#chan fluff

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 won’t wake up until Chan says so, to let you keep as much peace to yourself as possible.

You don’t deserve this. You don’t 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 couldn’t 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 he’d 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 there’s a week ahead of him with interactions and paparazzi. There’s fans and detractors. News outlets and media and messages and—

“Sweetheart…? We’re landed.” Be a leader. Do it for her. Be her brave man.

Chan’s voice tries to coax you away, running a crooked finger over your cheek. That was something constant, his comfort. He’d 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. You’re too peaceful for the news he’s about to don on you.

“Hey…” 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.

“Sleeping beauty… All good?”

“All good…”

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 job—

“Channie…? Are you good?”

You’d sat more upright while Chan’s 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 there’s one thing Chan isn’t, it’s a liar. He can be cheeky. He can tease. But this? This isn’t something he can shield you from. And that terrifies him to his bones.

You repeat his name again, more serious as you say “Chris?” and put a hand over his. He’s shaking like he’s 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 you’re 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. Something’s wrong, they just carry on as if they know this behavior of Chan’s 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 didn’t focus on breathing, he’d forget how.

So, there you go. Taking his hand into his and rubbing soothingly.

“Hey, hey… Chris, look at me… Breathe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You tell him to breathe, and Chan feels like it suddenly becomes harder. Because you can see he’s a wreck. You’re not supposed to see him like this, he’s supposed to take care of you, of everyone. He nods, hurried and childish, his eyes looking down at your hand. You said, “I’m not going anywhere”, but Chan doesn’t know if that’ll ring true in a few hours.

It’s 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.

“Chris… Talk to me, what happened?”

You’re 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. You’re so fucking sweet, you don’t 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.

“There’s… they found out.”

He’s met with silence. A soft murmur from staff pretending to busy themselves with cleaning out the jet cabin. They’re really just making sure Chan doesn’t 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 sweetheart— you don’t need him to explain. Not when you’ve had conversations like this before. “Finding out”. 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 you’re not even looking at his own face anymore. But in a miracle from above, that little sweeping motion of your thumb starts up again. You’re comforting him.

“Alright… Okay, um… H-How did they… Walk me through it.”

He blinks twice. You’re an insane and stupidly amazing woman. He almost wants to laugh. He could’ve told you the sky was falling and you’d just… ask for the prognosis?

“Someone, um… took a, uh… a picture. At the airport, in the back lot… Staff is trying to trace the person back, um… Y-You can’t really see you very well, but I am holding your hands and luggage, which someone is totally going to research and stalk into—”

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.

“I’m sorry?” he says, voice cracking at the end.

“N-No, I’m… I’m sorry, even… Even when our relationship is leaked… you’re putting yourself first.”

“Don’t. Don’t start, sweetheart.”

Chan knows where you’re going with this, and you still sit upright all noble and so damn wonderful.

“You remember the first time we talked about this?”

How could he not? You’d been dating for 3 months, but Chan had already knew it was serious. Something built and crafted carefully to last. He wasn’t 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 he’d brainstormed some lyrics or instrumentals.

You’d 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. He’d told you being with him wouldn’t be easy. Loving him wouldn’t be easy, was what he wanted to say.

You’d looked up at him like he’d said the dumbest thing ever, and said a cheesy line about “not wanting it if it’s easy”.

Chan grinned all square and dimpled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head to assuage his nerves. He’d then told you that he’d have to treat you like a secret. That he couldn’t love you as freely as he wanted, but he wanted you nonetheless. Told you he knew it wasn’t fair and he understood if you wanted a way out.

You’d 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 weren’t going anywhere when you said jokingly, staring into the dark water of the river, “Someone will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands”.

Smitten. Absolutely in love with you. He knew you were serious, that’s how you loved. With pure intentions and strength.

So as he looks upon you now, and you ask him if he remembers the terms you’d both set up, the mutual understanding of how this would all go? He nods. A bit shy for even thinking you’d turn away and cower from this. You duck your head a bit to meet his gaze and smile when he averts his eyes again.

“Yes, this is scary. Believe me, Channie, I’m… I’m really scared right now—”

“Please don’t be scared, sweetheart.”

“Channie. Listen.”

That quiets him. Lips faltering for a rebuttal to quell you. He doesn’t like the thought of you being in fear. But he listens anyhow, even with the underlying discomfort.

“I’m scared right now. This very… finite moment. I told you I knew what I was getting into… It was bound to happen, okay? A-And yeah, we didn’t get to announce on our own terms, but… It feels kind of freeing, doesn’t it? Liberating.”

You truly are insane. Any other sane person would be hyperventilating at the idea of millions knowing of their relationship. Something seen as “taboo” in the industry yet here you are again. Calling the murder of your livelihood liberating.

Chan shakes his head, already tasking for the worst. “The second we get back home, I… I can’t even begin to prepare you for the shitstorm that’s on its way.”

“I know, Channie…”

“The company, I-I’ll— I’ll work this out over the week here, they’ll issue a statement, they’ll say I was just helping a staff member out of the van in the picture— We’ll be okay, you’re okay… Sweetheart, I can’t lose you.”

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 doesn’t 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.

“You’re not losing me, I’m not going—”

“You can’t promise that. Not when… Not when they might force us apart.”

He’s not talking about distance people behind a screen. He means the company. Chan’s seen it his fair share of times before, and while Chan is more than welcome to date under his contract… 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. It’s the same face when you’re figuring out a board game with him, or deciphering the layers of music on his laptop when he shows you his proud work.

“No one has that power over us.”

Simple words. Chan swears his breathing stops for a moment before he releases it with a desperate whisper of your name.

“Sweetheart, I… I can barely protect myself in this situation…”

“Let me protect us for once… I-I can’t talk to masses or… your company, but let me fight for us. I’m not letting you slip away,” you whisper into his skin as your lips come down onto his cheek, pulling back to see a small determination in Chan’s eyes.

Staff alerts him that they have ten minutes of personal time left before it’s 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 couldn’t 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.

Chan’s eyes meet yours, and you give him your signature, beautiful yet halfhearted smile. You’re trying to soothe him; and damn you, it’s working a bit. Even if it’s just a fraction. All he can do is endure. That’s 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 he’d 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.

“Just look forward. Don’t talk to anyone. Security should be around you, you’ll be behind me. If… If anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, say my name. I don’t care, baby, just… It’ll be fast. Customs. Bags. Van. Hotel. We’ll work it out there, yeah?”

A hastily formulated plan that is utterly him. Diagnostic.

A your lips tighten into a thin line before you exhale off nerves and exhaustion.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“I love you.”

Chan’s declaration is sudden and whispered. Like staff doesn’t deserve to hear it right now, his private tender moment. He doesn’t 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. You’ll be okay.

“I love you, Chris… I’ll be close by. Don’t worry about me.”

—

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, he’d forgotten that hoodie you were wearing was his.

Amidst the snapping of camera shutters and flashes, his heart is racing. He’s glad he too is wearing a mask on the lower half of his face, or you’d see how distraught he really was. Under the fabric of his tank top, his heart feels like it’s going to fly out of his chest.

Focus. Walk in silence. Make sure you’re safe.

The second thing Chan notices is that there’s 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:

You’re about 6 people away, tailing behind between staff and security. Don’t get distracted. I know you like sweets sweetheart, don’t look at the treats in the shops. God, I’ll buy you all the sweets you want when we’re 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.

“Chris—”

His head is turned in a heartbeat. He doesn’t care if he makes a fool of himself, he’s 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. You’re trying to move but you can’t. And someone has the audacity to grab at you by the arm? He’s cutting through his own people, ignoring how cameras are shoved into his face, ignoring how there’s so many bodies surrounding him as well. You’re being tossed around like nothing, a few phones trying to duck under your head, and Chan is with you in a millisecond.

“Don’t touch people, please,” 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 “please” as an afterthought. You’d want him to be polite. It’d 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 can’t 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 “girl from the picture” 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?

Someone’s arm extends with a camera to catch a picture of Chan, and— 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 he’s seething.

“Absolutely not— We’re not gonna do that,” 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. It’s probably a thousand dollar camera lens, but you’re 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 not…

He’s 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 he’s 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. He’d 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 doesn’t even think twice before wrapping an arm around your shoulder to shield you. It’s a bit forceful, and he’ll 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t say anything. He didn’t even stop for a photo-op. He doesn’t 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 all— 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.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry— I was a total caveman back there, I had to grab you before anyone hurt you… You’re hurt aren’t you, from the cunt with the camera? Lemme see—”

Faster than the words can come out of him, Chan’s 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. He’s rifling his hands through your scalp, trying to see if you’ve got signs of bruising or bleeding where heavy equipment once stunned you.

“Tell me if it hurts— Fuck, fuck this shit. ‘M fucking pissed right now, sweetheart. I swear, if even a hair is missing here, I’m having words with everyone. Do you feel lightheaded… Can I get some water up here please?”

You look dazed, even with his soft touch, and Chan can’t tell if you’re going to sleep again or burst into a fit of nervous tears.

“Hey, hey, hey— Don’t do that, please— Talk to me, sweetheart.”

He brings his hands back down to cradle the sides of your face, keeping your eyes on him. That must’ve been intense and scary for you, he can’t even begin to imagine what’s 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 you’re willing to be touched by him.

He slides his hands slowly up under the hoodie, under your shirt, to touch your bare skin. You’re safe. You’re okay. He doesn’t know if those internal words affirm him or you.

You lean into him, pressing your forehead into his neck. “I’m tired.”

“I know, my sweet girl… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” 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.

“This is on me.” So quick to blame, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, holding you tighter and smoothing his hands over your spine.

“On you…? Because someone took a picture when you couldn’t control it?”

“I wish I could.”

“But you can’t, Channie…”

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 can’t. Simple words from you always feel the strongest, like he’s seeing the world in a whole new light. Like you’re some wise sage.

You’re not this unattainable being who’s out of his grasp. You’re right here. In front of him, with raucous laughter in a crowd that’s 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 can’t do it perfectly, but he’ll try. Try his damn hardest to protect you even more, starting with talking to the company once you’re both home again.

Chan pulls back with pitiful eyes, smoothing his hands carefully over your head as they slide out from your clothes.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt…? You took a hit, hm? Sweet, brave girl…” Chan says as he smacks a kiss firmly onto your hairline. You hum and nod your head, just reminding yourself that no one’s 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.

“I-I had a welcome dinner for the event, but… Honestly, fuck that right now… I’ll send someone to represent me. You need me more— I need you.”

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.

—

Staying in the hotel room with you meant a complete detachment from any obligation that wasn’t… 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. You’d thought it was silly, a third party apologizing for something that wasn’t due to them.

You still accepted the box of pastries and cake, though.

Chan ran you a nice bath, as he’d promised to himself for you, sitting on the closed toilet lid and tracing his fingers over your back. He didn’t want to take his hands off you, not without thinking of the hands that were on you prior. Chan’s index runs down the back of your arm, where someone had attempted to pull you in that crowd.

You’ve got your knees tucked up to you, a plethora of lavender scented suds in the porcelain basin. Chan’s hands rake through your scalp to check for damage one last time before helping you dry off in a fluffy robe.

When it was Chan’s 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 wouldn’t want him to hold onto his anger, but he couldn’t 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 “meltdown”. 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, you’re 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 “Hey, handsome.”

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 he’s still thinking of earlier. How could he not?

“No updates from me. They don’t get a lick of a word from me for a while.”

Bubble. It sounds silly, but you know that’s the best punishment Chan can offer. It sends a message… or in this case, a lack thereof. You snort and sit upright, musing, “You’re doing the whole “punish-the-entire-class-for-three-people’s-wrongdoings” shtick, huh?”

The corners of his lips quirk upright, a dimple craters his face. “I mean it. This was an overstep. You know how much I hate that shit, baby…”

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.

“Sent some messages. People need to learn… Told them off a bit, took my picture down—”

“Your profile picture?” you interrupt, a small laugh escaping you as he frowns.

“It’s the best I can do without completely losing it on everyone.”

“Okay… okay, what’d you say in your messages?”

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 he’d come out of the bathroom:

🫧 260223

🐺: 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.

🐺: On a personal level, leave the people around me alone ffs. You’re 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. Don’t say bad things about my loved ones lol. I know them and you don’t.

🐺: My choices. My decisions. Accept them or don’t bother being a fan.

🐺: Diabolical.

🐺: Don’t stick your camera right in my face

🐺: Respect boundaries please

You look up from the phone and Chan isn’t looking at you anymore. Like he’s 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.

“As for you… I’ve already emailed the company. We’ll announce it properly that you’re my—”

“Christopher, are you serious—?”

“—That you’re the love of my life… You’re mine, and you’ve been mine, and this whole day has been insane, but I don’t want… I don’t want peace if it isn’t with you.”

Stunned to silence. This is a major step in his career, in his life. But it was bound to happen, even if it wasn’t on your own terms. He watches your mouth flounder for words and sits up on his elbows again, taking your hand in his.

“Sweetheart… You’re not some dirty secret, you never were… You’re not illicit, you’re mine. I’m tired of hiding the things I’m proud of. You’ve every piece of me, yeah? The ones that no one sees. They’ve just been for each other,” Chan leans against the headboard and brings your hand over his chest, your touch feeling how erratic his heart is beating. He’s just as nervous as you are, even when he’s taking the lead.

Your eyes soften, throat feeling a bit tight with emotion. “What if… What if it goes bad…?”

“Then it goes bad.”

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.

“I learned that from a girl once. She’s amazing. She taught me that sometimes things are out of my control.”

“She sounds badass.”

Chan grins, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he watches you wipe salty tears from your eyes in closed fists. “She is. And I’m gonna tell the whole world about her. But… there’s a few things I’m keeping private.”

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 you’re the only woman on planet Earth?

“What would that be, Christopher…?”

“Oh, it’s Christopher again now, is it?”

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.

“Keeping these moments private. When I have you to myself… 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.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes out, shaking his head as if he can’t believe you’re his. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even realize it. You just cozy back into his side and continue to eat, watching stupid infomercials and snuggling against him.

Chan’s arm comes over your shoulder and stays. Pulling you closer, like he can fuse into you.

This is the best he can do. Chan’s nervous for the future, as he often is. But with you feeling like this against him, it’s an exciting kind of nervous. What was that word you’d said— liberating. You’re always right, aren’t you?

New terrain is exciting. Even if it terrifies him. Because you’re not going anywhere, even if he’s haunted by the prospect of seeing people come and go from his life. He knows you’re the one that locked him down.

No obligations for the week ahead. He’ll go through his ambassador work. Take some interviews and pictures, an editorial video. And at night, in the late hour of Milan, that’s when he’ll come alive. He’s 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. You’re the peace he strived for. Even when it comes with a storm, he’ll chase it away.

but today was different. 

instead of feeling his hands touch you, you felt the touch of something.

your eyes fluttered open, your body immediately shivering as you felt something sticky drip on your exposed chest. chan was hovering over you, his smile ever so innocent, “good morning, princess.” 

“channie,” you breathe, already feeling your senses being flooded by him. you were facing up, with your faces inches apart, and his naked muscles flexed as he gave the bottle in his hand a rough jerk, making a moan escape you as the cold syrup fell on your now-hardened nipple. “what are you doing, love?” 

he only smiled, keeping the bottle aside as he lowered his face to your chest, making your core ache every time his breath teased your coated tits.

“i was planning to bring you breakfast in bed because of how good you were last night,” his tongue only slightly tapped your nipple, but the sensation made your back arc, begging for more. “and i just came here for a treat, but you look so peaceful sleeping,” he suddenly sat up straight, his absence making your head spin. “so i guess i’ll let you get back to it.” 

“baby,” you whimpered, barely awake but so needy, clutching on to his arm as he stood up, your thighs instinctively clenching together. 

chan smirked, very aware of the effect he had on you. “hmn? what is it, princess?”

you huffed, annoyed at him for playing so coy. your hand went up to your breasts, fingers making a mess of the sticky syrup. “help me clean up?”

“use your magic words, baby,” but he was already on the bed, his arms caging you.

“its not fair when you were the one who made the mess in the first place,” you pouted, casually licking your fingers. 

“oh yeah?” he held your wrist in his hand, pinning them above you. “i’m so sorry, darling. let me make it up to you.” 

in a flash, his mouth was on you, taking your sensitive nipple in his mouth as if he were a starved man. your free hand wove into his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in a way that sent shivers racing down his spine.

he sucked and licked impatiently, your back arching whenever his teeth grazed your tender peak. he detached himself for a moment, only for him to push his tongue out, lapping up the remnants of the syrup from your chest. you moaned in pleasure, your mind going blank with just his hot tongue on your body. 

“look at you, baby,” he whispered, his tongue licking your jaw, “so needy, and i haven’t even used my hands yet.”

“pl-please, chan,” your body stilled as his fingers traveled to your exposed cunt as he peppered kisses along your jaw. 

“my girl is so dirty,” his fingers glistened, and he pinched and rubbed your tits with them, coating you with your own wetness. “gotta make sure she’s spotless.”

you were sure you wouldn't last a second longer if he continued licking your already hardened nipples, and a wave of pleasure washed over you as you felt him sink his teeth in. your body shuddered, and it continued doing so as chan’s fingers found their way to your cunt, helping you ride your high. 

“did you just?” chan chuckled as you collapsed limply on the bed, utterly spent, and he felt extremely cocky. “i didn’t know i was that good, baby,”

“oh, shut up,” you covered your face with your hands, your face burning. “i’m still sore from last night okay? or more like, two hours ago,” 

“my girl is so damn hot,” he rushed to pull his sweats down, his hard cock already glistening with his precum. “i need to finish inside you, baby,”

“nuh-uh,” you tried to get up to push him away, but you felt too exhausted. sensing your fatigue, he gently caressed your hair, muttering soft praises. “you finished the whole box yesterday, remember?”

“oh come on,” he groaned, still fisting his erection. he knew how exhausted you were and wasn’t about to ask you to give him head, but he also didn’t want to finish alone in the shower. “i promise i’ll pull out?”

“i think i have a better idea,” you watched his features darken as your pushed your tender breasts together, eyes inviting him to fuck you. 

he moved over in an instant, positioning himself over you as you lay flat, careful not to crush you under his weight. your body trembled as his calloused hands took your breasts in his, your nipples still tender from his licks and bites. 

“you sure you want this?” he whispered, and the tiniest nod from your gave him the permission to ram his cock through your soft tits, his huge dick hitting your chin in the first few thrusts. 

this was his first time fucking your tits, and bang chan felt like he was in heaven. the way his dick slipped between your voluptuous breasts made him go harder with each thrust, and when you repositioned your mouth so that with every thrust his tip just edge your mouth made him see stars. 

“that’s it, princess,” he grunted, watching your face contort in pleasure whenever he squeezed your tits too hard, pushed his cock too further up in your mouth. “you’re doing so well for me. does it feel good to have your tits fucked? hm?” 

“mhm,” you whimpered, feeling another orgasm building up as your hands played with your clit, your movements becoming increasingly more erratic with each rough thrust from chan. 

it was all too much for you to bear; your cunt clenched around thin air, trying to feel as good as your other senses were feeling with each rough squeeze from chan’s hands. your tits were red now, and you were sure chan’s grip would leave marks, but you were too much in pleasure to care about any of that, the overstimulation making the pain turn into pleasure. 

your fingers curled inside your cunt as your felt chan buckle his hips, his thrusts becoming slower but harder. “i”m gonna come baby, you want me to come on your face? yeah? or you wanna drink it up like a whore?” 

as you felt him near his release, you lifted your head, taking his cock inside your mouth. his hips gave a sudden, forceful jerk as he came, releasing his hot cum inside you. tears prickled your eyes as you took his load in, swallowing as much as you can.

you gagged as his cum dribbled out from the side of your lips, and knowing you were at your limit, chan pulled out of your mouth, spilling the rest of his cum all over your face. you came for the second time, your body quivering in pleasure. 

“oh baby, look at you,” he huffed, out of breath. he put two fingers in your mouth, smiling as he saw you swallow his load. “you did so well, princess, i’m so proud of you.” 

you smiled, feeling content, your tongue sticking out of your mouth to lick his release from your face. “thank you for the breakfast in bed, channie.”

peach notes: first one, kinda nervous. lmk if this was any good or if i should bury myself in a hole and die.

He told the truth, he had crazy work to do. Promo pics for the new album had been released and he didn’t even run to Bubble. All last night he’d been sending messages about working out, his need for exertion, exercise, to move his body, like he’d been talking about for a few days now. Surely he was expected to send more, or update his routine, but while one comeback approached, he found himself knee deep in another. 

The next one.

Do It wasn’t set to release for another month or so. 

Useless to fight him though, he did it to himself. He didn’t need to carry this burden alone, no matter if he thought he was supposed to, he had seven other members to lean on.

With how his body reacted to your gentle whisper, you quickly realize his message of, come here need help, received fifteen minutes ago would not go over well if answered by anyone but you.

“Chris?”

His fingers flexed. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Dropping his hands, he used to them to push his chair out from under his desk. Sitting back in his seat, he sprawled his legs in front of him, stretching them out like he’d been stuck in that spot from his first text to his last. Fingers gripping at the black joggers hugging his legs, he tipped his chin back, resting his head on the chair. 

He pouted his lips after a once over of your being. “C’mere,” he whispered, tapping his fingers on his lap. 

Kicking off your shoes, padding over to him in your socks, long sweatpants dragging on the tiled floor, you tossed your things on his desk and climbed into his lap, slotting your knees around his hips. Strong hands took you by the waist, fingertips pressing into your curves, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together.

One hand took to your cheek, his thumb brushing under your lashes. “You were asleep,” he whispered.

Eyes flickering to his lips, you whispered, “No I wasn’t.”

His pout deepened, his gaze drawing over your heavy eyes. “Yes, you were. You close your eyes right now and you’re done. I know this face.”

Sliding your arms around his neck, you took a deep breath that triggered him to take one with you. “Okay, I was sleeping.”

He gave you the smallest shake of his head. “Don’t pretend just to make me feel better.”

Brushing your nose over his, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, you whispered, “What’s wrong?”

Both hands around your waist again, he tugged you closer if he could and adjusted in his seat, the slightest friction to your center causing you to flinch ever so slightly. Hooded eyes gazed up at you, the corners of his lips pulled down into the tiniest frown he had ever worn.

“Chris, it’s okay,” you assured him with a head shake and kiss to his cheek that made his eyes shut. “Come home. Leave all of this here, and come back to it when you’ve slept, and eaten something better than…” Glancing over your shoulder, his hold not letting you move very far, you caught a glimpse of the Monster cans and empty bags of snacks littering his work space.

When you faced him he wore the ghost of a smile. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” you mumbled, and he let out a quiet laugh. You scoffed, toying with long strands of hair hanging against his neck. “Sure, let my stress over your wellbeing be what amuses you, Christopher.”

Hands smoothing up your back to pull you down on top of him, he cracked a smile and leaned forward to catch your lips in a kiss. “‘M sorry,” he muttered between shared air.

Grasping him by the shoulders, you pressed your forehead to his and sighed. “I could’ve brought you dinner. Your brain works best after a proper meal, or after you’ve sweat it out, maybe you need to go down to the gym. Send some silly messages and thirst traps–”

He cut you off with a kiss. Lips tangling, he held you on top of him and slid his hands down to the curve of your ass, giving you a needy squeeze. Pressing his hips up into your own, his cock half hard, you gasped and he let out a heavy sigh. 

“That clears your mind,” you whispered.

He smiled, lips eager to be back on yours. “Also good for my health.”

Taking your hands to his cheeks, tipping his chin backward, you looked down at him and pursed your lips. “It is like… two forty seven in the morning.”

Glancing to his computer screen, his eyes narrowed when they met yours. “How’d you do that?”

You shrugged. “Intuition.”

He blinked. “Naturally.”

Sitting back on his lap, his disappointment evident on his face, you smiled at him and drug your hands down his chest. Taking a deep breath, his chest expanding as your fingers pulled at the waistband of his pants, he pulled his hands off your body and gripped the metal of the armrests your knees rested under. 

He grew harder beneath you, you could feel him. A one track mind jumping ship faster than you can say let me have you, and all because he wanted to do anything else but focus on his damn work that likely had been finished weeks ago. He couldn’t leave it alone, ever, not until it’d been released. Pushing himself until the very last second of every deadline to exist in his world– His twenty eight a strong fifty three when he sat at this desk.

Or any desk for that matter.

Admirable, really, but you needed him at twenty eight.

“You know what else she told me?” you asked, and he perked a brow. “My intuition?”

Chan breathed on manual, his gaze fighting to look at your hands, or your eyes, or your hips, or your fingers that toyed with the elastic of his joggers. “She’s scary sometimes.”

You smiled. “Is she ever wrong?”

“Fuck no,” he gasped as you tugged.

Working the stretchy fabric to his knees, exposing him and his need for you to touch him, throbbing, leaking, you reached for the waist of your own sweats and pulled them down. 

Whispering, “I knew what you needed,” in his ear as you settled yourself on top of him, his whimper as your slit kissed his tip ignited a fire in your belly, one that pulsed through your veins as you suck down onto his cock, the stretch too much without him prepping you first.

Too full, too big, too much, too much… To the hilt, you stilled.

You would not allow your brain to turn off.

As much as it fought with you, dizziness second nature when he pressed so deeply within you, you sucked in a trembling breath and released it all at once, sliding your arms over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck. 

His full, pink parted lips, he breathed through them, brows cinched in the middle, jaw slack, breath ragged. Blinking up at you, deep brown eyes glazed over and heavy, his own fatigue taunted him.

“Baby,” he whispered as his hands took their time sliding over your thighs and up your bare hips, sitting perfectly in the curve they made. Spreading his fingers, he grabbed handfuls of you and moaned unabashed, shifting you on his cock just a bit.

You both winced, but he whimpered.

Pressing kisses to his jaw as his head thrashed to the side, you grazed your tongue beneath his ear and gently caught his lobe between your teeth. Parting your lips to fan hot air over his neck, content as goosebumps erupted over his skin and he trembled, you flattened your tongue and danced it from his jaw to his collar bone. 

Hands gripping you tighter, sure to leave marks there for you to find tomorrow, he gasped through a whine and pushed up into you, acquiring the exact sound he yearned for.

“Baby, please.”

His tone. Never a beggar, a brat maybe, mastermind ragebaiter with a shit eating grin, but never one to beg.

Letting your lips trail up his jaw and pass over his lips with an obscene smack, you breathed him in and danced your fingers through his hair, combing it backward away from his face, letting your fingers graze his scalp, soothing him. 

“How do you want it?”

He gulped, looking at you like he could swallow you whole, but at the same time, he put his conscience in your pocket. “Just like th-this,” he whispered, tensing his fingers, moving them further back to grip your ass. “Don’t… Don’t fuck me.”

Tucking more hair behind his ears, you kissed the tip of his nose and brushed your cheek over his, laying your weight on top of him fully, one final little push to get him and keep him all the way in. 

“Don’t fuck you,” you repeated his words in case his muddled brain didn’t piece them together correctly. 

He grew hotter, his body heat having spiked since you sat on his lap, and you could feel him inside of you, pulsing, a need to move, to fuck. If you were at home he’d have you a sobbing mess by now. If you were anywhere else for that matter, or if he were in any other circumstance other than burn out.

Chan grasped control, he wanted it, he pursued it, stared it in the face, made it his bitch, but not tonight.

For once in his life he needed to release it.

Your fingers brushed his skin delicately while your gaze watched him suck down mismatched breaths. Laying your head down on his shoulder, kissing his cheek one more time, you smoothed a hand over his chest and thundering heart threatening to rip through the black tee he wore. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered, fingers swirling in a circle in the valley of his chest. His brow furrowed. “I always am, Chris.”

His eyes fluttered open. “You say my name so pretty.”

Nudging his jaw with your nose, you sat up to meet him eye to eye. “Chris,” you whispered, kissing him once. He groaned deep within his chest, a rumbling that sent a shock to your core. “My Chris who works himself too hard. Chris who needs a break. A month-long vacation with his girlfriend who loves him, who’s proud of him, who needs him.”

He hummed, kissing you with fervor. “Where’re we going?” A heady sigh caught you both off guard, one that fell from his lips as he glanced between your bodies. “So wet, baby, fucking christ.”

You clenched around him without meaning to, and you both whined. He adjusted in his seat again, and your vision went blurry. 

“Chris,” you whimpered, grabbing onto him. 

“Kinda like torture,” he released his hold on you and gently smacked your ass with both hands before gripping back onto you, “But it’s too hot knowing your cunt’ll soak my cock no matter what.” 

Lips parting to speak, no noise came out. You had mere seconds until the thoughts in your head watered down to his name and his cum. Chan smiled, his spark returning tenfold.

“Answer my question, baby,” he cooed, hands massaging into your thighs, your hips. “Where are we going?”

Blinking emptily, locked in on his darkened eyes, his olive complexion, the obvious fact that he filled you entirely shocking the nerve endings of every compatible system, you whispered, “Anywhere… but here.”

“Hm,” he hummed, pushing his chair away from the desk. Holding you in his arms, he spun the chair around and carried you with him, smile growing as your legs wrapped around his waist. Splaying you backward on the black leather sofa, ensuring your head laid comfortably over the arm rest, he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, and pulled your sweatpants off of you entirely– without ever slipping out of your heat. “How’s this?”

Wrapping your arms around his back, pulling him down onto you, you breathed, “Perfect,” and caught his lips in a messy kiss as he pulled out of you, only to push back in with a moan. Closing your eyes, your body on fire, your thoughts a matter of nothing, you whispered, “Use me.”

His hand gripped your jaw. “No,” he grumbled, pressing his fingers into your cheeks. “Stay with me. Open.” 

Your lips parted, your tongue poking out, and he breathed through his amused pride. 

“Your eyes, baby, but good girl.” Meeting his gaze, you sighed, and he pouted. “You’re so sleepy,” he said softly, dancing his thumb against your skin, his hips in a steady motion, slow pulls of in, and out. And in, and out.

Your quiet, gentle whines, your tiny, unintelligible moans, like this, meant everything to him. Every hitch of his breath, every involuntary sound that melted from his lips, like this, meant it was real.

Bodies moving in sync, heavy sighs keeping time, sweat adorning your skin and his, parted lips brushing with every rock of his hips, drinking up every breath, every sound that slipped into the heat of the erotically charged air surrounding you– You’ve never been pushed over the edge so intensely, so powerfully, and Chan liked to toy with you.

But, this was different.

Eyes rolling back, toes curling, your body wrapped around him, clamping down on him everywhere. Mouth falling open, Chan kissed at the corners as you shook, body convulsing, euphoria washing through you, every limb, every vein. His name, on your lips like a prayer, a pathetic whimper to stagger his hips, his composure coming to a close as you squeezed him tight.

“Oh, fuck, good girl,” he moaned, nose pressed to your cheek as his thrusts grew sloppy riding you through your high.

Grasping handfuls of his shirt, you gasped, “Chris,” turning your head to kiss him rough.

Just as his tongue dipped out to meet yours, he groaned and grabbed onto you. Eyes screwing shut, he clenched his jaw and let out a broken moan as he spilled into you, tiny thrusts of his hips emptying himself entirely.

He curled up on top of you. Arms sliding around your back, head burrowing into your neck, your chest, he held onto you and eased his breath in time with yours, nirvana induced heartbeats pounding like no other.

Palms flat on his back, feeling each breath he took with the rise and fall of his ribs, the moment you felt as though you could move them, you drew small circles, and he picked up his head.

“Feel better?” you asked within a whisper.

Smiling, sleepier than ever, he hit you with a slow blink. “Come with me to work everyday.”

Breathing through a laugh, you drug a hand through his tousled hair, smiling as his eyes grew heavier. “Then you’ll get nothing done.” You grasped his cheek and brushed his lashes with your thumb.

He smirked. “That’s your dream.”

Pinching his cheek, you whispered, “This room isn’t soundproof during the day.”

“They’ve heard you before,” he teased, wiggling his brow, each blink growing longer and longer.

Scoffing, you brushed back his hair and said, “Jisung did, and that was one time, and it was an accident.”

Chan shrugged, shifting himself around you. Sitting up for all but three seconds, he grabbed ahold of your sweatpants and helped you back into them, situating his own. Settling beside you, cradling you in the nook of his body you curved perfectly within, he slid an arm under your head for you to lay on and wrapped the other around your middle. 

“What time is it?” you whispered through a yawn, knowing you’d both fall asleep here, then wake up to get a coffee from the corner cafe before he holed himself up in here for another twenty four hours.

“You tell me,” he said, voice deep, full of tired.

Closing your eyes, sinking against him, you whispered, “Three twenty nine.”

He picked up his head and squinted in the glow of his computer screen. He took a quick breath and scoffed, thoroughly amused. “Unbelievable.”

it had started a few weeks ago, when chan had revealed to you that he suffered from severe insomnia. you blamed it on the alcohol in your system back then that you offered him to come over when he can't sleep, mentioning that you're usually up late because of uni assignments. you didn't expect him to take you up on that offer. but when his message came in a couple of days later, asking if your offer still stands, you let him come over.

that was the first night he fell asleep on your couch while you were typing away on your laptop.

the couch soon became your bed, engulfed in your scent, feeling at peace. you'd climb in at some point. and soon, his arms would wrap around you as soon as he felt your presence.

you let him. let him because it felt good. let him because you felt protected.

and each night he stayed over, the space between you during the night decreased. until you were all tangled up, bodies pressed together.

when chan woke that morning, he couldn't help but notice your closeness, couldn't help but notice his raging hard-on against your butt. he cursed softly, trying to move away from you subtly. but when you only scooted back in your sleep, trying to be close to him again, he stopped. fuck. he was screwed. his control shattering in the morning haze.

he buried his face into your neck, lips brushing against your skin unconsciously. he was completely wrapped around you now, literally and figuratively. his brain still foggy with sleep.

goosebumps spread over your skin when his lips brushed against the skin of your neck, pressing yourself harder against him.

he felt the goosebumps rise under his fingertips where his hand rested on your waist, and he knew you felt that feather-light brush of his lips against your neck. a warm flutter spread through his chest, knowing he affected you even in your sleep.

he pressed another soft, barely-there kiss against the sensitive skin of your throat, unable to resist the temptation. his thumb stroked soothing circles over your hip.

when you move again at the feel of his lips, your butt brushes against his cock, making him remember how hard he was. he curses softly against your throat, but can't seem to keep his lips away from your skin.

he tried to stifle a moan, feeling you against his aching cock. his body pressed instinctively against you, seeking friction, his hips arching slightly. his lips continued their innocent assault on your neck, kissing, nibbling, sucking softly. his mind is conflicted embarrassment wars with desire. should he stop?

his soft kisses and nibbles on your neck made your hips continue moving against him, your breathing becoming heavier, and he couldn't help it but grant himself the friction he so desperately needed.

his breath caught as you unconsciously ground against him, even in your sleep. it's innocent, but it felt so fucking good.

he lost control, his hips moving instinctively against you, seeking more contact, more pressure. his lips sucked harder on your neck, marking you unconsciously as his arms pulled you flush against him. he was completely lost in the moment, his hard cock grinding against your ass through the fabric of your clothes.

you moaned his name softly, still asleep. it didn't pull him out of his haze, if all, it encouraged him, made him get even more lost in the moment.

his name falling from your lips in that sleepy, breathy tone was his absolute undoing.

he groaned against your throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. his hips buck more insistently now, his cock throbbing painfully against you. he needed more, needed to be inside you, needed to feel you wrapped around him. but you were still sleeping. he couldn't. wouldn't. so he settled for grinding harder, using your body as his personal friction toy, his mouth latched onto your neck like a lifeline.

he was about to cum in his pants but he didn't care, he needed this. he hasn't managed to jerk off properly in weeks, his mind too full, too busy. he hasn't felt this fucking good in so long. he needed that release desperately. and the unconscious moan of his name, the way you ground against him even in your sleep, threw him right over the edge.

he came hard, his body shaking with release as he was grinding out his orgasm against you, his hot cum leaking into his boxers. he buried his face in your neck, muffling a loud, guttural moan as he rides out the wave, his arms clinging desperately to you.

his hips stuttered and jerked against you as he emptied himself completely, his body limp and satisfied for the first time in forever.

once he came down from his high, he pulled away carefully. he noticed the tiny mark on your neck he accidentally left there. it was barely visible, but it was there. the tiniest amount of guilt tried to spread in his chest but was replaced by the overwhelming sensation of the orgasm he just had. he hasn't felt like this in weeks and it was intoxicating.

he watched you sleep, his fingers gently tracing the faint hickey on your neck. the guilt tried to surface again, but he quickly pushed it down, replacing it with the warm afterglow of his orgasm and the comforting feeling of being wrapped around you. he decides right then that he doesn't care about the guilt or the consequences. you made him feel too good.

and just like that, this became a new routine. chan started coming over at night whenever his schedule allowed it, falling asleep in your bed, in your arms, waking early to find you wrapped around him, grinding himself against you.

a/n: hi hello, i know it's been a while. i had a lot going on with uni but um— couldn't help but get back into writing drabbles. is it still okay to use my old taglist even though it's been like what? six months since i last posted haha

anyway, about writing... it's good for uhh— motivation

also i'm obsessed with this pic of chan

( 방찬 )

( 이민호 )

( 서창빈 )

( 황현진 )

( 한지성 )

( 이필릭스 )

( 김승민 )

( 양정인 )

there had been talk of childhood, how chan and the kids haven’t gotten a break in god knows how long, how your boyfriend had been a trainee for eight years before debuting. hell, you’d gotten through him calling himself a horrible person for making the kids cry during their survival show- but this?? this hits a spot in your soul far deeper than anything has in a long time.

it takes you a minute to pull yourself together, to wipe away the tears and get your breathing to even out, but even once they’re gone the sadness still lingers.

after the video comes to a close—after your ribcage squeezes harsh around your heart at chan’s sweet laugh after muttering a small when will i get married?—you have to take a minute or two to just sit with yourself.

the thing at the top of your mind is how badly you want to hug chan when he comes home.

over the next week or so you find yourself looking outside at night more than you normally would—or really just for a different reason than before.

you used to look out to admire the city life—the cars crawling along the streets, the neon lights that flicker every now and then, the buildings that reach into the sky—but now you look for something else: the stars.

at first you think maybe chan had just be exaggerating a little bit in the video, that there were some littered across the sky, just not as much as there were back at his home in sydney.

four days in you realize he was being truthful. there’s nothing.

correction: they are definitely there, but they just aren’t visible. light pollution. cloudy skies. it all shrouds them from the human eye.

it’s disheartening, to say the least.

you’ll make do, though. you always do. and if you can’t force away light pollution to dissipate enough to see the night sky in all it’s glory, you best believe you’ll take it into your hands.

the next evening you go to three separate stores in hopes of getting your hands on what would serve to be your saving grace: glow in the dark stars.

you found a few packs at the previous stores, but they were all stupidly small and too pricy for said size. who knew that plastic stars were such a commodity these days?

it’s at the third store—a little shop tucked into a side street—that you find exactly what you need. the pack is modest, a little worn on the edges but otherwise fine. when you flip it over and see the little picture demonstrating how you could arrange them, you know its perfect.

you walk out with five packs. a little overboard? sure. do you care? absolutely not.

chan doesn't get home until late that night, long after you've already arranged the stars across your apartments ceiling in scattered constellations—some real, some completely made up.

you’ve never been super grateful for chan’s tendencies to overwork himself by staying late at the studio, but tonight you can’t help but thank him for it. the stars took a little longer to hang up than originally anticipated, and you would’ve been crushed (and just a tad bit embarrassed) if he’d walked in on you balancing haphazardly on a barstool, plastic stars in hand as you decorated rhe ceiling.

the trail starts right above the apartment's front door, a sparse scatter of luminous stars that dot the ceiling in ones and twos. as the path winds further down the hallway in intentional spirals, the stars began to multiply—three here, five there—growing denser with each step toward the bedroom. by the time the trial reaches the living room, small clusters had formed, like little galaxies emerging from the darkness.

the closer it got to the bedroom door, the thicker the constellations became, stars overlapping and crowding together until they formed an almost continuous river of light that pooled above the bed in a breathtaking canopy.

some of them even spilled from the ceiling down the corners of the walls, filling the room with the softest glow.

it’s ridiculous. childish, even. but you can’t find it in you to care, not when pride grows warm in your chest at how pretty the sight of them is.

you’re making yourself at home in bed when you hear the familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by the soft thud of chan's bag hitting the floor.

"baby?" his voice carries down the hallway, tired but warm. "you still up?"

you prop yourself up on your elbows as you call back a soft “in here.”

you hear his footsteps padding down the hallway, only making it a few feet before he stops. there's a pause, one long enough that you know he's finally noticed.

"what the..." his voice trails off, confusion laced in each syllable.

you can't help but grin as you listen to him move slowly through the apartment, following the trail you’d spent so long layong out. his footsteps are slower now, more deliberate, like he's trying to piece together a puzzle.

when he finally appears in the doorway of the bedroom, his expression is priceless.

his eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted as he takes in the layout of glowing stars above the bed.

you cant help but think he looks like a kid who's just walked into a surprise birthday party.

"did you- did you put stars on our ceiling?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you sit up fully now, tucking your knees to your chest. a laugh pushes its way from your lips, finding the question obvious but also endearing. "sure did."

"but… why?" he steps further into the room, craning his neck to look up at the constellations you've created. the soft green glow catches in his dark eyes, making them shimmer.

you can’t decide what’s prettier, him or the stars.

you take a breath, suddenly feeling a little shy about the whole thing. "uh, remember that episode you did with john park? when you asked if he ever missed seeing the stars?"

chan's expression shifts immediately. recognition, then something softer. he nods slowly.

"i started looking for them after i watched that," you continue, fidgeting with the hem of chan’s your shirt. "every night for like- a week. but there's nothing out there, chris. the light pollution, the clouds... you can't see anything-"

his eyes haven't left your face, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows.

"i just- i guess i couldn't stop thinking about it. about how you've been working so hard for so long, how you barely get breaks, and how even something as simple as seeing stars got taken away from you. so..." you gesture weakly at the ceiling, cheeks feeling warm. "i thought maybe i could bring them to you instead."

the statement came out more as a question then… well, a statement.

the silence that follows feels impossibly heavy. chan just stands there, staring at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a horrifying moment you think maybe you've overstepped somehow.

but then his face crumples into something that can only be labeled as completely and utter admiration.

"channie-" you start, pushing yourself up and off the bed with the smallest laugh, taking a step forward to wrap him in your arms.

he beats you to it.

chan crosses the room in three strides and pulls you into his arms so tightly you almost lose your breath. his face buries into your neck almost immediately, and you can feel him shaking slightly.

"you're ridiculous," he mumbles against your skin, voice thick. "you're so fucking ridiculous and i love you so much."

your hands come up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "i love you too, baby."

he pulls back just enough to look at you, and god, the way he's looking at you—like you've hung the moon instead of some cheap plastic stars—makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

"i can't believe you did this," he says, letting out a watery laugh. "i can't believe you listened to that stupid video and remembered and went out and bought- how many stores did you even go to?"

"three," you admit, just a tad bit sheepish.

"three," he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs stroking gently across your cheekbones. "you went to three stores to buy glow in the dark stars because i said i missed seeing the sky."

"well, when you put it like that—"

he kisses you before you can finish, soft and sweet and so full of emotion that it makes your chest ache for the nth time.

when he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. "thank you," he whispers. "seriously. thank you."

you manage to grt in a "you're welcome," before he kisses you again, then once more for good measure.

finally, chan releases you in favor of looking back up at the stars—his stars.

he lies down on the bed, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side, both of you staring up at the glowing ceiling.

"they're beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. "you're beautiful. this is-" his voice catches slightly. "i think this is the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me."

you burrow closer into his chest, letting your eyes trace the patterns above you. "you deserve nice things, chris. you deserve to see the stars."

his arm tightens around you, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. you just lie there together in the soft green glow, wrapped up in each other while the weight of the day finally melts away.

"i don't think i'm ever going to be able to sleep without these now," chan admits quietly, a hint of humor creeping back into his voice.

you smile against his shoulder. "good thing i bought five packs then."

his laugh rumbles through his chest, warm and genuine and so utterly him that you can't help but smile wider.

"i really, really love you," he says again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"i really, really love you too."

for a moment you freeze. then you laugh, soft and surprised, and say, “oh. hi there.” she looks up at you with wide eyes and a grin that is missing one of its front teeth. “you’re warm,” she announces, matter of fact. she does not let go. people around you glance over and smile. you feel your ears heat, “thank you,” you say, because it feels like the correct response.

she finally releases you and steps back, hands clasped behind her back, rocking on her heels. “excuse me, i was curious,” she says. “do you read books about work?”

you blink. “sometimes, but mostly i read books about people who are bad at talking to each other.”

she considers this very seriously. “that’s allll my daddy does. he plays with me but then he says he has to do grown up stuff. do you have grown up stuff, too?”

you smile, a little crooked. “unfortunately yes.”

she sighs deeply, like this confirms something she has suspected for a while. “that’s what he says too. he says sorry a lot. he doesn’t need to say sorry, i just get bored.” she kicks the carpet, then looks up at you again. “do you have a dad?”

you pause. “i do.”

“is he tired?”

“sometimes.”

she nods, satisfied, like this is the rule rather than the exception. “my dad is nice,” she adds quickly, protective. “he just needs more naps. i tell him that but he laughs.”

“you sound very wise,” you tell her, then you ask, “what’s your name?”

“i am very wise, thank you,” she boasts, “i’m almost seven. and my dad says i shouldn’t give my information to strangers.”

you are about to ask her where her dad is, because the weight of responsibility is starting to press in, when you hear a voice calling, tight with worry, from the other side of the aisle. “jae? cub?” footsteps approach fast, uneven, like someone who has been turning corners too quickly. the little girl turns toward the sound and beams.

“that’s him,” she says. “he’s loud.”

a man rounds the corner, eyes wide, hair sticking up at odd angles like he has been running his hands through it too many times. there are faint dark circles under his eyes. his jacket is half zipped, one sleeve pushed up. relief crashes over his face when he sees her, so visible it almost hurts to witness. he crosses the distance in two long steps and scoops her up, holding her close for a beat longer than necessary.

“hey,” he murmurs into her hair. “you can’t do that. you scared me.” then, to you, already breathless, “i’m so sorry. i turned around for two seconds and she was gone. did she bother you? did she say something strange?”

“she hugged me,” you say, because it feels important to start there. “and she told me you’re tired.”

his eyes flick to his daughter, who grins unapologetically. he exhales, something between a laugh and a surrender. “yeah,” he says. “that tracks.” he adjusts her on his hip and looks back at you properly. “i’m chris. thank you for staying with her.”

“i didn’t really have a choice,” you say lightly.

his mouth curves despite himself. “she does that.”

the girl presses her forehead against his cheek. “i was not lost,” she says. “i was talking.”

“i know,” he says, softer now. “but you still can’t do that. you stay where i can see you, okay?”

“okay,” she says, already half distracted by a display near the register.

he sets her down and she drifts a few steps away, humming to herself. chris rubs his face with one hand and lets it drop, looking faintly embarrassed. “i promise she’s usually better behaved.”

“well, i promise i didn’t mind,” you reply, then you notice one of the books tucked under his arm. it is the same one you have in your hand, dog eared at the corner.

you lift yours slightly. “good taste.”

his eyes follow the motion and he blinks, then laughs quietly. “oh, wow. yeah, i’ve been meaning to start it for about a month.”

“same,” you admit. “i keep rereading the first chapter like it’s going to change.”

“maybe that’s the trick,” he says. “if you avoid it long enough, it becomes a different book.”

you gesture vaguely to the shelves. “is this your usual haunt?”

“not really,” he says. “i said we’d go to the park, but i had an errand to run by end of day. this was the compromise.”

his little girl runs up, holding a glittery bookmark. “dad, can i get this?”

he looks at it, then at her hopeful face, then at you like he is apologizing preemptively. “yeah,” he says, “you can get it.”

she cheers quietly and skips toward the counter. he watches her go, shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

“cub,” he calls gently. “stay where i can see you.”

“i am,” she calls back.

he turns to you again. “thank you, again. for not panicking.”

“i did panic,” you say. “just on the inside.”

“i do that constantly.”

there is a small pause, then he gestures to the book in your hand. “do you know if it’s actually good?”

“i’ve heard it ruins people,” you say, “in a meaningful way.”

he considers this, “i could use that.”

you surprise yourself by saying, “hey, there’s a coffee shop across the street, if you want. i mean, if you and your daughter want a treat.”

his eyebrows lift, just a little. he looks over at his daughter, then back at you. something cautious softens in his expression, replaced by something like hope that he is trying not to lean into.

“she would like that,” he says. “i was hoping to stop by after this anyway.”

you nod, feeling the warmth spread through your chest, unhurried and bright. “then maybe we don’t put the book down just yet.”

he smiles, small and real. “maybe we don’t.”

you follow them out of the bookstore with the book still tucked under your arm, the bell over the door chiming softly behind you like punctuation you don’t quite need. the air outside is warmer, thicker, the city humming back into focus after the hush of pages and carpet. jae skips ahead, spinning once on the sidewalk before chris gently reaches out and catches the back of her jacket, steering her away from the curb with an ease that speaks of long practice. he glances at you as if to apologize, but you just smile, because it feels right. and because it tells you more about him than he probably realizes.

the cafe is just across the street, all glass windows and chalkboard signs, the inside glowing with amber light. the smell of coffee hits you as soon as you open the door, rich and grounding, layered with sugar and warm milk. it is louder than the bookstore but not in a way that overwhelms. jae immediately gravitates toward a low table near the window, pressing her palms to the glass and peering out like she is watching a show meant just for her.

chris orders for the three of you without much discussion, as if he already knows what you might like, or maybe he is just confident enough to guess. you don’t mind either way. when the drinks come, jae’s eyes light up at the sight of whipped cream and sprinkles, and she settles into her chair with a seriousness that borders on reverence. chris reaches into his bag then, a worn canvas thing slung easily over his shoulder, and pulls out a small stack of paper and a box of crayons held together with a rubber band.

“these are special, remember?” he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “they only come out when there are no books around.”

she gasps like this is a sacred rule. “because books have feelings,” she says solemnly.

“exactly,” he agrees.

she sets to work immediately, tongue poking out in concentration as she colors, red bleeding into blue, lines crisscrossing with the confidence of someone who has never been told to stay inside them. chris wraps his hands around his cup and exhales, a long breath he might have been holding all day.

“thank you,” he says, not looking at you, like the words might be fragile.

“for coffee?”

“for stopping and keeping us company” he corrects.

you shrug. “i was already stopped.”

he smiles at that, small and genuine, and then his gaze flicks to his daughter, making sure she is still happily occupied. she is, humming softly, drawing little circles around the edge of the paper.

you sip your drink and let the warmth settle into you. there is a moment of quiet where it feels like something heavier might surface, and you don’t rush it. when you speak, it is gentle, careful. “can i ask something?”

he nods. “yeah.”

“jae mentioned you a lot,” you say. “but she didn’t mention her mom.”

he stills, just a fraction. then he nods again, slower this time. “yeah,” he says. “that makes sense.” he takes another sip, sets the cup down. “i’m her mom.”

you don’t blink. you don’t ask him to explain in a way that might sound like disbelief. something in your chest loosens instead, recognition clicking into place, “okay,” you say simply.

he looks at you then, searching your face, like he is bracing for something. when he doesn’t find it, his shoulders ease. “most people don’t know what to do with that sentence,” he admits.

“i’ve seen it before.”

his mouth curves, grateful. he leans back in his chair, gaze drifting again to jae. “her mom and i,” he begins, then pauses, choosing his words with care. “we were already falling apart when we found out we were going to be parents. we thought maybe it would pull us back together. people always say that, y’know, but it didn’t.” he breathes out, slow. “it was too much for her. leaving was the best thing she could have done for herself.”

you listen without interrupting, without trying to smooth the edges of something that clearly does not want to be smoothed. “i was angry for a long time,” he continues. “sometimes i still am. my baby is my everything. she’s this bright, impossible little thing. and i can’t understand how anyone could walk away.” his fingers tighten briefly around the cup. “but i also know i didn’t feel what she felt after the delivery. i try to leave room in my heart for that. i wish her well. i really do.”

you smile at him, sad and soft. “that must have been really hard.”

he nods. “it was. it is.” then he lifts his shoulders, almost sheepish. “sorry, that was a lot of information all at once. didn’t know i was hanging on to so much.”

you look at him then, really look. at the way his posture carries both strength and fatigue, at the way his eyes flick to his daughter every few seconds without him even realizing it. you see him differently, sharper and clearer, like someone adjusted the focus. “you’re doing a good job,” you say, quietly.

his laugh is short, surprised. “i hope so.”

the conversation lightens after that, like he has set something down and can breathe easier. he starts speaking a little louder, more open, and you trade small facts back and forth, the way people do when they are circling something new. where you grew up. what you do now. how he never planned on being this kind of adult but somehow ended up here anyway.

“are you married?” he asks, casual, like he is asking about the weather.

you shake your head.

his eyebrows lift. “really?”

“really,” you say. “i’ve only been on blind dates, but i prefer to meet people naturally. when it feels right, otherwise it just feels like acting.”

he smiles, a little crooked. “maybe that means i have a shot.”

you tilt your head. “maybe.”

the color creeps up his neck, and you notice then how beautiful he is, how the tiredness doesn’t dull him. his arms are lean, his jawline clean and sure, his nose handsome, his lips are full and always smiling. it is almost unfair. you don’t say any of this to him of course, but the thought lingers, warm and electric.

before either of you can lean into it too much, jae looks up from her drawing, eyes bright. “what’s a date?” she asks.

you and chris glance at each other, then laugh, soft and uncertain. he clears his throat. “a date is,” he starts, then stops. “it’s when two people spend time together because they like each other.”

“like like?” jae asks.

“kind of,” you say. “it can be lots of kinds of liking.”

she frowns, considering this. “is it like playdates?”

you smile. “it can be.”

she nods, satisfied, and goes back to her drawing.

when it is time to leave, the light outside has shifted, the afternoon tipping toward evening. you stand near the door, reluctant. jae wraps her arms around your leg again, fierce and sudden. “when will i see you again?” she asks.

you crouch, meet her eyes. “as soon as you want.”

you stand, take chris’s phone gently from his hand, meeting his gaze with a sly smile as you punch in your number. he does not stop you. he just watches, clearly enjoying your boldness.

“for playdates,” you say.