip locked on your waist like a vice.

“Enough.”

You didn’t get the chance to blink before he spun you around, one hand wrapping around your wrist, the other coming to the small of your back, steering you through the crowd like he didn’t give a damn who saw.

You giggled.

He didn’t.

Not even close.

“Chan, where’re we goin’?” you asked, voice slurring just enough to make it sound like a song.

He didn’t answer. Not really.

“Home.”

One word. Clipped and dangerous. And fuck, he was walking like a man on the edge—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, muscles rippling with every step while you were practically tripping over your heels trying to keep up, your drunk giggles only making him grip you tighter.

Like your laughter was gasoline on a flame.

“You’re mad,” you teased, leaning your weight into him like deadweight.

“I’m furious.”

That made you giggle harder.

He didn’t stop until he’d yanked the passenger side door open and dropped you in the seat like you weighed nothing. Slammed the door. Rounded the car with the same heat in his steps. He slid into the driver’s side, slammed that door, and his knuckles went white around the steering wheel.

You turned to him with a cheeky smile, tugging on his sleeve.

“You’re not really mad.”

He didn’t even look at you.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“Why? You afraid I’ll fall into your lap again?”

He finally looked at you—and that look?

Could’ve melted diamonds.

“You think this is funny?”

The laugh you gave him was light, teasing. “A little.”

Chan shifted, arm coming up to rest behind your seat, so he was fully turned toward you. His voice dropped—low, firm, the kind of tone he only used when you were being a real pain in the ass.

“You don’t get it, do you? You almost made me cross a line in there.”

You blinked, still a little tipsy, still smiling. “What line?”

His eyes burned into yours.

“The one where I stop being your best friend and start being the guy who ruins you.”

That wiped the smile right off your lips.

You sat back in the seat, heart kicking, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle over your skin like static.

Chan turned away, facing forward again.

“You’re gonna sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow. And you’re gonna listen, for once. Because you don’t get to keep pushing me like this and acting like it’s cute.”

Silence.

“Maybe I spoilt you too much,” he muttered, shifting into gear. “Cos clearly, you don’t like to fuckin’ listen.”

And just like that, he drove off—leaving the music, the crowd, and the heat of temptation burning behind you.

<><><>

Your head was pounding.

Throbbing, actually.

Like someone had taken a bass speaker and shoved it directly into your brain. You groaned as you rolled onto your back, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion.

…This wasn’t your bed.

Wait. Yes, it was.

But why were you in his shirt? And why did you have glitter on your thighs?

Oh no.

You sat up slowly, spotting the water and ibuprofen on your nightstand—placed there no doubt by one incredibly annoyed but still annoyingly sweet man. The man whose footsteps you now heard approaching from the hallway.

You flinched at the sound. He was stomping.

“Someone’s heavy-footed this morning,” you muttered.

Chan stepped into the doorway with a blank stare and a mug in his hand. The look on his face? That one he reserved for when you did something so wildly irritating he couldn’t even find the words yet.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

You offered him a sheepish smile. “…Did I do something?”

He just stared.

“Chan?”

He placed the mug on your nightstand with a bit too much force.

“You don’t remember?”

You blinked up at him with your most innocent expression. “I mean… I remember the party? The rooftop? I think I danced a little?”

“A little,” he repeated, deadpan. “You grinded on me. In the corner. Like it was a fucking stripclub. Like we weren’t best friends. Like I wasn’t five seconds from hauling you over my shoulder and taking you home.”

Your cheeks flushed hot. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

You cleared your throat, unable to stop the sheepish grin creeping in. “Did I look good though?”

Chan’s face did something strange. Like he short-circuited. “Are you—? What?”

“I mean,” you teased, poking at him now because why not, “was I sexy? Did I make your heart race? Or was it just embarrassing and sad?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Just answer the question.”

Chan ran a hand over his face like he was praying for patience. “That’s not the point.”

“But did you like it?”

Silence. His stare burned holes into you.

You leaned back against the headboard with a slow smirk, hugging your knees to your chest. “You’re mad and flustered. That’s a good sign.”

Chan tilted his head, voice low.

“Do you really wanna know how it felt?”

You nodded way too fast. “I do.”

He leaned down, eyes locked on yours, one hand braced beside your head on the headboard.

“It felt like temptation.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t blink. “It felt like you knew exactly what you were doing, and you wanted to see just how far you could push me. And it felt like if I hadn’t dragged you out of there, I’d be doing things to you we couldn’t take back.”

You stared up at him, mouth parting in surprise.

Then you whispered, “…Shit.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Shit.”

You blinked once. Twice.

“…Still kinda flattered though.”

Chan groaned and pulled away, heading for the door again.

“You’re not allowed to drink for at least a month. Minimum.”

“Chan, don’t be like that—”

“A month.” he repeated, disappearing down the hall.

You flopped back into your pillows, heart still racing. A grin slowly crept over your lips.

Damn. Maybe you did get carried away.

<><><>

You were in the zone. Like, completely tuned out, bopping your head to the music in your ears as you folded Chan’s fresh laundry on his bed. Your hips swayed with every beat; every little spin you gave the shirt in your hands before laying it down neatly beside the others.

Your little frilly shorts fluttered with every movement, riding higher each time you reached or twisted or bent. But you didn’t notice. You were too busy humming along to your playlist and tossing socks into a neat pile.

The door had been left cracked open.

And Chan had come home earlier than you realized.

He paused when he saw you from the hallway—his girl, his best friend, in his bedroom, dressed in that matching little cotton set that barely counted as clothing. The fabric on your shorts stretched and hugged the soft curve of your ass as you bent over to tuck the edges of his sheets into place, clearly trying to finish making the bed for him.

His lips parted slightly. A breath caught in his throat.

He was supposed to head to his studio.

But then you wiggled your hips to the beat—innocent, playful—and Chan’s thoughts scattered like smoke.

Something possessed him.

Next thing you knew, you felt a presence behind you.

A firm, warm grip closed around your ass, fingers spreading possessively over the curve.

You jumped, yanking a single AirPod out with a startled gasp, only to spin around and find Chan.

Standing behind you. Wide-eyed. Frozen.

“Oh—fuck,” he blurted, jerking his hand back like it burned him. “Shit, I didn’t mean to—fuck, I didn’t even think—”

You blinked up at him, heart thudding. But honestly? Not because you were mad.

Your lips curved, and you shrugged softly. “It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

Chan’s whole brain short-circuited.

You didn’t… mind?

You weren’t mad?

That was all it took. His hand—that same hand—dropped right back down to where it had just been, like it had a mind of its own. It found your ass again, slow and deliberate this time, fingers pressing in like he needed to confirm how soft it felt.

You didn’t move. You just looked up at him, blinking innocently.

“Just finishing up,” you said, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Like his hand wasn’t full of your ass.

Chan stared at you like he’d never seen you before. His throat worked around a swallow.

Then—fuck it—he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. Except… his hands didn’t settle at your waist like they always did.

No. One hand stayed exactly where it had been—on your jiggly ass—while the other pressed into the small of your back, pulling you close.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he muttered into your hair.

You tilted your head. “What’d I do?”

“You exist in those shorts,” he gritted out. “That’s what you did.”

You smiled against his chest, your cheek warming against the familiar scent of his cologne.

“Guess I should wear them more often then.”

Chan exhaled shakily. You could feel the way his fingers twitched against your ass.

Yeah… this tension? This was no longer accidental.

“I mean…” you hummed into his chest, arms looping lazily around his torso, “you did kinda sneak up on me. Could’ve warned me first.”

“You were too cute to interrupt,” he mumbled. His voice was gravel-soft, barely there. “You were doin’ that little dance again.”

You pulled back just enough to raise your brows. “You were watching me?”

He looked guilty. Just for a second. Then shrugged, mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he should play it cool or apologize.

“You were in my room, playing house in my shorts, dancing to music like nobody was watching. What was I supposed to do?”

Your smirk deepened. “Not grab my ass?”

“I panicked.”

You burst into a soft laugh, resting your head back against his chest again. The moment felt too warm, too familiar, too… dangerously close to something else.

“I didn’t know you liked them this much,” you teased, wiggling your hips just a little. Just enough to make his hands twitch.

Chan exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he muttered, one hand dragging lightly up your spine.

You tilted your head back to look at him, eyes wide, soft with curiosity. “Good?”

“Respectful,” he clarified. “You’re my best friend.”

You blinked. “And best friends don’t touch ass?”

“They shouldn’t,” he bit out, and that was the first real crack in his voice. “But you’ve been pushing it lately, baby. You’ve been testing me.”

Your chest fluttered at the way he said baby. So casually, like it slipped out before he could stop it.

“Have I?”

Chan’s hand slid lower. Not enough to be scandalous, just enough to let you feel that he wasn’t kidding anymore. His palm was warm and heavy, anchoring you to him like he was suddenly realizing he didn’t want to let go.

“You’re not as innocent as you act,” he muttered.

You gave him your best doe-eyed look. “I never said I was.”

That was when he lost it a little.

One of his hands slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and he leaned in like he was thinking about kissing you—but didn’t. His lips barely ghosted yours.

Not a kiss. Not quite.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

You did. You absolutely did. But you didn’t say a word.

You just smiled.

“Laundry’s done,” you whispered, pulling back with one last squeeze around his waist. “You’re welcome.”

And then you walked out of his room like you didn’t just flip his entire world upside down in cotton shorts and a matching button-up.

<><><>

That night, you were wide awake.

The house was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant rustle of trees outside, and your pulse drumming hard against the pillow.

It’d been hours since you left Chan’s room. Hours since you’d walked out of there trying to act like your skin wasn’t still tingling where his hands had been. Like your heart hadn’t stuttered when his lips brushed yours without ever truly kissing you.

You should’ve let it go.

But the problem was, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Your fingers hovered over your phone. Then… tapped.

You: You up?

The read receipt appeared too fast.

Chan: Always. What’s wrong?

You stared at the screen for a second too long.Then:

You: Nothing. Just thinking about earlier.

Chan: Which part?

You smiled. Bit your bottom lip. That was bait, and he knew it.

You fed him a little more.

You: You touching me like that in your room.

Another instant reply.

Chan: I shouldn’t have. I got carried away.

You: I didn’t mind.

A pause. Longer this time. You imagined him lying in bed with that furrow between his brows, one hand behind his head, trying to figure out if you were just being bratty again—or if you meant it.

Chan: I could tell.

You laughed quietly to yourself, propping your phone against your knee, thumbs ready to wreck your whole friendship.

You: You’re really gonna act like you didn’t like it?

Chan: Is that what you want me to say? That I liked having my hand on my best friend’s ass?

You: I mean… you did keep it there for a long time.

Chan: You looked really good like that.

You sat up a little straighter, nerves flickering through your chest like sparks.

You: Like how?

Chan: Bent over my bed in those shorts. You know what you were doing.

You: I was folding your laundry.

Chan: While dancing. In those tiny ass shorts.

You: You liked that?

The dots blinked.

Stopped.

Started again.

Chan: Too much.

You took a shaky breath.

This felt reckless. You were under the same roof. Just down the hall. Separated by a hallway and years of pretending your friendship was innocent.

Your fingers moved again.

You: If I came to your room right now…

No reply.

Not yet. You could almost hear his breathing. Almost feel how still he was on the other side of the house.

Then finally:

Chan: Don’t. If you come in here like that, I won’t let you leave untouched.

You stared at the message. Bit your lip and tucked yourself a little deeper into your sheets, thighs brushing, breath catching.

Your fingers trembled when you typed again.

You: Untouched where?

You saw the typing bubble appear immediately.

Chan: Everywhere.

You: Be specific.

Chan: You want me to tell you how I’d touch you, best friend?

That sent a chill up your spine. Something about the way he called you that. Not sweet. Not teasing. Dangerous.

You: Yeah. I do.

Chan: I’d start with those legs you’re always stretching across my lap. I’d make you open them wider for me.

You: Keep going.

Chan: I’d touch you over those tiny little shorts you love wearing around me like you don’t know they drive me fucking crazy.

Your mouth went dry. Your hand slipped beneath the covers, not to touch—just to feel. To let your own heat rise in the quiet dark.

You: I knew they drove you crazy.

Chan: Of course you did. You’re a brat. You do it on purpose.

You: You like when I act like a brat.

Chan: I like shutting you up when you get too mouthy.

Your stomach flipped. God, this felt wrong. You were just supposed to be folding laundry and going to bed like normal.

Instead—

You: If I was in your bed right now, what would you do to me?

Another pause.

You waited. You could feel the shift. Could practically hear the internal war going on behind his silence. How much he was willing to say. How far he was willing to go.

Then:

Chan: I’d drag you under me. Pin your wrists. Tell you to stop squirming but know damn well you wouldn’t. I’d make you beg me to touch you properly.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Face flushed. Legs pressed tight under the blanket.

You weren’t sure who you were anymore. You weren’t just his best friend. Not right now. You were something else entirely.

You: Would you let me touch you too?

Chan: Not unless you asked real nice.

You: Please, Channie.

That one made him pause. You could feel it. Like the air had been sucked from the room.

Then:

Chan: You’re really playing with fire tonight, baby.

You: You’re the one who said you wanted to touch me.

Chan: And now I wanna do a lot more than that.

You: Yeah? Like what?

Chan: Like make you mine.

Your breath hitched. You blinked at that message for a long, long time. Because it didn’t feel like flirtation anymore. It didn’t feel like a joke.

You: But I’m already yours… aren’t I?

This time, there was no pause.

Chan: Fuck yes, you are.

Your heart was thudding. Your body humming. But your fingers moved with more confidence now. There was something intoxicating about knowing exactly how to push him.

Something dangerous.

You: I remembered the party.

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

Chan: What about it?

You: How you grabbed me like you wanted to throw me over your shoulder.

Chan: You were asking for it.

You: And then you let me grind on you like that? In public?

Chan: Correction. You made me stand there and take it.

You: Mm. I remember how hard you got through those dress pants.

You bit your lip. Your thighs squeezed again.

Then added: You were so thick and heavy against me, Channie. I still feel it.

A full minute passed. He didn’t respond. You almost thought you’d pushed him too far.

Then—

Chan: Keep talking like that and I’ll be in your room in under sixty seconds.

Your breath caught. You smiled to yourself, devilish.

You weren’t done yet.

You: You didn’t even stop me when I dragged your hands over my body. You wanted to feel me, didn’t you? Even when you told me to behave, you kept touching.

Chan: God, you’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the nearest couch right there.

Your mouth dropped open slightly. But you were thriving in this game now. Riding that high. And you hadn’t even touched yourself yet—just lying there soaked and giggly like you’d been corrupted through a screen.

You: You could’ve. I wouldn’t have stopped you.

Chan: Say that again.

You hesitated. Then: I wanted you to touch me at the party. I wanted you to pull me into that corner and make a mess out of me. Is that so bad?

Chan: Baby, if you knew what you were saying right now…

You: I do.

Chan: And I want you to say what you wanted. Out loud. To me.

Your fingers stalled. You swallowed.

Then typed: I wanted to feel your hard dick against me again. I wanted you to grip my hips and hold me still and tell me I was yours. I wanted your voice in my ear, telling me not to run.

Chan didn’t respond for two whole minutes.

You were about to text again when—

Chan: I’m coming up. Don’t move.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You barely had time to throw your phone down before you heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Then—your bedroom door creaked open.

And there he was.

Hoodie sleeves shoved up, jaw tight, chest rising like he’d sprinted the last few steps. His eyes landed on you—bare-legged under your little blanket, looking like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

But oh, this wasn’t about cookies.

He shut the door with his foot. Click.

“You’re seriously playing with fire, you know that?”

You blinked up at him, lips parted. “What, just texting my best friend?”

Chan’s laugh was dry—no humor. Only disbelief.

Then his hands were on his hips, like he needed to physically restrain himself from pouncing. His eyes travelled down your body, slow and possessive, before he stepped closer to the bed.

“You said some wild shit just now, baby.”

“I meant every word.”

He tilted his head, smirking. But his voice dropped a little darker. “You wanted to feel me? Hm?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip.

“Say it again,” he said, close enough now to tug the blanket down from your waist.

“I wanted to feel you,” you whispered.

He leaned in. “Where, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched. “Against me.”

“Where else?”

You swallowed. “Inside me.”

That was it. That was fucking it.

In a blink, he was crawling over the bed, pinning you back with one hand on your waist and the other sliding under your thigh to pull you open for him.

“Guess what, baby?” he muttered, lips brushing your jaw as you shivered beneath him.

“You’re about to.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Chan’s weight settled over you, his body a solid, grounding force that made the room feel smaller, hotter, like the air itself was pressing against your skin. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough to feel the heat of his breath but not quite touching. It was torture. It was deliberate.

“Chan,” you whispered, voice trembling with something you couldn’t name. Anticipation. Need. Fear of what this moment meant for the two of you.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, but there was a storm behind them. You could see it—the way his restraint was fraying, the way his fingers tightened just slightly on your thigh, like he was fighting himself as much as he was holding onto you.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice low, gravelly, like he was giving you one last chance to back out. One last chance to keep things the way they’d always been.

But you didn’t want that. Not anymore. Not after the texts, the dancing, the way his hands felt like they belonged on your body.

You nodded, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “I’m sure.”

That was all he needed.

His lips crashed into yours, and it was like the world tilted. It wasn’t soft or tentative—not like the almost-kiss in his room earlier. This was hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for you and only just realized it. His hand slid from your thigh to your hip, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, your body arching into his like it had a mind of its own.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands finding his shoulders, his neck, tangling in his hair. You tugged lightly, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. His tongue brushed against yours, and you felt it everywhere, like a current running through your veins.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled, breathless, and tugged him closer. “Good.”

He growled low in his throat, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your stomach, your ribs, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. He was teasing you, and you hated it as much as you loved it.

“Chan,” you whined, squirming beneath him, trying to guide his hand higher.

He smirked knowingly. “What, baby? Use your words.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. “Touch me.”

“Where?” His voice was a low rumble, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hipbone, maddeningly close but not quite enough.

“Everywhere,” you breathed, echoing his text from earlier.

That did it.

His hand slid up, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in a way that made you gasp. His other hand yanked your thigh higher, hooking it over his hip as he pressed himself closer, letting you feel every inch of him—hard, heavy, and so real it made your head spin.

“You wanted this,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you gasped, arching into his touch as his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and possessive against your bare skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of awe and something darker—something that made your heart race even faster. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because you’re you,” he interrupted, voice rough. “You’re my best friend. My safe place. I didn’t want to fuck this up.”

You reached up, cupping his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You’re not fucking anything up, Channie.”

His eyes softened, but only for a moment. Then he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word into it. His hands roamed—over your sides, your thighs, tugging your shorts down just enough to feel the bare skin of your hips.

You tugged at his shirt, impatient, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling back to yank it over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles flexing, eyes dark with want—made your mouth go dry. You’d seen him shirtless a thousand times, but this was different. This was yours.

“Like what you see?” he teased, catching the way you were staring.

You didn’t even bother hiding it. “Always have.”

He froze for a second, like your words hit him harder than he expected. Then he was on you again, kissing you like he was trying to make up for lost time, his hands slipping under your shirt to tug it off completely. The cool air hit your skin, but his touch was fire, burning away any chill.

His lips trailed down your neck, over your collarbone, pausing to murmur, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” before continuing lower, kissing the curve of your chest.

You gasped when his mouth found your skin, warm and deliberate, his hands holding you in place as he took his time exploring you. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a confession—like he was saying all the things he’d held back for years.

“Chan,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed lower, his breath hot against your stomach.

He looked up at you, eyes dark but soft. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” you said, voice shaking but certain.

He grinned—slow, wicked—and then his hands were on your shorts, tugging them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. You were bare beneath him now, vulnerable in a way you’d never been before, but there was no fear. Only trust. Only him.

His hands slid up your thighs, parting them gently, and he leaned down to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was savoring it. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips.

“Then die happy,” you shot back, and he laughed—a real, warm laugh that made your heart ache.

But then his touch turned serious again, his fingers brushing against you in a way that made your breath catch, your body arching toward him instinctively. He watched you, eyes locked on yours, gauging every reaction, every little sound you made.

“Channie,” you gasped, when his fingers pressed just right, slow and deliberate, like he was learning you.

“Shh,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. He always had.

His touch was patient, reverent, but there was an edge to it—like he was holding himself back, trying not to lose control completely. You could feel it in the way his fingers trembled slightly, the way his breath hitched when you moaned softly under him.

“More,” you whispered, tugging him closer, needing him closer.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His fingers worked you with a rhythm that made your head spin, your hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anything to ground yourself. But it was too much and not enough all at once, and you could feel the heat building, coiling tight in your core.

“Channie, please,” you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“You,” you managed, voice breaking. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

He pulled back just enough to kick off his sweatpants, and then he was back, settling between your thighs, his body warm and solid against yours. He kissed you again, deep and slow, and you felt him—hard, heavy, pressing against you in a way that made your entire body hum with anticipation.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, one last time, his voice strained, like it was taking everything in him to hold back.

You nodded, pulling him closer, your lips brushing his. “I’ve always been sure.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for years, and then he was there—sliding into you, slow and careful, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none. Only heat, only fullness, only him.

You gasped softly, your hands finding his back, nails digging in just enough to make him hiss. He moved slowly at first, giving you time to adjust, but it wasn’t long before you were urging him faster, harder, your hips meeting his with every thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” you whispered, and you meant it—every word, every touch, every moment.

The world outside didn’t exist anymore. It was just you and him, the heat of his skin, the way his hands gripped your hips, the way he whispered your name like it was a prayer. You were his, and he was yours, and for the first time, that truth didn’t scare you.

It felt right.

The tension built, higher and higher, until you were trembling beneath him, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel it too—you could tell by the way his movements grew less controlled, more desperate, his lips finding yours again as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

“Chan,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the wave crashed over you, your body shuddering beneath him.

He groaned, low and deep, following you over the edge moments later, his body tensing, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just breathed. Just held each other, the world quiet except for the sound of your racing hearts.

Then he kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft now, almost shy.

You nodded, your cheek pressed against his skin. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can go back to pretending after that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling. “Then don’t.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you again—slow, sweet, like a promise. “I won’t.”

<><><>

The next morning was different.

Not awkward or weird. Just… new.

You woke up tangled in his sheets, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. For a moment, you just lay there, letting the reality of it sink in. You weren’t just best friends anymore. You were something more, something unspoken but undeniable.

He stirred behind you, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Morning, baby girl.”

You smiled, rolling over to face him. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Morning Channie,” you whispered back, reaching up to trace his jaw.

He caught your hand, kissing your palm. “You’re not gonna start teasing me already, are you?”

You grinned. “Maybe.”

He groaned, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours in a lazy, sleepy kiss that made your toes curl. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it,” you shot back, snuggling into his chest.

He didn’t argue. Just held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

You didn’t talk about what this meant—not yet. There’d be time for that later. Time to figure out how to navigate this new thing between you, how to balance being best friends with being… more.

But for now, you were content to just be. To lie there in his arms, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

Because you were completely his. And that was enough.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: Hiiiiiii! How’s it going guys? I have been soooo busy lately like i need my life backkkkk 😩😩😩 i’m so sorry that i have bot responded to my dms, but its all for a good cause. So tell me how did you like this fic? Its a little on the long side with an almost 10k wordcount but i was hoping that could make up for lost time… this one has been sitting in my drafts for months so i released it because i know i owe yall some content. Sooooo enjoy this while i get the next entry for NAUGHTY DORM CHRONICLES READYYYY ❤️🤭🤩

you are sleeping, your body completely relaxed on your bed and the sun against your skin, when a faint tickle stirs you, something warm brushing along your inner thighs. it starts light, like feathers or fingertips tracing lazy circles, inching higher and higher with each pass. your skin prickles, awareness slowly creeping in as heat blooms between your legs.

you move a bit, still half lost in drowsiness, but the sensation never stops and now the gentle strokes part your thighs wider, exposing you. a slick warmth gathers at your core, your cunt already drenched and your folds swollen and aching without you fully understanding why. you feel your wetness seeping out, coating your inner lips, making everything slippery and sensitive.

your breath hitches and your hips twitch instinctively towards the teasing touch. whatever it is, it presses firmer now, the thumbs or palms spreading your thighs apart, holding them open as that caressing pressure dances closer to your centre. 

“shh, stay still, baby”, you hear a low, husky voice murmuring, vibrating through the air and into your hazy mind.

your eyes flutter but they don’t open yet, your body still not strong enough for that, because every nerve is focused on the soft touches that are now turning into soft kisses and lips that graze the tender skin at the crease where your thigh meets your cunt.

finally, you wake up properly, your vision clearing slowly and you raise your head - the first thing you see is chan, settled between your legs like he owns the place, which in a way he does, especially in moments like this. his broad shoulders fill the gap between your legs, his blonde hair tousled from sleep and his eyes locked on your exposed pussy as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them splayed wide. 

“chris? what-”, you start, your voice still thick and groggy.

he looks at you and then a wicked grin spreads across his face, his eyes gleaming with hunger. 

“oh, you’re not asleep anymore? let me wake you properly then”

before you can form another word, his head dips low and his tongue flattens against your folds in one long, deliberate lick, from the bottom where your entrance weeps arousal all the way up to your clit.

the shock of it rips a gasp from your throat as your head falls against your pillows, pleasure exploding through you like fire. his tongue feels hot against you, pressing firm as it drags over every inch, tasting your slickness and lapping it up greedily. you can’t speak, you can’t even think, the only thing you can do is moan for him. your cunt clenches as more juices flood out and chan just hums in approval, the vibration sending jolts straight to your core. 

he dives in fully then, his mouth sealing over your pussy, his lips sucking on your outer lips before his tongue spears between them. he traces your inner lips before he dips into your entrance then pulls back to swirl around the edges. 

you try to raise your head with all the power you have, which is not much right now, and the sight makes you even more wet - his entire face buried between your thighs, his nose bumping your clit with each pass, his blonde curls tickling your skin as he keeps moving his head.

you let your head fall against the pillows again and start bucking your hips, squirming against the mattress, desperate to grind your cunt harder onto his mouth.

“chris- oh god- more, please”, you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets, your thighs trembling under his hold.

your need builds fast, your orgasm coiling in your stomach, every lick pushing you higher but he has none of it. his hands clamp down on your hips, his fingers pinning you flat to the bed.

“no, stop moving”, he growls against your cunt, his breath hot against you, before his lips move to latch onto your clit.

he sucks your clit, his tongue flicking it before he moves lower and it’s his nose what nudges it now, pressing just right to make the fire inside you burn even more. you cry out, your back arching as much as his grip allows, which is not much. his mouth works relentlessly against you, his lips on your folds as his tongue moves in and out of you. he slurps noisily, drinking your arousal like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, his chin completely soaked in you. 

everything feels overwhelming at this point - the pull of his lips on your clit, sucking harder now, his teeth grazing ever so lightly, his tongue rubbing broad strokes over your entrance, his nose grinding circles on your clit, and the pressure just keeps building more and more, impossible to contain anymore.

your thighs quiver against his shoulders, every muscle tensing as the orgasm rushes faster towards you.

“chris- fuck, i’m… i’m gonna-”, your voice breaks into a whine, your hips straining against his hold, your cunt fluttering around nothing as he moves his lips to your clit again, vibrating with a deep groan that pushes you right to the brink and then-

nothing.

he stops and pulls back completely, his mouth leaving your cunt and leaving you throbbing, completely empty and frustratingly denied. your arousal trickles down your skin and as you pant, you raise your head to stare at him in shock, your body screaming for release. 

“chris, why?”, you gasp, your voice breaking into a desperate whine, "please, i-i need it. i need to come, p-please- don’t stop, fuck, i’m so close-”

he chuckles low, the sound rumbling from his chest as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing your arousal across his face.

“it’s still too early for that, baby”, he says, his voice low and teasing, “i just started and you’re already so greedy for my tongue and ready to come? no, i decide when you can come”

his eyes rake over your trembling body, drinking in the way your thighs quiver and your nipples are hard against your thin t-shirt. he moves to his knees, his broad chest flexing, and you finally notice that he’s completely naked, his cock standing rigid and heavy between his legs, his tip already leaking precum. 

when did he even take his boxers off? 

the thought flickers in your mind but pleasure haze chases it away. before you can protest, his hands slide under your t-shirt, his palms warm against your sides as he pushes the fabric up. he leans in as his lips brush feather-light kisses across your stomach, his tongue darting out to trace the dip of your navel.

“mmm, look at you”, he praises you, nipping the skin just above your hipbone, “all mine to worship before i finally break you”

you arch into him, moaning loud as his mouth moves higher, bunching the t-shirt up over your ribs. he takes it off and tosses it aside, leaving you completely naked beneath him - your skin flushed, your pussy exposed and soaking, and your breasts heaving with each pant. 

chan settles his body between your spread thighs again, his hard cock dragging a hot line along your inner leg as he dips his head to your chest. his tongue flicks out, flat and wet against one nipple, circling it before he sucks it deep into his mouth. 

“fuck- chris! yes, like that!”, you scream, your fingers twisting in the sheets as your hips jerk uselessly.

he releases your nipple only to latch on the other, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he bites down, sharp enough to sting, sending a jolt of pain laced pleasure through you which makes you cry out, your back bowing off the bed.

“oh god, please, again. i-i need you, please”

he focuses on your breasts, sucking one nipple while pinching the other, rolling it between his fingers until it’s swollen and throbbing. your moans fill the room, raw and pleading, your body writhing under his torment. finally, he crawls higher, his naked body pressing flush against yours, his cock heavy against you.

his face hovers over yours, your lips so close you can smell yourself on him. you surge up, your lips parting as you try to capture his in a kiss, but his hand snaps to your chin, his fingers firm as he forces your head back down to the pillow.

“no no, shh”, he shushes you again, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, “no kissing yet, pretty girl. you gotta behave like a good girl for me if you want to come. can you do that? stay still and take what i give you?”

words fail you as your mind swims in lust and your throat is tight with need. you nod frantically, your eyes wide and glassy. chan’s smirk widens and then his gaze moves to your cunt, still glistening and puffy from his earlier actions.

“fuck, look at you”, he says, his voice husky and full of need, “so wet and ready for me, begging for my cock without you even saying it. such a perfect pussy for me”

he reaches down, one of his fingers sliding through your folds and gathering your slick from entrance to clit. he brings it to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucks it clean.

“mmm, you taste so fucking good, baby. it’s your turn now, open up”

another finger dips into your soaked folds, coating itself in your arousal before he presses it to your lips. you part them eagerly, your tongue lapping at the salty and sweet tang of yourself, sucking his finger deep as he groans.

“that’s it, good girl. suck it clean. taste how much you want my cock?”, he growls.

you hum around his finger, swirling your tongue just like he told you, your hips moving in desperation. satisfied, he takes his finger out of your mouth and crashes his lips to yours. the kiss is filthy as your tongues move together and you taste yourself on him, mixed with his own spit, the combination driving you wilder.

he moves, his body covering yours completely now as he lines up his cock, his head nudging your entrance as it parts your folds and slicks itself in your juices but not pushing in yet.

“you feel that?”, he whispers against your lips, “my cock right there, ready to split you open. beg for it, baby”

“please, chris- fuck me! i need you inside me, p-please”, you plead, your hips bucking to take him deeper but he places one of his hands on your hip, pinning you down.

“uh-uh, no moving. you take it when i say”

your hand flies to his waist, your nails digging in to yank him closer, but he catches your wrist fast, then your other wrist and pins them both above your head. one of his hands keeps them there, his grip unyielding against the headboard.

“bad girl”, he teases you, his cock circling your clit now, "you're not my good girl if you can’t follow rules. trying to move and grab me… maybe i should edge you all morning, huh? leave your pussy aching for my cock”

“no! please, no! i’m your good girl- please, chris. i’ll be so good now! just- just fuck me, please”, you whimper, straining against his hold as tears prick your eyes from his edging and teasing.

his free hand roams your body, pinching your nipples and moving to slap your thigh lightly as his mouth attacks your neck, his teeth sinking into the curve of your throat, sucking bruises as his tongue then soothes the marks before he bites again.

“louder, baby. beg like you mean it. tell me how bad you need my cock”

“chis, please! your cock, i- i need it. i need you inside me, please. i’ll take it all, come when you say”, you sob, your body on fire, and your clit throbbing under his teasing nudges.

he moves his tip against your entrance, “that’s my good girl”, he says finally, his voice rough with lust, “so wet and perfect for me. okay, i think you deserve it. gonna fuck you now”

with one brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you, his cock splitting you open, the burn exquisite as your walls clamp around his cock. you scream, pleasure crashing through you when he finally enters you after all his edging.

he doesn’t let your hands go, moving faster and harder inside you as his hips snap and his cock drags over every ridge inside you.

“tell me how good it feels, baby”, he demands, his lips at your ear now, “tell me how good it feels when i fuck you like this”

“so good - fuck, chris, so good. don’t stop, please”, you moan loudly.

your legs wrap his waist as your heels dig into his ass. he groans and his pace grows even faster, his grip tight on your wrists. 

“yes, my good girl. you take me so good. gonna make me fill you up, yes? come for me, baby girl, come now”

the praise shatters you and your orgasm rips through you, your pussy convulsing wildly around him as you finally come.

“oh, chris, i’m- fuck, yes”

he groans against your lips, his cock swelling before he finally breaks and spills hot ropes of cum deep inside you, his hips grinding deep as you milk every drop.

when you both come down from your highs, he releases your hands and crashes his mouth to yours in a deep and claiming kiss. you cling to him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your tongues sloppy against each other through your aftershocks. he pulls back slightly, smirking down at your blissed out face.

“good girl, but that’s just round one, baby. got all day to make you scream”

the library

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dividers by my darling @lariesographic 🩷

You leaned forward in your chair so your face was even closer to Chan’s. “I could just pat your head and tell you what a good boy you are!” You giggled softly and patted the top of his head one, two, three times. “Good boy.” You said gently. Not in a teasing tone or as a way to mock him. The words were just stated as fact. Those two words shot through Chan’s chest like a bullet. Bursting through his ribcage clear to the other side. He froze in place for a moment unsure of what this feeling was. He had been praised before, sure. He had been told he was “doing great” by girls while he was inside of them. Slamming away, in and out and in again. Hitting those soft, spongy spots that made their eyes roll back and their tongue loll out of their mouth. He had been told how big he was. “So big!” Was a regular phrase that he never got tired of. His cock stretching and making room inside a tight, wet cunt was a feeling he was used to, a feeling he loved. 

But this feeling was new. It was feral, gnawing, needy, aching. You were someone that saw him, really saw him, for everything he was. His accomplishments, his flaws, his ups and his downs. You had been there for all of it and still saw the best in him. He wanted to be good for you. That's what this feeling was. He wanted to hear those words again and again and again while he made you feel the most intense pleasure of your life. 

The next few minutes moved like sand through an hourglass. Chan stared at your lips still wet with beer from your most recent sip. He leaned in slowly, lingering in the moment to see what your reaction would be. Would you pull away? Would you be upset with him for evening attempting such a bold move? Kissing his best friend, this could change everything between the two of you. Chan leaned in closer still, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes then back to your lips again. He wanted to taste you so badly. He needed to show you just what a good boy he could be. Your breath caught in your chest as Chan’s button lips lightly brushed against yours. His nose angled against your top lip right in that spot underneath your nose. Cupid’s bow. That’s the word that flashed in your mind as you closed your eyes and started to part your lips for him. He smelled like beer and sunscreen. Like summer and sunshine incarnate. 

“Chan…” You moaned into his mouth barely above a whisper.

Chan growled back in response, He snaked his hand through your hair until it rested on the back of your neck. He pulled you in hard, deepening the kiss. Your body responded in an instant. Without hesitation you pulled at his tank top to bring him closer to you. A wordless promise that you were ready for anything he had in store for you.

Chan gripped your thighs hard and wrapped them around his waist while simultaneously picking you up and sitting you down on the edge of the patio table. The metal from the old table legs squeaked and creaked softly as you and Chan moved as one. He reached his arms up and slightly back to pull his tank top up and over his head. His biceps flexed and pulsed with the intense muscle that lay underneath. He groaned in frustration at the sight of your jean shorts. While earlier today he was admiring how perfectly they sculpted around your ass, now they were just too tight and too in the way of where he so desperately needed to be.. He pulled at the buttons clumsily and ripped at the zipper so harshly that it completely broke. 

“Channie!” You squealed. You weren’t really mad. In all truth you found it incredibly sexy. You had never had someone want you so badly that they were willingly to tear off your clothes. 

Chan gave you a slight smirk and simply said, “I’ll buy you new ones.” 

Next thing torn to pieces was your panties followed by the same weak objection from you and the promise made from him. 

You lived in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. You rented but you loved your quaint little home. One thing you never gave much concern to was your neighbors. You would have backyard barbeques with your friends almost every weekend and while you weren’t particularly “wild” you didn't let the potential of uppity neighbors stop your fun. Besides, your neighbors would party sometimes too. You’d hear loud music or shouting and shrug it off. Who cares? No, you never really considered the people living around you. That was until your best friend started to slide his hard cock inside you. When Chan’s cock was starting to stretch you, slowly inching its way deeper and deeper, then you considered who might be around. Because now, in this moment, you had to moan, you had to scream, you had to shout something. It was all just so good. It was all just so much. He was just SO. GODDAMN. BIG. 

“Ch-Channie..” You murmured. “C-cover my m-mouth. I’m gonna scream..”

Chan looked up from where his cock was moving, almost at the base now. He tried hard not to move his hips too much so you could adjust to his size. You were just so tight it was driving him crazy. He nodded and gently covered your mouth with his large hand. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside of you. You let out a long, muffled moan, gripping hard at his forearms. You wiggled your hips wildly, signalling him to start moving his as well. Then you mumbled something into his hand right before he pulled it away.

“What?” He grunted, his eyes focused again on your perfectly wet cunt wrapped around him.

“I said, Good Boy.” You panted through a smile.

Chan’s pupils widened and his eyelids lowered. His hands found their way to your hips as he gripped hard until the tender sensitive flesh felt like it may bruise. You arched your back from the sensation of pleasure and pain. Chan snapped his hip and began to thrust into you at a feral and unforgiving pace. One of his hands left your hip and trailed slowly down your stomach until his thumb resting on your swollen clit. He rubbed easy concentric circles on the sensitive nub making your pussy squeeze and grip around his cock. Every time you clenched around him he groaned and growled in approval. Little words were used now, just guttural sounds of pleasure and need for release. Only one phrase remained now.

“Say it again.” Chan moaned. His feral cries were mixing with a begging plea that sounded so delicious you felt like you could cry.

“Good… boy…” 

“I’m doing this for us!” Chan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care much for his volume. He wasn’t yelling at you– a line he has thankfully never crossed with you. But his voice was stern and clear and it contrasted yours in a way that made your blood boil. “I’m trying to give you girls the best life you can have! Why the fuck do you keep making me the bad guy?”

Your heart thrums wildly against your chest, beating louder and louder to the point where it hurts.

“We’re rich Chris! All I’m asking is for one night! One night where you put the kids to bed!”

The clock on the wall ticked over with another minute passed. The sound was loud in the tense atmosphere that fell heavy over the both of you. You snuck a glance. 4:23am. He’d been home for all of 5 minutes before you complained to him about the day. You’d been arguing since.

“I work all fucking day Y/N!”

“You think this isn’t work? Chasing after kids all day? You told me something would change!”

“It’s comeback season Y/N what the fuck did you expect? It’s always been like this!” He throws his hands in the air, trying to emphasise a point– not to calm you down or resolve anything– just to win.

“Changbin finds time for his family.”

Chan scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, “fucking this again. Bin is different.”

“How so?” You crossed your arms. Not out of anger, but a deeper sense of needing to hide away.

“I’m the leader.”

“And you promised me Chris. You promised me something would change! But it’s always the same shit. It’s coming home late and leaving early! And if you’re not here, you’re at the gym or the dorms–” 

“Cause I need a fucking break!”

“I have to hear about your life from bubble! What kind of marriage is that? That my husband texts a million strangers about his life rather than his own fucking wife!”

“You knew what you signed up for! This is my life Y/N, what do you expect me to do?”

“I’m your life!” You shout. Your voice louder with the feeling of burning hot tears brimming at your water line, “you married me! You told me I was everything!”

“Well the world doesn’t revolve around you does it?”

“No! It revolves around you! And the kids! Who every night ask where daddy is? When is he coming home? Every night I lie to them! You’re making me into a liar Chris.”

“Then stop lying to them,” he shrugs.

“And say what instead?”

“Tell them their father is working hard for them to have a good life.”

Your tears are falling freely at this point, “we’re fucking rich Chris! If you quit tomorrow we would have enough for the rest of our lives!”

“So you want me to quit?”

“That’s not what I’m saying–”

“I’m not going to give up my dream!”

“And what about my dream?” You step closer to him.

He lowers his voice, “and what exactly is that? Sitting around all day doing fuck all?”

Your breaths are heavy. Your tears seize for a moment. There’s a lump in your throat that begs to be let out.

“Take that back.” You squeak. There’s no venom in your voice, just pure sadness and pain.

He sighs, eyes boring down into yours.

“Stop making me the bad guy.” 

“Take it back,” the tears start again, your voice even shakier than before, “I only wanted 2! But you wanted a big family Chris!” Your eyes are darting everywhere around the room, “you wanted them so I gave them to you and you promised you would help!”

“So hire a nanny!”

“I don’t want someone else raising my kids!”

“Your kids?” Chan steps back, “so they’re your kids now?”

“That’s not what I meant! Please– please stop putting words in my mouth!”

Chan turns around with a shake of his head.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Wh–” panic settles low in your stomach and climbs higher and higher with every step he takes away from you, “what? Don’t– fuck Chris don’t just leave? We need to talk about this?”

“We’re just yelling at each other!” He ascends the stairs. 

“Where are you going?”

He turns rapidly, staring down at you with a steely look he’s never fixed you with. Chan had always been gentle, loving gazes. But as you look at him now, there’s nothing but cold anger. No regret or guilt– just apathy. 

He turns again and you wait for him to step onto the landing before scurrying up after him. 

“Don’t go–” your voice is wet with tears and saliva you can’t swallow, “please Chris don’t go–”

He ignores you and swipes his keys from the bowl, slipping on whatever pair of shoes were at the door. Then he picks up his bag from where he dropped it an hour ago. Laptop, drink bottle– everything he needs still inside. 

“Please– we need to talk about this– don’t– don’t just leave me.”

He doesn’t say another word as he opens the door, trudging outside towards the driveway. 

He pries open the car door, turning to see you hot on his heels.

“Chris please–” he throws his bag onto the passenger seat and finally, finally looks at you.

“Go back inside.”

It’s not an ask of concern, it’s a demand of frustration. 

“Chris–”

“Go back inside Y/N.” 

The car door is loud against the night air. The engine the final stab in the chest. On instinct you follow his car until it’s fully out of the driveway. You stand at the end of it and watch him drive away, tears streaming down your face, lungs gasping for air, hands shaky and breath erratic. 

You’re not sure how long you were out there, staring down the empty road and willing his car to turn back around. But by the time you entered back into your home, everything felt wrong.

The lights were too bright, the house too quiet. There’s a pencil mark on the wall from the time your youngest, Yejin drew her and her father at the zoo. There’s a dent in the floor from where your middle child, Suhee dropped all her toys and scratched up the floor. 

Your feet carry you through the house, seeing glimpses of the life you’ve lived while Chan has been away. The trophy your eldest, Miso got for the dance recital he missed and the photos from the competition he couldn’t attend as he was on tour. 

Report cards of good achievements, photos from adventures you’d taken with the kids that he promised to be there for. Signs of a happy life with a gaping hole of someone's presence.

You’re not sure how you found yourself beside Yejis bed. Yet the tears stopped feeling so hot, making way for more gentle ones. Ones that speak of a desperate yearning for your kids to have their father. A yearning for you to have a husband.

As you stroked the hair back from her face, she stirred slightly, but settled quickly under your touch. It was something you had always prided yourself on– how quickly your child will fold under your touch.

You turn your head over to the other bed to watch Suhee child flip over in bed. You watch her for a moment, the moving nightlight dancing over her face like the constellations were inside this very room.

Your mind relaxes from running wild. A moment of peace as you watch your children sleeping.

Yeji clutches your hand tightly, trying to pull you into bed with her. You turn back and chuckle slightly, tears subsiding for a cute moment with your child. 

But as you near your face towards her, the sound of her breathing catches you off guard. She wheezes and grabs for any part of your shirt.

“Sweetie?” You call, brows furrowing in concern.

She wheezes back a reply.

“Oh my god…” you mumble, pulling her to sit up in bed, “what’s wrong? Can you breathe?”

All the pain and hurt subdued into pure panic and the instincts of a mother caring for her child.

You watch her try to breathe in, a feat proved difficult for her. Your hand reaches around her back to soothe over her, hoping in a few seconds it will pass.

It doesn’t.

“Mama?” Suhee is out of bed now, “what’s happening?”

“Go get your sister please,” you turn to her, voice gentle and feigning a calmness, “go!”

Suhee scurries out of the room and you move to pick up Yeji. Her breathing worsens as she settles her head into your neck.

Miso runs in a moment later with Suhee, “what’s wrong?”

“Go get mama’s phone for me darling,” you’re walking out of the room, “call appa.”

“He’s not here?” Miso inquires.

Your heart breaks at the question. 

“Call your father Miso please.”

She scurries off into your room to find your phone. Suhee follows you down the stairs where you search for Yejis slippers.

“What’s going on mama?” Suhee calls.

“We’re going to have to take your sister to the hospital baby,” you try your best to keep your voice calm.

Miso bounds down the stairs, phone in hand. 

“He’s not picking up!”

“Try again,” you ask. You turn over to Suhee, who looks panicked and on the verge of tears. “Hey baby, it’s okay! Why don’t you go find your slippers okay?”

“Where’s daddy?” She bursts into tears.

You look over to Miso who pulls the phone away from her ear again. 

“C’mere,” you beckon Suhee over, “everything’s going to be okay. Go get your slippers on.”

Suhee, though she’s still crying, manages to nod and rush off. Miso looks over to you, phone still in hand and looking just as upset that her father won’t pick up.

You reach out for the phone and swipe it from her. 

You fix her with a gentle smile, “he’s probably caught up in work again.”

“It’s late.” She states, “when does he sleep?”

Suhee comes bounding back into the room and cuts you off. Thankfully.

“Alright,” you stand, “Miso, shoes. Everyone in the car.”

Miso hurries to the shoe rack and you make your way to the car. You buckle Yeji in, who is still struggling to breathe.

“It’s okay baby, everything’s going to be okay.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and dial Chans number again. Each ring feels like a knife to the heart.

An automated message, a tone ringing out and an exasperated sigh leaves you with no choice but you hang up.

You look over the contacts list. Desperately needing to call someone, anyone.

You press the first one you find.

Two rings. 

Two rings at 5am is all it took for Changbin to pick up.

“Hey? It’s early for you,” he chuckles. He sounds out of breath.

“Something’s wrong,” your voice cracks, “Chris he– he won’t pick up and I–”

“Hey,” he soothes, “hey it’s alright, take a breath. What’s happening?”

You look over at Miso who is strapping Suhee into her car seat. 

You face away from the kids to not make them more upset, “Yeji she– she can’t breathe and I–”

“Okay, hospital now.”

“Yeah I’m going I just– fuck Bin…” you lower your voice, “I have the kids and I can’t– I can’t do both– I can’t fill out shit and take care of them and–”

“I’m on my way.” He sterns. There's movement of things on his end. Then hurried footsteps. “Just meet me at the hospital okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can alright? I’ll try to call Chan.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out, “thank you Bin really.”

“Just go okay? I’ll be there soon.” 

You nod even though you know he can’t see you.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Between trying to calm your children, worrying for your youngest and trying not to break down in front of your kids– no one blames you for not remembering much.

When you pull up, you’re surprised to see Changbin already there. He rushes up to your car as you get out.

“Take Yeji,” he pries open the door, “I got the others.”

“Thank you,” you mutter. 

You practically rip Yeji out of her seat and rush her inside to the hospital. You shakily provide your details to the front counter and you’re immediately whisked away with Yeji.

You’re sat holding tight to Yejis hand. She’s sound asleep now. Suhee is tucked up beside her. Miso had fallen asleep on Changbin. 

The sun began peeking through the blinds, illuminating the scene before you. Your tears had dried by now, but your body was spent. Lack of sleep combined with excessive crying and the stress of the whole situation was weighing heavily on you.

“Daddy?” Miso’s quiet voice broke through your thoughts. You look up across to her and your heart breaks. 

Then it drops when you hear his voice, “hi babygirl.”

You reel your head around to see him. He’s not in any better shape than you are. 

Your blood runs hot again. Just the sight of him makes you angry. The fact that he’s here, speaking so softly after the way he yelled at you. Showing up with his head hung low, every ounce of guilt dripping off him. 

You watch him recognise Changbin– still present. 

He speaks, “thanks for coming man. You can go now.”

“No.” You speak. Eyes looking over Yeji again. “I need someone who's not going to flake again.”

Chan sighs. He approaches you slowly, lowering his face beside yours and whispering, “can I see you outside for a minute?”

You weren’t going to go. You had every intention of staying planted exactly where you were. But when Suhee opened her eyes and saw her father, the gentle, sleepy smile she gave melted your heart.

Out in the hall there was nowhere to hide. 

You crossed your arms and waited for him to speak.

“How… What happened?” His voice was so quiet. It was hard to hear him.

“Asthma attack.”

“Asthma?” He looks around the hall, running a hand through his hair, “how did we miss that?”

“You mean how did I miss that?” You retort. 

He looks back to you, face falling and dripping with regret. 

“I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

“So you’ll not apologise at all?” You lean back against the wall.

He sighs and takes a step closer to you.

“You have every right to be mad at me. I don’t– I don’t even have an excuse for you. I wish– fuck I wish more than anything that I could tell you what’s wrong with me but I– I fucking can’t–” he shrugs his shoulders, eyes going glassy under the confession, “you deserve a man that’s going to be there for you. They deserve a father that shows up and I– I fucking panicked…”

“About what? The comeback?”

“About the fans.”

You take in the information for a moment, trying to make it make sense in your brain. You came up empty. 

“The fans?”

He hung his head. He stepped closer to you, reaching out his hands to grab onto your elbows. You let him.

“I got it in my head that they… they were going to hurt you… if they– fuck Y/N we get followed all the time– I don’t– I don’t know what I do do if anyone tried anything. I can’t– the thought that Yeji–” he cut himself off with a sob.

“So you thought distance would fix it?”

“I don’t know what I thought. I was dumb and an asshole and I took it out on you when all you’ve ever been is kind and loving and the best fucking mother to our girls I–”

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in close. He buries his head into your neck, quiet sobs escaping his mouth.

“I’m so fucking sorry baby– I’m so sorry… please forgive me– let me make it up to you–”

“Chris,” you pull back for a moment, hands instinctively coming up to cup his cheeks, “I don’t want this fake version of you anymore okay? I don’t want the leader of Stray Kids or Bangchan. I want this. You. Channie. The father of my kids and the man I made a vow to. We just want you.”

“I know.” He nods, “I know. I’ll try. I promise you things will change. And I know I said that before. I know you have no reason to believe me but I’m asking for a chance to prove to you that you can still trust me.”

“That’s all I want Channie… I can’t do this by myself…” tears began filling up your eyes again, “I was so fucking scared–”

This time it’s Chris that pulls you into him. Wrapping his arms tightly against you like the weight of him could fix everything.

It wouldn’t. But it eased the pain.

It was the sound of Changbin's cough that got your attention, “she’s awake.”

Walking back into the room, all three girls were perched up on the bed. The second Yeji saw Chris she couldn’t contain her smile.

“Appa!” She calls, reaching her arms out.

“Hi my baby,” he mutters, sitting on the bed and being engulfed by his girls quite suddenly. “I’m here now…” he stokes Yejis hair back.

He waits for them all to pull away before speaking again.

“I owe you all an apology,” he begins, reaching out to pat backs and tuck away hair, “I’m sorry I’ve been so far away… but I need you all to remember how much daddy loves you okay? I love you all so much it hurts sometimes.”

“We love you too appa!” Miso hugs him again, and Chris lifts her into his lap.

You watch from the door. 

There’s still an unrest in your heart. Still a loud beast that takes up refuge inside you and waits to be quelled. It’s not a fix. It’s not an instant ease or permanent solution. But you feel the rumbling start to settle, the beast not yet leaving, but laying down inside your heart to rest. For a moment everything stills.

And a moment was all you needed to believe again.

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