Pairing: Vengeful Mafia Boss Chris x Traitor Fem!reader
WC: 5,128
TW: 18+, MDNI, Explicit sexual content, Power imbalance / possessive dynamics, Physical restraint/rough handling during intimacy, Sexual content in a confined/pressured context, Strong language / profanity, Crime/violence themes, Emotional intensity: guilt, betrayal, manipulation/abuse by a parent, trauma references, Humiliation/embarrassment (being walked in on during sex)
Synopsis: After a tense truce, Y/n finds themself slipping back into Chris’s orbit. Caught between the crew’s wary eyes and a pull neither of them can ignore.
AN: Hello my darling readers! I hope you all are doing alright! Part 12 and the upcoming 13 was and is proving to be very fun to write. I hope you enjoy it just as much as I do! Of course I have to drop a huge thank you to my bestie for the read over on this @snow-flake-writes . Make sure you all leave a comment! I genuinely want to hear your thoughts as things shift between characters and all the drama begins to come to a head.
Y/n's POV
The afternoon light streams through the windows of my room, bright and unforgiving, casting everything in sharp relief. Chris hasn’t left yet. His presence fills the small space like he's taking up all the air, all the oxygen, leaving me breathless in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
We're sitting on the edge of the bed, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. The silence between us is charged, heavy with everything we just said and did, everything we just admitted. His shirt is still on, but his hair is disheveled from my fingers, and there's a faint mark on his neck from where my lips were moments ago.
I can't quite look at him directly. The daylight is too honest, too revealing. It strips away the darkness that usually shields us, makes everything feel less real, less exposed. In the brightness, I can see the conflict written across his features...the war between what he wants and what he thinks he should do.
"I shouldn't be here," he says quietly, but he doesn't move. Doesn't make any effort to leave.
"But you are," I reply, my voice barely audible.
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration or maybe just trying to ground himself. "The crew—"
"Is downstairs. Doing whatever it is they do." I shift slightly closer, and I see him tense. "We have time."
The word time hangs between us like a promise and a threat. Time is something we don't have. Time is something that's running out. But right now, in this moment, with the sun painting everything gold and the rest of the world feeling very far away, it feels like we might have just enough.
Chris's stomach growls, loud and sudden in the quiet room, and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. It's such a human sound, so at odds with the intensity of everything else.
He looks almost embarrassed, which is somehow endearing on someone so dangerous. "When's the last time you ate?" he asks, deflecting.
"I don't know. Early this morning?" I realize I'm not actually sure. Time has become strange and slippery since he came to my room…since he stole me away to this place. "You?"
"Longer." He stands abruptly, like he needs to put distance between us before he does something he can't take back. But his hand finds mine, pulling me up with him. "Come on. We should eat something."
It's an excuse to leave this room, to break the spell that's been cast over us. But it's also practical, necessary. And maybe it's safer to be around other people right now, to have witnesses to the fact that we're not tearing each other apart.
He doesn't let go of my hand as we move toward the door.
The kitchen is brighter than I expect, all white marble and stainless steel catching the morning sun. It smells like coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon? When we walk in, I freeze. Changbin, Seungmin, and Felix are already there, sitting around the island with plates of food and mugs of coffee. The conversation dies instantly.
The silence is suffocating. Heavy. I can feel their eyes on me...assessing, judging, remembering everything I've done. Changbin's expression is carefully neutral. Seungmin looks away, focusing intently on his coffee. And Felix... Felix is watching me with kind eyes.
Chris's hand finds the small of my back, a subtle gesture of protection that doesn't go unnoticed. "Sit," he says quietly, guiding me toward a stool at the island.
I sit because I don't know what else to do. Because my legs feel weak and my heart is pounding too hard and I'm acutely aware that I'm surrounded by men who have every reason to want me dead.
Chris moves to the counter, pulling out bread and deli meat with practiced efficiency. The domesticity of it is jarring. Christopher Bahng, crime lord and killer, making me a sandwich in his kitchen while his crew watches in uncomfortable silence.
"So," Felix says suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Sleep well?"
I look up sharply, expecting cruelty or sarcasm. But his expression is... kind. Almost teasing. Like he's talking to the girl he met five years ago at that bar, not the traitor who destroyed everything.
"I—" My voice catches. "Yeah. I did."
Felix grins, that familiar boyish smile that used to make me smile right back. "Good. You look less like a ghost today. More like an actual person."
Changbin snorts softly into his coffee, and I see the corner of Seungmin's mouth twitch. The tension doesn't disappear, but it... shifts. Becomes something slightly more bearable.
"Felix," Chris warns, but there's no real heat in it.
"What? I'm being nice." Felix takes a bite of toast, still grinning. "Remember nice, Chris? That thing you used to be before you became a brooding asshole?"
"Fuck off," Chris mutters, but I catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he sets a plate in front of me. Turkey and cheese on wheat, cut diagonally. Exactly how I used to like it.
My smile widens at the fact that he didn’t forget. "Thank you." I said softly.
He nods, his hand lingering on my shoulder for just a second too long before he moves to make his own sandwich. I take a bite, and it tastes like something close to normal. Like maybe, there's a version of this where I'm not just a prisoner, a tool, or a ghost haunting their lives.
Changbin clears his throat. "You know anything about the new security system Ruiz installed at the estate?"
It's a test, I know it is. But it's also an olive branch, an acknowledgment that I could maybe become one of them, that I might be more than just the girl who betrayed them.
"He upgraded to biometric scanners last year," I say carefully. "Fingerprint and retinal. But he kept the old keypad system as a backup. He doesn't trust technology completely."
Seungmin looks up, interest flickering in his eyes. "Backup codes?"
"Changed weekly. But he uses a pattern. Birth dates, anniversaries. He's sentimental in the worst ways."
They exchange glances, and I can see the gears turning. They're warming up to me, slowly, cautiously. But it's happening and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me excited.
Chris sits beside me, close enough that our thighs were touching; the guys instantly noticed. I see Felix's knowing smirk, Changbin's subtle nod, Seungmin's quick glance between us. They're seeing something different in Chris—something softer, more human. And they're not saying anything, but the silence speaks volumes.
We eat in a silence that's no longer quite so suffocating. For the first time since I was taken, I feel something that might almost be hope.
After breakfast, Chris takes my hand, fingers lacing through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world...and leads me outside for privacy from the many prying eyes lurking about the house. The beach stretches out before us, endless and grey under the overcast sky. The wind is cold, biting, but I don't care. I'm outside, I'm walking freely, with Chris beside me, not behind me, or in front, not guarding me either, just... with me.
We walk in silence for a while, our footsteps sinking in the sand. The waves crash rhythmically, filling the space between us with white noise that somehow makes it easier to think..to breathe.
"I'm sorry," I say finally, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. "For everything. For what I did. For—"
"Don't." His voice is rough. "Not right now."
"But I need you to know—" I begin but he cuts me off.
"I know." He stops walking, turning to face me. The wind whips his hair across his forehead, his eyes are dark and intense and full. "I know you were trapped. I know he used you. I know you didn't have a choice. I remember everything you told me. You don’t have to repeat it."
"I did have a choice," I whisper. "I could have told you. I could have—", the words died in my throat as I looked away.
"And he would have killed you." Chris's jaw clenches as his dark eyes lift to look into mine. The light peaking through random breaks in the clouds makes them look almost chocolate brown. "Or worse. I know how your father operates, Y/n. I know what he's capable of."
The way he says it, with such certainty, such understanding, breaks something inside me. Tears burn my eyes, and I refuse to look at him, turning my entire body away from him to focus on the grey horizon.
"I loved you," I say, my voice barely audible over the wind. "I still—" I can't finish. Can't say it out loud because it feels too dangerous, too raw.
But Chris hears it anyway. I feel him walk up behind me, tugging me back to face him again. His hand comes up to cup my face, forcing me to look at him. "I know," he says again, and this time there's something almost like forgiveness in his voice. "I know."
We stand there, the wind howling around us, the ocean raging behind us, and for the first time in five years, I let myself believe that maybe we can survive this.
"What happens now?" I ask, wanting to know what we are doing with us…or is this it?
Chris's thumb traces my cheekbone, I see the conflict, the pain, the love hiding in the depths of his eyes. That same constant war waging in his mind. I can tell it was wearing him down. "I don't know," he admits. "But we'll figure it out."
After a moment we kept walking, then gradually, we began to talk. About the past, about the things we lost, about the people we've become. The fear, regret, and the impossible weight of loving someone you're supposed to hate. It's not easy. Some of it hurts so much I can barely breathe.
As we walked I could see this quiet vulnerability in the depths of his eyes whenever I looked over at him. Whatever was running through his mind was making his body tense again, that easiness was gone. “What’s going on in that mind mind of yours?” I asked softly, my fingers moving to lace through his. Chris didn't answer right away so I pressed on, “You forget..we still know one another really well. I can see it—that thing eating you alive. I can see it.”
Chris’s voice drops like he’s scared the ocean might overhear. “I’m… I’m trying not to show it,” he admits, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the grey water like it’s the only thing keeping him steady. “But inside I’m losing my mind, Y/n. With you—” he swallows, and the sound is rough, almost embarrassed by how much he feels. “I want you safe, I want you mine, and I hate that those two things don’t always look the same. And with the guys… I keep waiting for the moment they decide I’ve finally gone too far. Like they’ll look at me and see I’m choosing you and they’ll walk. Even after everything I’ve done for them, even after everything we’ve bled through together.”
He finally turns to me then, and there’s something raw in his face, like the truth is scraping him open. “But I realized something today,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “Even if they did leave… it still wouldn’t be enough to make me give you up. I can’t. I won’t.” My throat tightens, and I step closer until my shoulder brushes his arm, grounding him.
“They’re not leaving you,” I tell him, steady as I can be, because I can feel how hard he’s shaking under his skin. “They love you too much to do that—even Hyunjin. They might be pissed, yeah, they might say shit they don’t mean, but they’re not going to abandon the one person who dragged them out of the mud when nobody else would. You’ve all survived too much together for them to turn their backs on you now.”
This seemed to settle the chaos under his skin just a little, but I could still see it in his eyes. We kept talking as we circle back toward the house. By then something had shifted between us. Something fundamental and irreversible. We're not the same people we were five years ago. But just maybe we can be something new.
Not wanting to go back to my cage of a room end up in the gym with Chris. He mentions needing to grab something, and I follow him without thinking. The space is all dark wood and mirrors, weights and punching bags and mats covering the floor. It smells like sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine.
But then I notice it—a literal armory on the other side of the gym. A gun case full of black weapons. A wall full of sharp, glinting knives, and a few other things that look dangerous but I have no clue what they are.
My feet move before my brain catches up. One step, then another, drawn toward the weapons like a moth to flame. The curiosity is almost magnetic, pulling me across the gym floor. My footsteps echo softly against the mats, and I'm very aware of Chris's presence somewhere behind me. I can feel his attention shift, tracking my movement.
The gun case is cold under my fingertips when I reach it. The glass is smooth and pristine. Through it, I can see the weapons arranged with military precision. Black metal, sleek, deadly, and something about it was a bit sexy to me. I've never held a gun before. Never really wanted to, but standing here, looking at them, something stirs in my chest. Power. Control. The ability to protect myself instead of always being protected…or imprisoned.
I move along the wall of knives next, my eyes tracing the different blades. Some are small and delicate, others are massive and brutal. I reach out, my hand hovering over one of the larger ones, imagining the weight of it in my palm. The balance. The potential.
Behind me, I hear Chris moving, gathering his things from the gym. His presence is palpable even from across the room, and I can feel his gaze tracking my every movement. He's watching me intently, cataloging my interest in the weapons with that sharp, analytical focus that never quite turns off. I can feel it, his gaze burning against my back.
I turn slowly, and our eyes meet across the gym. The air between us crackles with something electric. His expression is unreadable, but there's a question in his eyes. A challenge, maybe. Or a warning.
"You know," I say, trying to sound casual as I step away from the weapons, "you could teach me."
He pauses mid-movement. "Teach you what?"
"To fight." I step closer, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "You said I could learn to defend myself. Might as well start now."
Amusement flickers across his face, before he lets out a soft chuckle. That little laugh he use to do indicating he thought I was joking. "You want to learn to fight?"
"I want to be ready." I meet his eyes, and the playfulness fades into something more serious. "For when I go back."
The temperature in the room drops. Chris turns fully to face me, the bright smile on his face fading almost instantly. "You're not going back."
"Yes, I am." I cross my arms, feeling my spine straighten with defiance. "I need to help take him down, Chris. Not just for you. For me. For everything he's done—"
"No." His voice is flat, absolute. "You're not going anywhere near him."
"You don't get to decide that. Not anymore." Anger flares hot in my chest. "This is my fight too. He's my father. He used me, manipulated me, destroyed everything I—"
"And you think I'm going to let you walk back into that?" Chris takes a step toward me, his eyes blazing. "You think I'm going to send you back to him so he can use you again? So he can hurt you?"
"I'm not asking for your permission!" My voice rises, echoing off the walls. "I'm telling you. I'm going back. I'm going to help you destroy him, and you can't stop me."
"The fuck I can't." He's in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Chris’s face is growing red with annoyance. "You're not going back, Y/n. You forget I run things around here. Just because you’re by my side now doesn't change that. End of discussion."
"This isn't your decision to make!" I shove at his chest, and it's like pushing against a wall. "You don't own me, Chris. As much as you’d like to, you don—"
"I'm trying to protect you!" His voice raises louder than I’ve ever heard it before. It cracks, raw with a desperation he has kept to himself. "Don't you understand that? I can't lose you again. I can't send you back there knowing what he'll do if he finds out you've been helping us."
"Then don't send me back as a spy." I'm breathing hard now, my heart pounding. "Send me back as a weapon. Teach me to fight. Teach me to be dangerous. Let me be part of this instead of just a tool you use and discard."
"You're not a tool." Chris looks at me, his dark eyes turning soft at those words.
"Then stop treating me like one!" The words explode out of me, years of frustration, pain, and helplessness pouring out all at once. "Stop deciding what's best for me without asking what I want. I want to take him down, Chris. I want to make him pay for everything he's done. To you. To us. To me."
Chris stares at me, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I can see the war raging behind his eyes, the need to protect me battling against the understanding that I'm right. That this is my fight too.
"You don't know what you're asking," he says, his voice low and dangerous.
"Yes, I do. I want to be your equal, the queen next to you" I step closer, closing the distance between us until we're almost touching. "I know exactly what I'm asking. And I'm not afraid.”
"You should be." His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, possessive and threatening and intimate all at once. "You should be fucking terrified."
I look up at him, "I want to be your equal, not the little girl standing behind you."
Something snaps. I see it in his eyes, the moment his control breaks, the moment the anger and fear and desperate need collide into something explosive. Chris pulls me or him by my throat and his mouth crashes against mine, brutal and claiming, and I kiss him back just as fiercely. My hands fist in his hair, pulling hard, and he groans against my lips.
He walks me backward until my back hits the wall, the impact stealing my breath. His hands are everywhere, gripping my hips, sliding under my shirt, rough and demanding. I arch into him, needing more, needing everything.
"You're so fucking stubborn," he growls against my neck, his teeth scraping over my pulse point.
"And you're so fucking controlling," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and wild. "Tell me to stop."
"Never." I say it back breathlessly.
His hands move to my pants, yanking at the waist band with rough urgency. I do the same to his, our movements frantic and desperate. We don't bother fully undressing, there's no time, no patience. He shoves my sweatpants and underwear down just enough, and I kick them off one leg, my hands already working his zipper.
When he lifts me, my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. The wall is cold against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine. He positions himself right where he needs to be, and then he's pushing inside me, slow and deep and devastating.
I gasp loudly, my head falling back against the wall, my mouth open. He's so deep like this, filling me completely, stretching me in a way that's almost too much. His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel so god damn good, Y/n"
He doesn't finish. Just starts to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, hard and deliberate. The angle is perfect, hitting something inside me that makes my vision blur. I tighten my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he groans.
"Chris—" His name is a curse on my lips. Something dirty I would only say in the dark, beneath my sheets.
His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans as he sets a rhythm that's both agonizingly slow and brutally intense. Each thrust is deep, purposeful, claiming. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me in place as he fucks me against the wall.
I can feel everything…the stretch and burn of him inside me, the rough fabric of his pants against my inner thighs, the cool wall at my back, the heat of his breath on my neck. The sounds we're making fill the room, skin against skin, harsh breathing, broken moans and whispered curses.
"You drive me fucking insane," he growls against my ear, his hips snapping forward harder. "You know that?"
"Good," I gasp, my nails raking down his back. "You deserve it."
He laughs…actually laughs…dark and breathless, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing over my collarbone, tongue soothing the sting. Every touch is possessive, claiming, like he's trying to mark me as his in every way possible.
The tension coils tighter in my core, building with each deep thrust. I'm close and he knows it. He can feel it in the way I'm clenching around him, in the way my breathing has gone ragged and desperate.
"That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice rough and strained. "Cum for me, baby.” I clench my walls as tight as I can around him just to torture him a little. Chris lets out a deep moan that echo’s off the empty walls of the gym, “Fucking hell."
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit. His callused fingers begin to rub smooth circles over my most sensitive area. “I love how wet you are for me. Only me.” and that's all it takes. I shatter, crying out his name as the orgasm crashes through me in waves. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps fucking me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I'm trembling and gasping.
"Chris, please..” I whimper against his swollen lips.
"Be my good girl,” His voice is commanding, absolute. "Give me another one."
And impossibly, I do. The second orgasm hits even harder, stealing my breath, making my vision go white. I feel him tense, his rhythm faltering, and then he's coming too, burying himself deep as he groans my name against my neck and then the words I never thought I would hear him say slips out of his mouth, "I love you."
I can barely hear it, but it's there…
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, trembling, holding onto each other like we're afraid to let go. Slowly, he lowers me back to the ground, but his hands stay on my waist, steadying me. My legs are shaky, barely able to support my weight.
Chris's forehead rests against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing still uneven. One hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
"You're killing me," he whispers, and there's so much in those three words. Frustration, affection, fear and resignation all tangled together.
I look up at him, my own breathing still ragged, and I see the conflict written all over his face. The war between wanting to protect me and understanding that I need this. That I need to be part of taking down my father, not just for Chris, but for myself.
"I will be going back to help," I say quietly, firmly. "I don't care how, but I want to help take him down."
For a long moment, he just stares at me. I can see him fighting it, see him wanting to argue, to refuse, to lock me away somewhere safe where I can't get hurt. But he also sees the determination in my eyes. The resolve.
Finally, he nods.
It's barely a movement, just a slight dip of his chin, but it's enough. It's acknowledgment. It's him letting me have agency in my own life, even though it terrifies him.
He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me, holding me against his chest like he's trying to absorb me into his skin. His lips press against my temple, and I feel him exhale shakily.
"You're killing me," he says again, softer this time. Almost broken.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him just as tightly. "I know."
And in that moment, pressed against each other in the aftermath of anger, passion, and desperate need, I understand something fundamental…this is what love looks like when it's been shattered and its being slowly pieced back together. It's messy, complicated,and painful. But it's real.
We're still tangled together against the wall, as we both try to catch our breath. The gym smells like sweat and sex. My sweatpants are somewhere on the floor to the side of us, my shirt pushed up over my breasts, Chris's hands still gripping my thighs like he can't quite let go yet.
His breathing is slower yet, still a bit ragged against my neck, warm puffs of air that make my skin tingle. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. We're suspended in this moment, this fragile bubble of intimacy that feels too raw, too exposed…
The gym door swings open.
"Hey, Chris, I was thinking we could—oh fuck—"
Jisung's voice cuts off abruptly, strangled and high-pitched. My entire body goes rigid. Chris's grip on me tightens reflexively, and I feel him tense, his muscles turning to stone beneath my hands.
Time seems to freeze. I can't see Jisung from this angle, Chris's body is blocking my view…but I can hear him. The sharp intake of breath. The shuffle of feet as he presumably stops dead in his tracks. The mortified silence that follows.
"Shit," Jisung stammers, his voice cracking. "I…fuck…I'm sorry, I didn't…I'll just…"
I hear him spin around so fast he probably gave himself whiplash, his footsteps stumbling toward the door. My face is absolutely burning with humiliation. I bury my face against Chris's shoulder, wishing I could disappear into the wall behind me.
Chris moves immediately, his protective instincts overriding everything else. He shifts his body to shield me completely from view, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, pressing my face firmly against his neck. His other arm wraps around my waist as he moves carefully keeping himself between me and the door where Jisung disappeared behind.
My legs are shaking as I immediately drop into a crouch, frantically reaching for my sweatpants. My hands are trembling as I grab them from where they're crumpled near the weight bench. I can hear Jisung in the hallway, hopefully still facing away, and the sound of him clearing his throat awkwardly makes me want to die.
I yank my sweatpants on as quickly as possible, nearly falling over in my haste. Chris is adjusting himself, zipping his pants back up, tucking his shirt back in, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His jaw is clenched tight, but I catch the faintest flicker of embarrassment, though he'd never admit it.
When I'm finally decent, Chris takes my hand, his grip firm and possessive. We move toward the door together, and I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look at Jisung even though I can see him in my peripheral vision as we draw near.
We begin to pass by but Chris stops. Jisung is standing there, his back still turned, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. His neck is flushed bright red, the color creeping up to his ears. He's staring intently at the wall like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
Chris doesn't let go of my hand. Instead, he turns to face Jisung fully, and I feel the shift in his energy, from protective to predatory in an instant.
Jisung must sense it too, because he immediately blurts out, "I saw nothing." He clears his throat again, the sound strangled and uncomfortable. His eyes dart to the side, to the ceiling, to literally anywhere that isn't us. "Absolutely nothing. I wasn't even here. I don't even know what a gym is."
The corner of Chris's mouth twitches…not quite a smile, but close. His voice, when he speaks, is dark and smooth, laced with threat but somehow edged with dry humor. "Good." He pauses, letting the word hang in the air. "I would hate to have to gouge your eyes out."
Jisung's eyes widen, and he nods frantically, still refusing to look at us. "Yep. Understood. Crystal clear. Eyes? What eyes? I'm basically blind."
Chris tugs me forward, and we start walking down the hallway. I can feel Jisung's mortification radiating behind us like a physical force. As we turn the corner, I glance back just once and see him still standing there, one hand covering his face, his entire body rigid with embarrassment.
Despite everything…despite the humiliation still burning in my cheeks…I feel the tiniest smile tug at my lips.
Chris catches it and squeezes my hand. "Not a word," he mutters, but there's no real heat in it.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I whisper back.
Behind us, I hear Jisung finally move, his footsteps retreating rapidly in the opposite direction, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Copyright: do not copy, translate, repost, or edit my work in any way. If you do, I will publicly call out the violation and pursue legal action, including a DMCA takedown and cease and desist letter.
Please keep in mind that…
All pictures used belong to their rightful owners (e.g., Pinterest and RealStrayKids).
I do not condone any inappropriate attractions, actions, or thoughts towards Stray Kids in real life. This is purely fiction and is not true.
Anything written about these men is entirely fictional. It does not reflect how they act, react, or talk in real life, nor is it meant to portray them that way. Nothing written here suggests they do, say, or act these ways.
Any necessary warnings will be labeled accordingly. If anything is missed, please let me know.
Synopsis: Between raising their daughter and finding each other in stolen moments, Chris cherishes the family they’ve built and the future still waiting for them. (15,2k words)
Author's note: Someone asks for domestic Chan? Well, here's your order. Hope you enjoy it ❣️
The first thing Chris feels is you.
Your warmth pressed against him, the soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way your hair spills over the pillow in a mess he wants to tangle his fingers in. He blinks awake slowly, the room still dim with early morning light, and instinct pulls him closer before he’s even fully conscious.
He slides an arm around your waist, fitting himself against your back like your bodies were designed to fall into this shape. He noses lightly at the curve of your shoulder, inhaling that familiar scent that always, always settles something deep in his chest.
God, he loves waking up like this. Loves that this is his life now.
He presses a slow kiss to your shoulder. Then another. And another, moving toward your neck, savoring the tiny shiver your body gives even in sleep. Your skin is warm under his lips, soft and inviting, and he can’t resist trailing a line of lazy kisses along the slope of your neck.
You stir and he smiles against your skin before lifting his head. He leans in and softly kisses your lips, a gentle coaxing meant to bring you into the morning.
Your eyelids flutter open, heavy with sleep, and then you see him. Just see him. And you smile. Sleepy, warm, impossibly sweet.
Chris feels his heart pull tight in his chest.
Years. Years of marriage, years of waking up beside you and it still hits him the same way. How lucky he is. How unreal it sometimes feels that he gets to love you like this, quietly, closely, every single morning.
“Morning,” you whisper, voice raspy and soft.
His own smile widens as he leans in and kisses you longer this time, slow enough to savor. “Morning, baby,” he murmurs against your lips.
He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead… then the bridge of your nose… then your temple. He could kiss every inch of you if mornings weren’t so short. If life didn’t always call him away.
“What time is it?” you mumble, eyes half-closed as you press your face into the pillow.
Chris doesn’t even think about checking. He doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to bring reality into this warm little world of just you and him.
“I’ll make breakfast,” he says instead, brushing his hand soothingly down your arm. “You can sleep a little more.”
You give him a small, grateful smile, the kind that makes his chest feel full. “‘Kay,” you whisper, eyes already drifting shut again.
Chris tucks the blanket a little higher around you, then slides his hand to your back and rubs slow, comforting circles. He watches your breathing settle, watches your body relax into the softness of sleep, and he stays like that until he’s sure you’re drifting off again.
Only then does he press one last kiss to your temple. “Love you so much,” he whispers.
And then, he quietly slips out of the bed to check his other girl.
-
The hallway is quiet when Chris steps out of the bedroom, closing the door with the softest click he can manage. He stretches once, pushes his messy hair to the back, but even the stiffness of sleep can’t dim the warmth settling in his chest.
Then, he pads down the hallway on bare feet, instinctively avoiding the spots on the floor that creak. He reaches the bedroom door at the end of the hallway, already cracked open the way it always is, and gently pushes it wider.
There she is.
Adonia.
Addie.
His little flower bud.
Still bundled under her blanket, curls spread over the pillow like a tiny halo. One fist tucked under her cheek, the other loosely gripping her stuffed bunny. Her chest rises and falls in that soft, steady rhythm that only toddlers have—pure, peaceful, unbothered by anything in the world.
Chris steps inside quietly, heart tightening in that familiar way. She’s so beautiful. His daughter. His little family made real.
He sits on the edge of her tiny bed and leans over to brush a stray curl off her forehead. He’s quietly admiring her as she looks different in some ways, but very familiar in a way.
That’s why they named her Adonia. Because she’s beautiful. Because she carries both of you in her little features so perfectly.
Addie has your eyes—bright, expressive, full of warmth even when she’s half-asleep and cranky. Your smile too, that same heart-melting curve that makes him weak every time he sees it.
But she has his lips—the shape, the pout, the way they curl when she’s about to cry or laugh. And the curls… definitely his. Wild, soft ringlets he could kiss for hours.
She’s the best of both of you. As if the universe took the beautiful parts of you and his and wove them into something even more precious.
Chris still remembers how quickly Addie came into your life after the wedding—barely a year after you said your vows. He remembers holding her for the first time, tiny and new and perfect, and realizing that life didn’t just get better after marriage… it blossomed. She made everything brighter, softer. She made everything more worth waking up for.
He watches her now and feels something in him unclench. When she’s like this—still, peaceful, safe—it makes him feel like he’s actually doing it right. Like he’s keeping her protected, like the world is quiet enough for her to rest without fear.
A small smile tugs at his lips. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her. Her little nose scrunches in her sleep, and he feels his heart melt all over again.
“Daddy loves you so much,” he whispers, even though she can’t hear it.
Chris rises slowly, taking one last look at her sleeping form before slipping out of the room. He leaves the door slightly ajar—just enough for her to feel safe, just enough for him to hear if she needs him. He lets out a quiet breath, the kind that comes from having everything he’s ever wanted under one roof.
Now, he’s ready to start his day.
-
You wake slowly and feel a little reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed Chris guided you back into. It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to your body, but when it does, you realize two things:
One, the spot beside you is empty.
And two, there’s the sweet, delicious smell of pancakes drifting down the hall.
You smile and slip out of bed. You pad your way toward the hallway, still wrapped in lingering sleep. When you reach the bedroom doorway, you pause because the view in front of you steals your breath a little.
Chris stands in the kitchen, back turned to you, cooking breakfast with an ease that comes from years of perfecting his Sunday-morning routine. He’s wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and grey sweatpants, his hair still messy from sleep, curls falling over his forehead in that way you adore. His shoulders are broad under the thin fabric. His waist trim. His back warm and familiar and somehow still enough to make your heart stutter after all these years.
He lifts a glass to his lips and takes a sip of his green smoothie, the one he insists on drinking every morning because, “Baby, I can’t do coffee, you know that.” You watch his jaw flex gently as he swallows, sunlight catching on his profile.
And you think about how married life hasn’t dulled anything. If anything, it’s made the feelings deeper. More steady and overwhelming in the best way. You’re lucky. So incredibly lucky that he is yours to wake up to, to come home to, to build this life with. You’re so busy admiring him that you don’t realize he’s noticed you until he speaks.
“Well?” he says without looking up, a playful lilt to his voice. “You gonna just stand there staring? Come on—make yourself useful.”
You huff a quiet laugh, pushing off the doorframe, your steps slow and sleepy as you walk toward him. But instead of grabbing something to help, you slide your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades.
“Mmm,” you mumble. “I’m helping.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, the kind that vibrates through his back and into your chest. His free hand finds yours where it rests around him, his thumb stroking slowly over your knuckles.
You stay like that and him flipping pancakes with one hand, you clinging to his back like he’s your personal heater. It’s warm. It’s familiar. It’s perfect.
After a moment, he turns off the stove, sets the spatula down, and gently turns in your arms until he’s facing you. Without hesitation, he tightly wraps you up like he’s gathering you close after weeks instead of hours. His chin rests on your head for a moment before he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your hair.
“Sleep okay?” he murmurs against you.
You hum, a half-asleep, half-content sound. “Mmhmm… warm…”
“Cute,” he whispers, brushing a hand along your spine.
You tilt your head up. Your soft, sleepy eyes meeting his, full of wanting.
Before you even have to say a word, he leans down and kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Sure. The kind of kiss that makes your warm and fuzzy. You melt into it.
This quiet morning routine, the affection, the ease, the warmth—is one of your favorite parts of marriage. A little reminder each day of how deeply you love and cherish each other.
Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, smiling.
“Good morning, love,” he whispers.
You smile as you feel every ounce of tenderness he holds for you, wrapped in just those three words.
“Morning,” you softly mutter back with a smile.
Chris captures your smile with one more kiss, a long, slow, lingering kiss before pulling away. When he finally lifts his mouth from yours, he brushes his thumb along your cheek.
“Go wake Addie,” he murmurs.
You raise an eyebrow playfully. “You wake her. You know she’d prefer that.”
He flashes that dimpled smile you married him for. The one that still melts your entire heart no matter how many years have passed. “I already made breakfast,” he says, teasing. “So it’s your turn.”
You sigh dramatically, tossing your head back as if he’s given you the hardest job in the world. “Fine,” you say with exaggerated defeat.
Before you go, you lean up and steal a quick, sneaky peck from his lips. Chris chuckles, shaking his head as you turn and leave the kitchen.
You head down the hall, pushing Addie’s bedroom door open softly. She’s still curled up in bed, cheeks flushed pink from sleep, curls tangled in every direction. She looks so peaceful that you hesitate. A part of you wants to let her dream a little longer, hold onto this tiny version of her that grows more every day. But she has preschool and Breakfast is waiting, so is Chris.
So you approach slowly. You sit beside her small form and gently brush her curls back from her forehead. Then you rub her back in soft, slow circles, your voice a whisper meant only for her.
“Addie… sweetheart… time to wake up, baby.”
She stirs, tiny fingers twitching against her blanket. Her eyelids flutter once… twice… and then her eyes finally blink open, still dazed and heavy with sleep. When she finds your face hovering above hers, you give her the softest smile.
“Good morning, angel.” You lean in and press a kiss to her warm little temple.
Addie rolls onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling like she needs a full minute to load the world. You keep rubbing her belly gently, fixing her pajama that is wrinkled and rumpled from sleep, knowing she needs time. Her lashes flutter again, and then she slowly turns her head toward you.
Her voice is small, raspy from sleep when she asks, “…Where’s Daddy?”
You almost scoff—almost. Because of course you expected that. Of course she wants her daddy first thing in the morning.
But you just smile. “Daddy’s in the kitchen, baby. He’s making breakfast.”
She nods, rubbing her eyes with her fists, and you help her sit upright. Her little legs dangle over the edge of the bed, feet searching for the floor. The moment they touch down, she pushes herself up and starts walking in wobbly, slow steps that teeter from side to side. You stay close behind, hands ready in case she stumbles.
She’s still half-asleep, curls a messy halo around her head, clutching her stuffed bunny by the arm. “Daddy…” she mumbles as she toddles down the hallway. “Daddy…”
And the moment she enters the kitchen, Chris’s entire face lights up.
He beams, wide and bright, eyes softening at the sight of her. Addie’s arms already stretch toward him even though she’s still a few feet away, desperate to be held.
Chris doesn’t wait. He crosses the kitchen in three quick steps, meets her halfway, and scoops her into his arms. Addie instantly melts against him, burying her face into the crook of his neck like it’s the safest place she knows.
“Good morning, my little flower bud,” he whispers into her hair, rubbing her small back with big, gentle hands. “Did you sleep well? Did you dream about Daddy? Dream about Mommy? Maybe bunnies? Hmm?”
Addie mumbles something incoherent, clinging tighter, and Chris presses a soft kiss to her cheek.
You stand there, watching your husband with your daughter in his arms with morning sunlight wrapping around them like a warm embrace and your chest expands with something deep and full and certain.
This sight. This moment. This quiet love in the kitchen. It convinces you all over again that you married the perfect man. That this life is everything you ever wanted.
And more.
-
Breakfast is peaceful—at least, as peaceful as it can be with a three-year-old.
Chris settles Addie into her booster seat, making sure her curls aren’t caught in the straps, brushing a kiss on the top of her head before placing a plate of small pancakes in front of her. He sits beside her, not eating yet because of course he doesn’t. He’s too focused on her.
You watch them as you sip your drink, elbow propped on the table.
Chris cuts the pancakes even smaller, nudging the plate closer to her. “Small bites, okay? Don’t rush.”
Addie nods earnestly… then immediately shoves one whole pancake into her mouth anyway.
Chris laughs softly. “That’s not a small bite.”
She looks at him with innocent eyes, cheeks full, and he gives up instantly because he always does. He wipes syrup off her chin with a napkin, smiling at her like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Which, of course, she is.
Your chest warms watching them together. Seeing Chris dote on Addie like this always hits deeper than you expect, a reminder of how much love sits in the small corners of this house.
Addie is almost done, nibbling on the last piece of pancake when you speak.
“Okay, sweetheart,” you say gently. “Time to get ready for school.”
Addie freezes mid-chew. Then comes… the pout. Not just any pout. Chris’s pout. His lips exactly—soft, full, pushing outward in the most dramatic display of toddler betrayal.
She turns slowly to look at her father, eyes wide and pleading like he might rescue her from this terrible fate.
You have to press your lips together to stop a laugh. Of course. Of course she’d look to him. Of course she thinks he can save her. She really is a daddy’s girl.
And you believe now more than ever what people say—
A father is a daughter’s first love.
Addie mumbles, voice tiny and hopeful, “Daddy get me dressed?”
You look at Chris. Then shrug, not hiding your satisfaction at all. “I mean… she asked for you,” you say lightly, lifting your hands like your fate is out of your control. “Who am I to deny her?”
Chris glares at you playfully, eyes narrowing. “You’re not off the hook. If I’m doing this, you’re doing the dishes.”
You shrug again, even more dramatically this time, letting a teasing smile spread over your face. “I have no problem with that.”
He shakes his head, but his dimples betray him. He stands and holds out his hand to Addie. “Come on, love bud. Let’s go pick out something cute to wear.”
Addie immediately slips her tiny hand into his, sliding off the chair with clumsy toddler determination.
You watch them walk together down the hallway—her wobbly steps beside his steady ones, her small fingers curled trustingly around his. She looks so tiny next to him, and yet so sure, so loved, so safe.
Your heart fills, warm and full, overflowing with quiet gratitude. This is your family and you wouldn’t trade any of it, not even a single second of it, for the world.
-
Chris stands in front of the bedroom mirror, pulling his shirt off the hanger. The crisp white cotton slides over his shoulders, settling perfectly against his back as he rolls it down his arms. Button by button, he closes it while watching his reflection. He smooths it once, then reaches for his slacks, sitting low on his hips the way you like. By the time he loops the belt through, fastening the buckle, he already feels put together.
Work-Chris. Responsible. Structured. A grown man with a family and a mortgage and a daughter who thinks he personally hung the moon.
He lifts the tie from the dresser and loops it around his collar. His fingers work automatically, but he pauses halfway and calls out, “Babe? Can you help me?”
He knows you’ll come. You always come. Despite knowing that Chris is more than capable of putting on a tie by himself.
A moment later, you appear in the doorway like a scene he’s watched a thousand times and still isn’t tired of. You cross the room toward him, hands already reaching for the tie, your fingers brushing his chest as you begin tightening the knot.
He focuses on buttoning his cuffs just so he won’t have to look directly at your face, but he still feels it. The heat, the mischief of that look you give him when you’re about to test his self-control on a weekday morning.
Chris sighs through a laugh and places a hand on your waist. “Stop giving me the eyes,” he warns, voice soft, low, already failing. “I’m gonna be late for work.”
But even as he says it, he pulls you closer, letting his hands rest on each side of your waist.
You finish the knot, smooth the tie down his chest with your palm, then slip your arms around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I only get a little time with you before your other girl steals you away again,” you tease, lips brushing the edge of his jaw.
“I’m your husband,” He reminds you with his dimpled grin. “I’m yours first. Always.”
You give him a pout like you don’t believe him at all… and then your smile turns sly. “Oh, is that so?” you purr into his ear, fingers already hooking the edge of his belt and tugging, undoing the buckle with practiced ease.
Chris closes his eyes for a beat—not in refusal, but because god, he wants. He badly wants it.
“Babe…” he sighs, helpless. “I’m gonna be late.”
You lean up and capture his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, slow yet deep, before murmuring against his mouth, “The economy isn’t going to collapse if you skip work for one day.”
His laugh dissolves into a groan as he kisses you again, harder this time. Your bodies fit together like magnets, your hands tracing his abs through his shirt while his find your hips, your lower back, the familiar shape of you. He lets himself drift just for a moment into that space where it’s only you, only this, only heat and closeness and the life the two of you built.
And then—
“Daddy!”
You scoff instantly. “There. Your side chick is calling.”
Chris breathes a laugh against your cheek. “I’m yours. Always,” he reminds you once more with a quick kiss on your cheek.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart!” He calls back before you slip behind him to grab his suit jacket from the chair.
You hold it up for him, letting him slide his arms in, smoothing the shoulders and tugging the fabric into place. When you step in front of him to fix his collar and flatten the lapels, he finds you staring up at him—mischief still there, lust still there, but something warmer threaded through it.
Your hands trail slowly over his shoulders, down his arms, and you sigh like you’re confessing a secret. “No wonder Addie is obsessed with her dad.”
He laughs under his breath, cheeks warming, heart swelling. You’re being ridiculous and flirty and impossibly cute and he loves you for all of it.
Before he can say anything, he pulls you in by the hips and gives you a slow, lingering like a promise that there’ll be more of this for the rest of your life.
“Daddy!” Addie calls again, louder this time.
You roll your eyes dramatically. “Go. Your little girlfriend is waiting.”
Chris presses his forehead to yours for a beat, smiling. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the thought runs through him like a quiet current:
I’m the luckiest man alive. I get both of you.
Then he steps away, still smiling, still warm, heading toward the door and toward the little girl who owns the other half of his heart.
-
Before Chris even reaches the front door with Addie’s backpack slung over his shoulder, he steps back into the hallway where you’re waiting. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your lips—quick enough that Addie, busy putting her shoes on the wrong feet again, doesn’t notice.
You touch the side of his arm gently, giving him that soft, familiar morning smile. “Have a good day at work, love.”
“You too,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw before pulling back.
Then you crouch down in front of Addie, fixing her curls once more and tucking it behind her ears. “Bye, my little sunshine. Have the best day ever, okay? Mommy will pick you up later.”
Addie tips her face up eagerly, giving you a sloppy kiss right on the corner of your mouth—half-miss, half-success. You laugh, brushing your cheek with your thumb, and Addie beams like she did something amazing.
“I’m gonna paint a rainbow today!” she declares proudly.
“I can’t wait to see it,” you say, smoothing your hand over her curls.
Chris watches the two of you with a warm chest and a full heart before he reaches out his hand. “Come on, lovebug. Time to go.”
Addie slips her tiny fingers into his, and Chris guides her toward the car. But before stepping out, he turns around like he always does and gives you one more wave, one last soft look.
You wave back, that domestic tenderness in your eyes, and it tugs a smile from him he doesn’t even try to hide.
He carries Addie to the car, buckles her in, checks the straps once more, then slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
“Daddy,” Addie says immediately, “can we listen to my song?”
Chris laughs quietly. “Of course we can. Which one?”
She hums dramatically, sorting through her imaginary playlist. “Um… the blue one!”
He taps the screen, and the melody fills the car. Addie lights up, kicking her feet rhythmically, singing off-key but passionately. Chris joins in without meaning to, catching her grin through the rearview mirror.
“We sing it at school too,” Addie says between verses. “Miss Hana said we gonna paint today! Big paint! Like—” She stretches her arms wide in her seat. “THIS BIG!”
Chris pretends to be shocked. “No way. That big?”
“Yes way,” she insists, nodding so hard her curls bounce. “I’m gonna use purple and yellow and pink and more purple.”
“That sounds like the perfect rainbow,” he says.
“It’s gonna be soooo pretty. And then I show you and Mommy and then put it on the freeze.”
By freeze, she means the fridge.
It takes him a second, then he smiles. “Of course. Right in the middle.”
The drive is short, but it’s his favorite part of the morning—her soft singing, her sleepy eyes, the sunlight catching the top of her head. Just the two of them in their own tiny world.
When they pull into the preschool lot, Addie’s excitement softens. She looks out the window, then up at him. “Daddy? You come inside?”
“Of course,” he says.
He parks, unbuckles her, and lifts her into his arms. She tucks her face into his neck for a moment—shy, just for this beat. He rubs her back reassuringly.
Inside the classroom, Miss Hana greets her warmly.
“Good morning, Addie!”
Addie steps closer to Chris’s leg for a second before peeking up at him. He crouches to her height, presses a kiss to her forehead. “Have the best time painting, okay? Make a big rainbow for Mommy and Daddy.”
“Okay.” She throws her arms around him. “Love you, Daddy.”
He hugs her just as tightly. “Love you more.”
She toddles toward the art corner, bunny dangling from one hand, curls bouncing. Just before she joins the other kids, she turns for one last look and waves her tiny hand. He waves back, heart full.
As he walks out of the building and toward his car, he’s already can’t wait to come home to his girls tonight.
-
The house feels strangely quiet after the front door closes, in a way that only parents understand, the kind that carries both peace and a hint of loneliness.
You slip into the kitchen with your notepad, pen tucked behind your ear as you start listing this week’s groceries. Milk, eggs, fruit, Chris’s green smoothie powder, chicken thighs…
You walk around the kitchen, opening cabinets, checking the pantry, making sure you’re not forgetting anything. The fridge hums softly as you pull it open to check the produce drawer. A few apples left. Half a bag of spinach. No more yogurt. Add that to the list.
When you shut the fridge door, your hand drops from the handle slowly because the photos stuck there are impossible to ignore. They’re like little pockets of time frozen in place.
Your eyes land first on the one you always stop at of Chris holding newborn Addie on his bare chest, her tiny body no bigger than his forearm, her hand curled around absolutely nothing but air. His head is tilted down, hair falling into his eyes, expression so full of awe it almost hurts to look at. You remember that day so clearly. How scared he was to hold her. How gentle he became the second she touched him.
Next is the photo from her first birthday—three of you squeezed together, Addie clutching her smash cake with frosting all over her face, Chris smiling his impossible dimple smile, your cheeks pressed together. The joy in that picture lives in the corners of the frame like sunlight that never fades.
Your fingers drift to the beach photo. Little Addie standing ankle-deep in the surf, face scrunched in panic as a tiny wave brushed her toes. Chris was mid-laugh, holding her hands while she looked betrayed by the ocean. You can almost hear her wobbly little, “Daddyyyyyy,” echoing in your mind.
And finally, Halloween.
You dressed as Rapunzel, blonde wig trailing down your back, fake flowers pinned along the braid. Addie, dressed as Pascal the chameleon, perched on your shoulder—well, she was supposed to perch, but the picture caught her tugging your wig with both hands, nose scrunched in concentration. You remember Chris wheezing from laughter behind the camera. A soft, delighted sigh slips from your lips before you even notice it.
These pictures… this life… this home…
The grocery list sits forgotten on the counter. Because right now, all you can feel is the warm, overwhelming truth rising in your chest:
You love your little family so much. More than you ever thought possible. More than you could ever put into words.
And standing there in the quiet morning light, surrounded by the echoes of every memory that brought you here, you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
-
The preschool doors open and the kids trickle out, tiny backpacks bouncing against tiny legs. You spot Addie immediately with paint smudged on her cheek, curls wild, her bunny tucked under her arm like always.
The second her eyes land on you, she lights up. “MOMMY!”
She barrels toward you in those uneven, excited steps, and you catch her, lifting her easily into your arms. She wraps her arms around your neck and nuzzles into you, still smelling faintly of snacks and finger paint.
“Hi, baby,” you murmur, kissing her temple. “Did you have fun today?”
Addie pulls back, grinning wide. “YES!”
On the way to the car, she keeps talking—breathless, animated, the way only a three-year-old can. The moment you buckle her in and close the door, she’s already launching into a story before you even sit in the driver’s seat.
“Mommy, today I sat next to Aster.”
Your eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Aster?”
“Mm-hmm!” She wiggles happily in her seat. “He’s my friend. He has a Dino lunchbox. I like him.”
You smile to yourself as you start driving. “Oh? You like him?”
“Yes,” she says confidently, kicking her feet. “I wanna sit with him every day.” Then she adds, dramatically: “ALL day long.”
Your heart squeezes so tightly it almost hurts because she’s so sweet, so open, so earnest. The kind of openness you hope the world never takes from her.
“That’s very cute,” you say, glancing at her through the mirror. “Does Aster like you too?”
She nods so hard her curls bounce. “He said I draw the best rainbow. And—and I wanna marry him.”
You almost laugh, but it bursts out mostly as a soft, overwhelmed breath. “Marry him, huh?”
“Yes.” She nods again as if this is a legally binding decision. “We’re gonna get married and eat chicken noodles every day.”
Your heart turns to warm mush. “Well… you have to ask Daddy first before marrying Aster,” you tease.
Addie gasps and immediately bursts into giggles, covering her mouth with her tiny hands. “Moooommy!” she squeals. “Don’t tell Daddy!”
“I won’t,” you promise, biting back a laugh.
You glance to the back and lower your voice as you add, “It’ll be our little secret.”
She shushes you dramatically, pressing her finger to her lips. “Shhhh, Mommy. Daddy will be SO sad.”
You can’t help but laugh and she laughs because you’re laughing. Her adorable giggles fill the car until the whole space feels lighter, brighter, warmer. As she settles down, humming softly to herself and clutching her bunny, you glance at her again in the mirror.
So small. So earnest. So full of love already. And your heart feels full to the brim.
-
You’re stacking cans into the pantry when you hear the soft slap-slap-slap of small feet padding into the kitchen.
“Mommy,” Addie says, clutching the hem of her little shirt, “can I help cook dinner? I’m a big girl now.”
You smile, shutting the pantry door with your hip. “I know you are, honey. Mommy just… don’t know what to cook yet.”
She gasps like this is a crisis. You pretend to gasp with her. Then you lower your voice, conspiratorial. “What if we call Daddy and ask him?”
Her whole face lights up—eyes, cheeks, everything. “YES. I miss Daddy.” She runs over and grabs your hand to tug you toward the counter where your phone is.
You pull her close to your side and hit the video call button even though you know he’s probably still in the middle of work. The call rings twice and then Chris’s face fills the screen with the faint hum of the office behind him. The second he sees you both, the tiredness melts off him like it was never there.
“There’s my girls,” he says, voice warm and uneven in that way it gets when he’s smiling too hard. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know what to eat for dinner,” Addie announces immediately, leaning practically nose-first into the camera. “Mommy said we can ask you.”
Chris softens even more. “Oh yeah? What does Addie want?”
She starts listing every food she’s ever loved. “Chicken nuggets. Chicken noodles. Fried chicken. Um… pizza? And… and… ice cream!”
You snort into your hand.
“That’s a lot of chicken, baby. But how about …” He pauses as if the decision is deeply important. “Curry?”
Addie blinks. Then nods, very seriously. “I like curry too. I can cook it for you, Daddy.”
“Oh?” Chris leans closer to the camera, eyebrows lifted. “You’re gonna cook dinner for Daddy?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “But Mommy does the knife because knives are danger.” She pats your arm. “But I can stir.”
You brush her hair back from her forehead, trying not to laugh. “She’s very confident.”
“Good,” Chris says, absolutely enamored. “Daddy can’t wait to come home to Addie’s curry. I’m already excited.”
Before you can say anything else, Addie starts blowing rapid-fire flying kisses at the screen rather aggressively.
Chris actually wheezes. “Oh—okay—Daddy’s catching them—ow—okay, that one was strong—”
You’re laughing now, and Addie is thrilled with herself.
Finally, you tell Chris, “We’ll let you get back to work, Daddy.”
“Yeah,” he sighs softly, “but that helped a lot. I love you both.”
“We love you,” you say.
“LOVE YOU,” Addie screams into the phone.
“Come home safely,” you mutter at Chris.
“Come home safely, Daddy,” Addie echoes while waving her little hand.
“Bye, bye,” Chris says while waving at you and Addie through the screen before ending the call.
You put your phone away and look down at your daughter. “Well, chef. Ready to cook dinner?”
She nods so hard her pigtails bounce. “YES.”
Addie drags the little step stool across the kitchen floor with the determination of someone twice her size, the wooden legs scraping lightly until she plants it beside the counter with a triumphant hmph.
“I’m ready,” she declares.
You tie her tiny apron with her favorite cartoon animals on it and she lifts her chin proudly while you knot it. Then you tie your own right beside her.
“Okay, chef,” you say. “What’s first?”
She taps her chin dramatically, thinking hard. “We wash the veggies.”
“That’s right.” You fix the hair caught on the strap of her apron. “Because clean food is…”
“…happy food,” Addie eloquently answers.
“Good girl!” You smile with pride knowing that she remembers what you taught her.
You help her carry the carrots and potatoes to the sink. She rolls up her sleeves and scrubs them with far too much enthusiasm, sending little splashes of water up your arm.
“Addie,” you laugh, stepping back, “are we washing the potatoes or giving them swimming lessons?”
“They like swimming,” she insists. “They’re having fun, Mommy.”
You shake your head, smiling as you reach for a towel to dry the overly-happy potatoes.
While you chop the vegetables, Addie watches very intently as if she’s watching a magic show.
“Mommy is very good at cutting,” she honestly says with awe in her eyes.
“Thank you so much, Addie,” you say with a smile.
“Daddy can’t cut like this. Daddy cuts… weird.” She wiggles her fingers to demonstrate.
You try not to laugh so hard you mess up your chopping. “We’ll keep that between us.”
When the pot warms on the stove, she climbs onto the stool again, wooden spoon in hand like a wand.
“Be careful,” you warn. “The pot is hot.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
You add the vegetables and she stirs, both hands on the spoon, whole body working with each circle. Her lower lip jutting out as concentration wrinkling her forehead.
“You’re doing great, Addie, ” you tell her.
She beams. “Daddy will be so proud.”
“He already is,” you say with a gentle pat on her head.
As the curry block melts into the broth, the kitchen fills with that warm, comforting smell. Addie sighs happily and leans in a little too close to the pot, trying to catch a whiff of the curry. “Smells so good, Mommy,” she says softly.
You keep her steady by placing a hand on the small of her back. “Because you’re doing such a good job at it, lovely.”
You both lean over the pot, watching the steam rise. Addie gently bumps her head against your shoulder and whispers, “Daddy’s gonna love it so much.”
You kiss the top of her head. “He’s gonna love it because wemade it together.”
Addie glows and resumes stirring with renewed passion, humming her little song again as the evening light pours into the kitchen, warm and golden, wrapping the two of you in the softest, sweetest kind of quiet family love.
-
The table is almost done, just need to put the cutlery in place when the familiar rumble of Chris’s car curls through the quiet evening like a warm drumroll.
Addie’s head whips in the direction of the door and then her whole body lights up. “Daddy!” she squeaks.
Before you can say a word, she’s already sprinting, socks skidding on the hallway floor, her little ponytail bouncing behind her like a tiny exclamation mark. You watch her go, heart swelling in that too-big, too-full way only she can summon.
She plants herself right in front of the door, bouncing on her toes. One hand clamps dramatically over her mouth, her version of self-control. The other curls into a tiny fist at her chest, vibrating with excitement.
You lean against the doorway, smiling at the scene you’ve already watched a hundred times but never get tired of.
The lock clicks. The doorknob turns. The door inches open. Addie’s whole body trembles. When Chris steps inside, she explodes. “DADDY!!”
Chris flinches exaggeratedly like she’s startled the soul out of him. “Whoa! You surprised Daddy!”
Addie giggles, delighted with herself. “Welcome home, Daddy!”
He bends, presses a tender kiss to the top of her head, then toes off his shoes while she clings to his pant leg like a very affectionate koala. Once the shoes are off, he scoops her up with a warm grunt, settling her on his hip like she belongs there.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, brushing her cheek with his nose.
She beams and hugs him tight.
He turns then, carrying all that warmth straight toward you. The moment he reaches you, he leans in for a soft, quick kiss on your lips, familiar and grounding all at once.
“Hi,” he says quietly, smile touching the corners of his eyes.
You feel your own smile unfurl. “Welcome home.”
The words slip out sweeter than you intend, threaded with relief and affection and that little spark of I’m so glad you’re here. And as he steps closer, Addie nestled against his shoulder, the scent of the curry drifting from the kitchen, you feel that gentle, everyday happiness settle into your chest.
He’s home.
Your little family is together again.
-
Chris settles into his chair with a low, content sigh, the kind that only comes after stepping back into the hum of his own home. Addie is already swinging her legs under the table, humming a tune with curry-smudged enthusiasm. You sit beside him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his, that small point of contact grounding him in a way the rest of the world never does.
Dinner spirals into the usual soft chaos. Addie babbles between spoonfuls, you tease him gently about the way he nearly burned his tongue, he sneaks glances at you the way he always does. Domestic serenity loops around him like warm steam from the curry.
When the lull hits, he turns to the smallest member of the trio. “So, Addie,” he says, scooping another bite. “How was school today, sweetface?”
Addie lights up, chest puffing with importance. “Daddy, we painted! I made a flower and Miss Hana said it’s beautiful!”
Chris nods, taking your hand and holds it in him on the table. “I’m sure Miss Hana is right.”
“Aster also said it’s beautiful,” Addie continues, waving her spoon dangerously, “And then he drew a dinosaur for me!”
Your soft giggle bursts out immediately beside him, and Chris freezes mid-chew.
Aster?
He turns to you sharply but you just widen your eyes like you’re innocent, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away.
Chris shifts his gaze back to Addie, slipping into fatherly interrogation mode like flipping a switch. “And who is Aster?”
Addie, unbothered and glowing, shrugs. “Aster is my friend. He’s good at drawing dinosaurs. I like him. I wanna play with him all day!”
Your laugh escapes you and you quickly deflect by wiping your mouth with a napkin.
He clears his throat, straightens, narrows his eyes. “You can’t play with him all day.”
Addie blinks. “Why, Daddy?”
“Because,” he says, pointing a dramatic finger at his chest, “your daddy is supposed to be your number one partner for drawing. And coloring. And everything forever.”
Addie pauses, processing this Very Serious Information, then says with absolute innocence, “But Daddy… I can play with Aster at school.”
Chris inhales like she has stabbed him with a crayon.
You lose it beside him, covering your mouth to keep your laughter contained, but it breaks through anyway. Addie starts laughing because you’re laughing, her little shoulders shaking.
Chris puts on his sternest face. “That’s it,” he declares. “No more school for you, young lady. You stay home now. Forever. You can leave the house again when you’re eighteen.”
Addie giggles so hard she almost drops her spoon.
You lean your head toward his shoulder with a warm, delighted grin. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m being serious,” he insists, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “Dead serious.”
Addie laughs even harder, her cheeks pink and shining. Chris finally cracks, the authoritative dad act melting away into a laugh that rumbles up from somewhere he only ever uses at home, with you two. His girls.
The sound fills the kitchen, cozy and warm. And Chris feels it again, that quiet truth that never leaves him: there’s no place he’d rather be.
-
Chris sprawls on the carpet like he’s made of soft clay, letting himself be molded into whatever role Addie assigns him tonight. In her newest scenario, he is apparently a Very Hungry Giant, and she is the chef of an elite five-star restaurant made entirely of plastic utensils. Her tiny hands scoop invisible stew into a tiny pink bowl, and she toddles over with all the seriousness of a surgeon.
“Daddy, eat,” she commands, shoving the air toward his mouth.
Chris opens wide. “Nom, nom, nom, nom… Delicious.”
She beams, already racing back to her kitchen station to cook the next course. He can’t help the quiet bloom of pride in his chest. Hours away from her always leave a little ache, playing like this smooths it over. Better than any salary raise or office compliment. This is where he gets patched back together.
After a while, she drifts to another toy, her attention fluttering to glittery blocks. Chris takes that moment to sink onto the sofa like a man rediscovering gravity. His joints sigh.
He doesn’t have long to savor the peace, because he hears your footsteps. You ease down beside him with a slow exhale that tells him everything he needs to know about your day.
Without thinking, he reaches for you, looping an arm behind your waist and tugging you gently until your side melts into his. You fit there like you’ve lived in his ribs for years.
“You’re tired,” he murmurs.
“A bit.”
“You never let me help,” he says, soft but playfully scolding.
You smile. “You helped plenty.”
He nudges your temple with his nose, unconvinced, and then he just… sinks into you. His face nestles into the curve of your neck, his lips brush there in small, wandering kisses. The kind that don’t demand anything. The kind that simply tells that he missed you.
Your giggle hums through him and that only encourages him. He trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, then your cheek, savoring every little sound your body gives him. When he finally pulls back an inch, you look slightly dazed, slightly amused. He cups your face, thumb grazing the softness of your bottom lip.
You hold his gaze in the same warmth like you always do. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
His voice drops into a low wonder. “How are you getting more beautiful every day?”
You scoff, flustered, which only makes him smile deeper. He leans in, kissing you slow and intimate, something lit from within. When he pulls back just an inch, he murmurs against your lips, “How is that fair, mmh?”
Your breath fans his mouth. You’re smiling. He steals that smile in another kiss, deeper this time, his fingers threading into your hair as if he could draw you closer still.
Which is exactly when a small body wedges itself between your chests with the force of a determined squirrel. “Daddy!” Addie scolds, puffing her cheeks. “Daddy is my best friend, not Mommy!”
You laugh behind her tiny back, already retreating. Also because you’re used to this.
Chris tries to keep a straight face and fails immediately. “Mommy needs cuddles. She’s tired.”
“No!” she huffs, wrapping her arms around his neck in a possessive tangle. “Daddy mine!”
Chris bites back a laugh, widening his eyes as if shocked. “Mine? But Mommy is my wife, so I’m hers first.”
Addie reels back with betrayal blazing in her little eyes. “Daddy mine!”
You’re already shaking with silent laughter but Chris can’t resist pushing it one notch further. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you in tight again, so now he’s holding both of you at once, his favorite tug-of-war.
That’s the final straw as Addie’s face scrunches, her mouth wobbles, and then she bursts into dramatic, heart-splitting tears.
You lose it. Your laughter spills out, warm and helpless, as you gather her into your arms. “Oh, Addie baby,” you soothe through your smile, rubbing her back. “You silly girl.”
Chris holds her too, kissing her temple as she sobs into his shoulder. He murmurs between soft pats, “Daddy’s always yours. Always. But Daddy loves Mommy too. I love both my girls so much. There’s room for everybody.”
Addie hiccups, sniffling, her little hands clutching both of you. You fold your arms around them both, tilting your forehead against Chris’s.
Warmth pools around the three of you like a soft quilt: tangled limbs, shared breath, shared warmth. His family, all in one embrace.
-
Chris settles onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping softly under his weight. Addie is already tucked beneath her pastel blanket, only her curls and the round tip of her nose poking out, blinking up at him like a sleepy little owl. Her stuffed bunny rests on her chest, its whiskers flattened from love.
Chris gently lifts it aside so he can open tonight’s story book. “Ready for your story, my little lovebug?”
She nods, her thumb inching toward her mouth before she remembers he asked her to try not to suck it at bedtime. She hesitates. Then tucks her hand under her cheek instead.
He pretends not to see the struggle so she can feel proud and begins to read. His voice softens without him trying, slipping into that warm register he didn’t know he had until she was born. The kind made for stories about magical forests and animals who
As he reads, his hand drifts into her curls. They’re springy and wild, the same way his were as a kid, but soft like yours. He brushes a few strands away from her forehead, fingertips moving in slow, gentle motions designed to ease the last bits of the day out of her tiny bones.
Her breathing starts to change. Slower. Heavier. The kind that tells him she’s drifting.
He keeps going anyway, voice a low, steady river sliding over the words.
Addie’s eyes flutter. Open. Close. Open again with an effort that makes his heart twist. She wants to stay awake to hear him. She always does.
He leans closer, brushing her hairline with his thumb. “Daddy’s right here,” he whispers, barely more than breath.
Her lids fall one final time and this time, they stay. Her lips part in a soft pout she definitely inherited from him. Her bunny slips from her hand, so he places it gently under her arm.
He finishes the last line of the story in a hush, more for himself than her. Then he closes the book with careful, reverent hands and settles it on the nightstand.
For a moment, he just watches her. The tiny rise and fall of her chest. The way her arm curls protectively around her bunny. The innocence, the peace. The trust.
He leans down and presses a quiet kiss to her temple, lingering there until he feels his own breath steady. “Daddy loves you so much,” he murmurs.
He slips off the bed like a shadow, easing toward the door. He leaves it slightly ajar, the way she likes, letting a sliver of hallway light follow him out. He looks at his daughter once more and lowly murmurs, “Goodnight.”
And when he steps into the hallway, closing the bedtime world behind him, he exhales. Not tired, but full, filled to the brim with love so gentle it almost aches.
-
You’re halfway through patting moisturizer into your cheeks when you hear his footsteps. There’s a familiar cadence to them, a soft eagerness threaded through each step, and you don’t even need to look up before Chris slips into the bathroom.
His arms wrap around your waist immediately, pulling you into the solid shape of his body. Your back fits against him like you were carved with the same blueprint. His chin nudges your shoulder, and then his lips follow, brushing your skin with feather-kisses that rise in little sparks.
You giggle, your hands still working through your skincare. “The first lady is sleeping and now, you’re going to your mistress, mmh?”
He breathes a laugh against your neck and you catch his eyes in the mirror. They’re warm brown, soft around the edges, the kind of gaze reserved only for you. You reach for your lip balm, dabbing it on, and he lifts his head just a little as if he wants to watch every movement you make. He’s feeling the silky fabric of your camisole between his fingers when he notices something.
“Did you wear this set when you were pregnant?” he asks, voice low and casual but with that unmistakable undercurrent.
“Yeah,” you reply simply.
The smirk crawls onto his lips before he even tries to hide it. He presses another kiss to your neck, slower this time. “I thought so.”
He leans in until his mouth hovers at your ear, his breath warm. “You know I think you were the sexiest when you were pregnant.”
You scoff, reaching for your brush. “Of course you do.”
Chris gathers your hair in one hand to help you brush it, the other hand slipping under your camisole with such casual familiarity it sends a buzzing warmth down your spine. His palms rest on your stomach, thumbs tracing delicate shapes against your skin.
“I liked seeing you with the baby bump,” he murmurs. “Loved it, actually.”
Then his hands glide upward, cupping your breasts through the fabric. “And these were… unbelievable.”
Your laugh breaks through before you can stop it. “We both know what you really liked was the baby-making part.”
He doesn’t even pretend otherwise. “Obviously.”
You turn in his arms, looping your hands around his shoulders. His hands settle naturally on your hips, warm and reassuring.
“I don’t think I’m ready for it,” you say softly.
He nods without hesitation, fully understanding. “Okay.”
But then that glint slips into his eyes again, sly and teasing. “Not ready to get pregnant again… or not ready to share me?”
You narrow your eyes at him and gently push him away. “This is the end of the discussion.”
He tries to bite back another smirk, fails spectacularly.
You poke his chest lightly. “Living room. Now. You promised we’d watch that movie tonight.”
He leans in, kisses you once and when he pulls away, he can’t help but tease you again. “It’s the latter, right?”
You playfully pinch at his waist and glare. “Christopher!” you scold.
“Ouch!” He yelps rather dramatically and then bursts into laughter. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”
His hand trails along your waist as he steps away, and you catch the reflection of his smile in the mirror before he leaves the room.
-
Your body sinks into the warm cradle of the cushions, Chris’s arm draped over you like he’s trying to stake an adorable territorial claim. The glow of the TV flickers across both of your faces as the movie begins threading itself along… though you already know Chris is only half watching. His real show sits right beside him. His thumb strokes your upper arm in lazy arcs, the rhythm hypnotic.
A few minutes in, he exhales, a thoughtful huff against your hair.
“I’m just saying… it is the right time,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “Addie’s old enough for a sibling. They’d have the perfect age gap. She’d have someone to play with. Someone to—”
You flick your gaze to him, unimpressed. “Focus on the movie.”
He grins but obediently turns his eyes toward the screen, though you can practically hear the gears in his head plotting. For a moment, you think he’s actually going to behave. For a moment.
Then his hand drifts under the blanket. His palm settles over your belly. Fingers tiptoe to the waistband of your shorts, nudging the elastic like it’s the doorway to some forbidden temple.
You swallow a laugh, shifting slightly, but he follows your movement with precision worthy of a veteran strategist. “Christopher…” you warn.
“Hm?” Innocence. Absolute faux innocence.
He turns your face toward him, tilting your chin lightly. His mouth finds yours, slow and then coaxing, teasing. His hand roams over your waist, hip, up your ribs, down your thigh in a wandering pilgrimage.
You pull away with a sigh, breath shaky, eyes narrowed because you know exactly what this man is up to. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” he asks, eyes wide with fake purity that lasts maybe half a heartbeat before he steals another kiss, deeper this time, fingers tightening on your waist.
That’s it.
You straighten, reach for the remote, and shut the TV off with a decisive click. The room folds into quiet.
Chris watches you, pupils blown wide, hope shimmering on his face like he’s trying not to smile too hard.
You set the remote down, look him dead in the eye, and declare, “Yeah, okay. Let’s make babies tonight.”
His grin unfurls, slow and victorious, like he just unlocked the final chest in some mythical treasure room. He slides closer, voice a low purr against your lips. “Knew you’d come around.”
And then he kisses you with the kind of promise that could light the whole house.
-
The house has gone fully quiet now that the movie is off and the door is closed, you’re both in the safety of the shared bedroom now. You settle on his lap, your back resting against his chest with your legs pulled high and open. You glance down, catching the way his cock is snug inside you — a sight that both arouses you and sends a shiver down your spine.
Chris holds you as if you’re something he’s waited all day to unwrap, his breath warm against the curve of your neck. His arms circle you in a way that feels almost ceremonial, as if he’s marking a moment he doesn’t intend to forget. Your hips shift, just a little, just enough to feel that slow, deep press of his length, and all the air leaves your lungs in a shaky sound. It’s not loud, but breath and almost desperate. It’s the kind of sound he lives for.
His hand trails down south, fingers exploring with lazy confidence, touching you right on your bundle of nerves in a way that has your breath catching again. He’s patient, maddeningly so, as if he wants to memorize every small reaction you give him. Every hitch of your breath. Every subtle tremble.
“Chris…” You breathlessly whisper his name.
He responds with a soft laugh against your shoulder, the kind that curls warm in your stomach. His lips find your skin, leaving slow, practiced kisses along the line of your neck. Each one coaxes another sound from you, each one loosens you a little more in his hold.
Your fingers dig into his forearms. Your head tips back against him. You’re not sure when the pleasure started to cloud your thoughts, when the ache stopped and turned into something sweet and overwhelming, but Chris feels every shift in you. He always does.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, voice sinking into you like warm honey. His other hand comes up, holding your waist, guiding you, steadying you. “Just let it happen.”
You let your body answer his. You let the rhythm build, slow and deep, enjoying the way his fingers circling on your clit. Soon, you find yourself rocking into both his hand and his cock until your breath turns into soft, broken sounds he swallows with kisses to your jaw.
You’re trembling now, not from pain, but from the way he’s coaxing you toward that familiar edge with steady, knowing hands.
Chris feels the moment your body yields, the way your breath stutters and your walls tighten around him. His lips brush your temple, his voice low and full of affection as he whispers, “There you go… that’s it, baby”
You unravel against him, sinking into his chest as if your bones have melted. He holds you through every wave of it, his arms strong and steady, his touch gentle now that he’s guided you exactly where he wanted you.
“Such a good girl… coming for me like that,” he murmurs with a haste kiss on your parted mouth.
The world softens. The room blurs. All you can feel is the solid of his body against you, the heartbeat against your back, the way he holds you like you’re his entire gravity.
And Chris looks at you like this is the closest thing to paradise he’s ever touched.
-
The air between you feels charged enough to spark, and Chris moves slowly yet with certainty, guiding you forward until the mattress receives you. You’re lying on your stomach, head melting into the plush of the pillow.
He settles behind you, close enough that his breath grazes the back of your shoulder. His hands bracket your hips first, gliding up along your waist like he’s exploring his favorite place. There’s no rush in him. Just intent. The kind that wraps itself around your spine and tightens everything inside you.
His fingers trail along your side, lingering, appreciating, claiming. His body presses lightly to yours, just enough contact to make your breath hitch, to remind you that he’s right there, holding himself back on purpose. You can feel his desire without him giving you everything — just the weight of him, the warmth, the promise.
You shift, lifting yourself until you’re on all fours, needy without meaning to, and he catches the movement with a knowing sound, low in his throat. His hand curves over your hip, guiding, controlling, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
Then he leans in, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, fingers slipping between your slick folds.
“Already desperate for me?”
You try to answer, but the words tangle in your breath, and the tiny laugh that escapes him tells you he loves that. His other hand slides into your hair, gathering a gentle but possessive hold, the kind that makes a breath caught in your throat.
He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, humming as his fingers are now circling on your pulsating clit. “You’re dripping all over my hand, baby,” he whispers to your ear.
You still can’t respond with the way he has you wrapped, claiming and possessively. You grip the sheets as he dips his fingers into your wetness just to feel your tightness wrapped around them.
He pulls away slightly to palm your sex with his hand, fingertips lightly grazing your clit with intention. “I don’t think you’re ready for me,” he teases, a grin plastered to his face.
You drop your head to the side but that only allows Chris to place ferocious kisses on your exposed neck. His teeth nipping lightly at the skin, sharp and hot.
“Chris, please…” you whine as your grip at the sheets tighter, desperate.
He lets out a breathless chuckle. “You’re so cute when you beg, baby,” he mutters, breathe hot against your ear before he bites at it.
“Please…” you plead once more just to please him.
That does it as Chris finally moves, a slow, steady push of his body aligned with yours, letting you feel his hard length brushes over your sex — the full intention of him without crossing that last line.
Hid hand moves from between your legs to stroke his swollen member, using the tip to tease around your entrance, smearing your essence all over. When he pushes inside, he pushes just barely an inch, not enough to satisfy you. Yet the tension winds hotter, tighter, you exhale a shaky breath.
“This much is enough for you,” he mutters with a hot kiss pressed to your shoulder.
You whine before you can stop yourself, the sound raw with frustrated need.
Chris smiles against your shoulder, a warm curve of lips that feels far too triumphant. “Want more?”
You eagerly nod. “Yes.”
Chris rubs his plush lips across your shoulder blade and asks again, “You think you can handle it?”
You turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes and daringly stare into them. “You know I can take you well,” your voice dripping in audacity and heat.
That seems to amuse him as a grin bloom on his face, dimples sunken deep into his cheeks. He's never been able to deny you anything, but this is just too fun. He presses his lips to the sensitive spot behind your ear, nipping gently before purring, “Look who’s being all needy for me now.”
Without warning, he pushes the remaining length into you in one rough thrust until he’s fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls. His self-control has been wearing thin, but he can't deny how good it feels to give into it.
Your eyes widen at the sudden sensation, a gasp falling from your lips with a heady mix of surprise and pleasure. Your fingers clutch the sheets, your pulse stumbling, your body alive with every inch of him inside you.
He keeps you close to him, breathless and aching, the world narrowing to the heat of his hands and the quiet authority in his voice.
“Oh, yeah,” he sighs as his hands gripping at your hips, keeping you where he wants you. “You can handle it.”
For a moment, Chris holds you like that — wanting, waiting — and lets the anticipation devour both of you.
-
For a moment, Chris stays still to let the tension coil tighter inside you. When he draws back, it isn’t to abandon you but to shift, to guide you with a quiet certainty that makes your whole body follow his hands without thought.
Through the reflection in the vanity mirror, he watches your face intently as he starts moving in slow, deep thrusts that drag every inch of pleasure out of you before gradually turning desperate, his control slipping.
"That’s it," he rasps, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto him with bruising force. "Take it—take all of me."
His voice is wrecked, the teasing edge gone, replaced by pure hunger. He leans down, biting at your shoulder, breath hot against your skin. "God—You always feel so fucking good."
Your fingers curl into the sheets. Your breath stutters. In each passing second, you can’t contain your moans anymore but let them spill free from your parted mouth that eventually turns into a cry of both pain and pleasure.
He leans down to sweetly mutters into your ear. “You sound perfect, like always, baby.”
And just when you’re melting into the moment, he slows and pulls out, making you whimper from the sudden emptiness.
Then, he gently grabs your waist, maneuvering you like you were merely a ragdoll for him to play with. He’s making you lay onto your side with a steadiness that feels protective and hungry all at once.
He kneels on the bed and lifts your leg with one hand, guiding you until you’re open to him, your bodies around curved each other in a way that makes you feel both cherished and claimed. You can feel him slowly easing into you once more, the length of his cock fits, full and snug, you believe you have taken his shape. The way he starts moving sending jolts of pleasure through you and that familiar feeling begins to build once more.
The first movements are deliberate, controlled, meant to drag every ounce of pleasure through you in long, spiraling waves. His hand holds your leg up just enough to deepen everything, and the angle sends heat shimmering up your spine. You can’t contain the sounds that slip out of you.
“Mmm...” The noise escapes your lips unbidden.
Chris lets out a low, possessive growl in response, taking in the reaction. “Like that, baby?”
His pace grows more intentional, more intimate, until you’re shaking with how close you are, how intensely he has you drawn tight under him, how loudly you’re moaning, calling his name in desperation.
And just when your breath breaks and your body clenches in anticipation… he slows. Then stops.
Your whole body trembles with the denied release, your gasp half-plea, half-frustration. Chris bends down to press a kiss on your shoulder, a soothing contrast to the torment he’s giving you. “Not yet,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire and control. “I want you to come apart exactly the way I want.”
His hand strokes your thigh, calming and possessive, keeping you suspended in that exquisite, trembling edge where he seems determined to hold you until you’re completely undone for him.
This time, he shifts along with you as he makes you lay on your back, your head hitting the pillow just right. You look at him with your heavy-lidded eyes, breathless and dazed. You tangle a hand in his curls and look him in the eyes as you mutter, “You’re enjoying it too much.”
Chris grins, his gaze dark and filled with satisfaction, his hand grasping your chin to make you look at him. He's enjoying this probably a bit too much, but he can't help it, he loves having this power over you. And you look so perfect beneath him, so beautiful and needy, his.
He leans down until his face is just inches from yours, his breath hot on your skin. “You know what else I enjoy?”
He pauses, his thumb gently stroking your lip, waiting for you to ask.
You drop your hand to the nape of his neck, playing with the tendrils of hair there. “What?”
He smirks, moving his hand from your chin to trail down your body, fingertips tracing lightly over your collarbone to your chest, continuing down your stomach until it rests just below your navel.
“The look on your face when I bring you to the edge. That look of pure, beautiful desperation that makes me want to give you everything, yet at the same time makes me want to hold you like this a little while longer.”
He leans down and places a kiss just above your hip, not stopping until he gets to where he wants.
Your eyes flutter shut as you feel the warmth of his breath against your wet cunt, the anticipation almost too much. He looks up at you, eyes dark, lips curving into a smirk before he leans forward, his tongue slipping out to taste you, licking you like he’s enjoying ice cream on a hot summer day.
“Chris, baby…” you sigh as you slumped on the pillow, helpless.
You feel the vibration of his hum as he murmurs against you, enjoying every moment of his ministrations. His hands find your thighs, spreading them just a bit wider, his touch soft and gentle yet possessive and demanding.
“Shhh, love. Let me take care of you,” he purrs, his voice sending another jolt of pleasure through you. “Let me hear those pretty sounds you make.”
Overwhelmed, you close your eyes but it’s only heightening the other senses. You feel his slick tongue tracing circles on your clit, his fingers curling inside you, the obscene noises of his wet mouth meeting your drenched sex. It’s all feels too much.
When you open your eyes, you find him looking up at you, making eye contact, watching your every reaction, every sound you make. He's completely focused on you, on bringing you pleasure, on making you feel good. And oh, he loves every second of it.
Chris pulls back just as your breathing hitches, your thighs trembling, fingers clawing at the sheets, but he stops, leaving you hovering on the edge.
He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked onto yours. “Not yet, baby,” he purrs, voice rough with desire. “Want to feel you come around me.”
His fingers replace his tongue, teasing slow circles—just enough to keep you right there, but not enough to let you fall. He lifts himself up just enough to hover above you, allowing your hand to reach his face, cupping his jaw.
“You’re really planning to wear me out, huh?” you ask with a tired yet smug smile.
Chris gives a lazy, cocky smile at your question. Of course that's his plan; he knows you're already exhausted, but he can't get enough of you.
“The one and only plan,” he says, fingers still slowly moving in torturous circles. “I'm going to wear you out—make you a whimpering, trembling mess before I let you finish.”
Chris leans forward, catching your lips in deep, heated kiss as his hand moves to align his cock to your entrance. His breath trembles against your lips as he pushes it in, easier this time but not less satisfying.
You open your legs wider, giving him more room to penetrate you deeper and when you know he’s buried to the hilt, you wrap your legs around him, not letting him pull away even an inch.
He softly chuckles as he breaks the kiss. “You’re not letting me get away this time, huh?”
You shake your head, grinning. “Not a chance.”
Fortunately, Chris can't resist you any longer either, he needs you now. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in practiced motions. His hands grip your hips hard, pulling you closer to him as he starts moving.
He moves at a slow, steady pace that allows you to feel every drag of his cock against your walls, his skin brushing yours in the slightest movement, his heat blending with yours. You look at him and he looks back into your eyes, a hand finds yours and you interlace it as the two of you continue moving in sync, becoming one in the moment.
And suddenly, it all feels too much that you get hit by a wave of emotions. Love, devotion, longing and everything in between stirred inside you until you can’t take it anymore but let them pouring out of you.
Chris feels your tears against his skin and he knows he needs to take it easy. He still wants to give you pleasure—that's his goal after all—but he doesn't want to hurt you, either.
“Hey, baby…” he coos against your hair, voice gentler now. His hands leave your hips to wipe gently at the tears streaming down your face. “Am I going too rough? Are you hurt?”
The genuine concern and care in his voice makes your heart aches in the best way. You cradle his face with both hands, holding it like a fragile object.
“I just love you so much,” your voice shakes at the end of the sentence from the weight of meaning it carries.
Chris wasn’t expecting that. His thrusts slow, his grip on your waist softening as he stares down at you, your fingers lightly trailing his jaws now, your eyes wet but happy. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice breaking just a little.
“Babe—” He kisses you, deep and lingering, before pulling back just enough to murmur, “I love you so, so much.”
Then he moves again, but slower, deeper, pouring every ounce of that love into each roll of his hips, his hands cradling you like you’re something precious. “My wife… my love…” he whispers between kisses. “My forever.”
Soon, his breathing is ragged, his movements getting more intense, more desperate. He needs to see you come apart, he needs to be the one to make you feel this way—it's more than a want, it's a need.
“That's it, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, so close. “Come for me. Come for me… Come for me, darling. Don't hold back.”
You do, you feel your high closing in, it’s coming fast and irrepressible. Your eyes screwed shut, your hands gripping at his arms now, nails digging into the flesh. You feel it building and building inside you until you can’t take it anymore.
“Chris…” you sharply gasp, nails digging deeper into his skin.
He feels you come around him, he knows you're feeling overwhelmed with pleasure and that thought alone is almost enough to send him over the edge. He doesn't stop like he usually does, letting you ride it out—he knows he can’t wait another second for his turn so he keeps moving, his pace rougher, his eyes locked on yours.
“Just a little bit more, yeah?” he moans, his voice heavy with want, his grip on your waist tightening.
“Take a little bit more for me,” he manages to say, his mouth finding your neck, kissing and nibbling gently
And you let him, you let him chases his own high as you grip his shoulders, wrapping your legs tighter around him to ground yourself in the moment.
Chris loses himself in you, in the way you feel, in the way you let him take what he needs without hesitation. His rhythm falters, his breathing ragged as he buries himself deep one last time, his release crashing over him with a groan that’s half your name, half a supressed profanity. He collapses against you, still trembling, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder as he catches his breath.
You gently curve an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and allowing you to place tender, little kisses on his temple down to his jaw. You ignore the sheen of sweat coated his forehead and make a new trail of kisses there.
Chan exhales shakily at the sensation of your soft kisses—your lips brushing his cheeks, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth—while his palm presses possessively against your stomach. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer as he murmurs.
“Take it all…” His voice thick with reverence. “I want you full of me.”
He holds you there, both of you still trembling from the aftershocks, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. The intimacy is almost overwhelming—the way he adores you, the way you let him claim you so completely.
When he finally speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper. “All mine.”
-
The blanket is pulled to your chest like a shield against the aftershocks pulsing through your body. You’re still stretched across the sheets, limbs loose and heavy, trying to gather your breath back into something steady. Your skin still hums, your heartbeat roaming everywhere at once.
Chris sits beside you, propped on one elbow, wearing that victorious little curve at the corner of his mouth that you want to smack and kiss in equal measure. His thumb softly brushes at the damp trails on your cheeks as if he wants to erase every trace of what he caused but also absolutely loves that it’s there.
You scoff, still breathless, voice scratchy but playful. “Guess who made another girl cry today?”
He doesn’t even pretend to look guilty. That smug glimmer only deepens as he strokes your cheek again, eyes warm and utterly unrepentant. “Guilty,” he says, softness wrapped around the tease.
You want to roll your eyes, but instead he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s slow, almost lazy, like he wants to savor the taste of the moment lingering between your lips. You sink into it because you can’t help the warmth, the steadiness of his hand on your jaw, the familiar pull of affection.
But then, a sound sound cracks through the quiet of the house.
Both of you stop moving for a heartbeat to hear better, to know for sure that they two of you didn’t imagine it. The sound is distant, muffled behind walls, but unmistakable. That tiny, trembly cry you’ve learned by heart.
Addie.
Maternal instinct scrapes you back into awareness like a bell rung inside your bones. You pull back and whisper, already shifting upright, “That’s her”
Chris is already moving. He grabs his sweatpants from the floor, tugging them on in rushed, uneven motions before padding toward the hallway.
As Chris goes to check on Addie, you sit up with a groan and tug the blanket tighter just long enough to breathe through the soreness. Clothes are scattered across the floor like a breadcrumb trail of earlier choices. You gather them quickly, slipping into the first things you find, fingers fumbling slightly as you fix the straps of your camisole.
A minute later, Chris reappears in the doorway of the bedroom, his brows drawn with concern. “She wants you,” he says gently.
That makes you pause because Addie usually prefers her dad to help her ward the nightmares away or whenever she cries at night.
“Me?”
He nods. “Yeah, you.”
That’s all it takes for worry to spark through you. You hurry past him, bare feet padding over the hallway floor, your pulse accelerating not with panic but with that deep-rooted instinct that something in your little girl needs you.
The door to her room is cracked open, a faint spill of warm nightlight glowing through the gap. You step inside with Chris following right behind you, putting on a smile as you take another step.
Addie is sitting upright in her little bed, knees tucked close, small fists scrubbing at swollen eyes. Her face is blotchy, her lip trembling, her breaths uneven. She looks heartbreakingly tiny in her pastel blankets. And when her gaze finds you, she breaks.
A wail spills out of her, raw and scared, and you rush to her side. She practically launches herself into your arms, climbing into your lap, straddling you with the fierce urgency only children possess. Her arms lock around your neck and she buries her wet face into your chest, sobbing against your skin as if you’re the only thing keeping her anchored.
You hold her tight, one hand smoothing circles over her back, the other cupping the back of her head. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you whisper into her hair, rocking her slightly. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s right here.”
Chris kneels beside the bed, brushing her messy hair out of her face with gentle fingers, his voice soft with concern. “Hey, flower bud. What’s going on, hmm?”
It takes time for the sobs to settle into sniffles. Addie hiccups, clinging to you with little shuddery breaths. When she finally lifts her head, her lashes are stuck together with tears.
You tuck a strand behind her ear. “Sweetie… what’s wrong? Why were you crying?”
She tries to speak, but her voice stutters through leftover tremors. “I… I h-heard… Mommy crying.”
You feel a breath caught in your throat while Chris’s eyebrows shoot up. He glances at you, biting back a smile he really shouldn’t be wearing right now.
You keep your voice calm as you ask again. “You heard… Mommy crying?”
She nods hard. “And s-screaming. A-and… the door was closed so I… I couldn’t check on Mommy.”
Her lip wobble returns. “I wanted to help you.”
Oh.
Oh, this pure, innocent child.
Heat creeps up your neck as last hour’s… volume… flashes through your mind. You and Chris exchange a look that is entirely too knowing.
Chris’s mouth twitches. You kick him lightly with your toe. But your heart squeezes at the sincerity in Addie’s face — the worry, the protectiveness far too big for her small body.
You kiss the top of her head, lingering. “Oh, baby… thank you for caring about mommy.”
You stroke her cheek. “I’m so sorry the door was closed.”
“I’m sorry, baby, I think Daddy closed the door,” he admits under his breath. “Accidentally.”
You send him a look that promises conversation later and then you cup Addie’s jaw gently, guiding her to look at you. “Mommy’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Mommy’s safe. Mommy’s not hurt at all.”
Your voice softens even further as you hold her little body tighter. “Thank you for worrying me. Oh, my little Addie is such an angel.”
She sniffles, leaning into your hand before wrapping her arms around you again, clinging like she doesn’t want to let go.
After a moment, you ask, “Want to try going back to sleep?”
She immediately shakes her head, cheeks puffing out, eyes wide and glistening.
You hide a smile. “What do you want then?”
Addie gazes up at you with that innocent, hopeful twinkle. “Can I… have a cookie?”
Your laugh is soft, warm, because she is just so adorable with her tear-flushed cheeks and tiny, wobbly voice.
“Okay,” you say, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “One cookie. Just one.”
She nods quickly, but then—
“Can I have it with milk, Mommy?”
You tuck her hair behind her ear, smoothing it down. “Yes, you can.”
Then you look at Chris, who is already halfway toward standing. “Daddy,” you say, voice light but aiming, “cookie and milk for Addie, please?”
He straightens and puts a hand over his heart like you’ve given him a mission of national importance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Addie sniffles and reaches out her hand toward him as he stands, and Chris takes it, giving it a little squeeze before heading for the kitchen.
You hold your daughter close, feeling her tiny heartbeat slowing against you, grateful for the sweetness — even in the chaos of midnight tears.
-
Chris watches you move around the kitchen in that soft, warm hush that only exists in the middle of the night. Addie waits curled into the sofa like a sleepy kitten, blanket clutched under her chin, eyes drooping while she watches you both move around the kitchen.
He pours milk into a small pot and sets it over low heat. The quiet hum of the flame fills the silence… until he sidles up next to you at the counter. He bumps his shoulder into yours, voice dipping low, mischief weaving through the air like static.
“I told you to be quiet.”
You turn your head slowly, giving him that look. You hiss back under your breath, “It was because you insisted about making babies and went at it like you were trying to put ten babies all at once inside me.”
Chris fails as he tries to bite back a grin and angles his body closer, lowering his mouth to your ear. His breath ghosts over your skin. “I’m not sorry at all.”
You jab your elbow into his ribs, not hard at all, but he yelps dramatically anyway. “Ouch! Violence! Our daughter is watching!”
He clutches his side like he’s wounded in battle, giving you wide, wounded eyes just to make you roll yours.
You don’t indulge him. You just grab Addie’s cookie from the counter and walk away, refusing to deal with your husband’s ridiculousness.
He watches you go — the sway of your walk, the sleepy tenderness in the way you settle beside Addie. You offer her the cookie with a whisper-soft smile, brushing crumbs from her cheek as she leans into you, trusting, safe.
Chris warms the milk just right, pours it into her favorite cup, and turns toward you two. Then he catches you give him that look again. The one you weren’t even trying for. The one with tenderness layered over the remnants of desire. A warmth that pulls him in every time. He feels it. In his chest, in his pulse, in the slow curl of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Even in the dim kitchen light, with your daughter half-asleep beside you, you still manage to give him those eyes.
And he, predictably, eternally, is drawn to them.
-
A long moment later, Chris is the only one left in the kitchen, rinses the glass and plate Addie used, wipes the counter, flips the switch. The kitchen instantly bathed in darkness.
Your laughter mixed with Addie’s giggles carrying down the hall and it tugs him forward, making him impatient to join in.
When he steps into the bedroom, he finds you tucked beneath the covers with Addie curled into your side, her tiny fingers clutching your shirt while you stroke her back in a slow, sleepy rhythm. She blinks up at you, lids heavy, murmuring something small and warm, and you nod along like her words are the most important ones ever spoken. You always do that. You meet her softness with a softness of your own, as if you were made to fill this exact shape in her world.
Chris feels that sudden swell in his chest. That unguarded, unshakable ache.
You open your eyes when he approaches, catching him mid-admiration. Your lips curl into that tired, sly smile that never fails to tilt his gravity.
“Stop giving me the eyes,” you whisper.
He does the opposite. His hand drifts to your face, thumb brushing the warm bend of your jaw. He lets his gaze linger, unshielded, telling you everything he knows words trip over.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
Your smile softens like dawn light stretching across a quiet street and you open your mouth to say it back to him but someone else beat you to it.
“I love you too, Daddy,” Addie mutters with drowsy eyes.
You softly chuckle at it and repeat the words with sincerity and affection brimming in your eyes. “We love you, Daddy.”
And Chris feels those words in his flesh and bones, and beneath them — his heart.
He leans in and kisses you long enough for his pulse to steady, long enough for something in him to settle. Then he leans over to kiss Addie’s forehead, her tiny sigh puffing against his cheek.
When he finally slides beneath the covers, he reaches for your hand automatically, like muscle memory born from another lifetime. Your fingers lace with his. His thumb traces lazy arcs along the back of your hand, and your breathing gradually slips into the gentle cadence of sleep.
Soon, the room falls into silence.
Chris stays awake a little longer, anchored by the weight of your hand in his. Addie’s tiny breaths flutter against your chest. Your fingers stay curled with his, even in sleep, as if your body refuses to let go of him even for a moment. And something inside him unfurls, warm and steady, like a lantern being lit behind his ribs.
He looks at the two of you and feels the future tug at him in quiet, glowing shapes. Not the kind of future that arrives all at once. The kind that grows like a tree. Slow, patient, unwavering.
He can already see it. Mornings with bedhead and pancakes for breakfast. Afternoons where Addie’s legs get longer, where your laughter fills corners of the house he hasn’t even paid attention to yet. Evenings where he comes home to chaos and comfort braided together. Maybe little footsteps trailing behind Addie someday, siblings with her smile or your eyes, each one another small miracle he never thought would be his.
He thinks about birthdays and scraped knees and tiny backpacks. About school plays where he records the entire thing even though he swears he won’t. About you in the kitchen, rolling your eyes at him while he shows the kids the same silly magic trick over and over again. About holding you on the couch after everyone’s finally asleep, closing the day together in the warmth of each other’s arms.
He lets the visions spill softly through him, each one planting another root. His thumb drifts over the back of your hand again and then presses a kiss to your knuckles as if sealing the moment into something he can carry forever.
This life didn’t just happen to him. It bloomed around him, piece by piece, until it became a garden of everything he once only dreamt about.
And as he watches you and Addie sleep, Chris feels it with a clarity that sweeps through him.
He’s ready for every season this family will grow through. Ready to watch you bloom in new ways. Ready to watch Addie stretch into whoever she becomes. Ready to welcome every new branch, every new beginning, every new laugh that will one day echo through these walls.
This is only the first chapter.
And with his girls sleeping beside him, hearts beating steady and close, Chris promises himself he’ll spend a lifetime tending to this future. Letting it grow. Letting it flourish.
Because nothing feels more certain, more hopeful, more beautiful…
than knowing his family has so much blooming left to do.
-
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your new roommate has the body of a literal greek god and the heart of a gentleman. you never expected to want him in more ways than one, but a sudden incident sparks a craving you can't ignore — and a little 'extracurricular practice' lands you straight onto his cock.
#002 — he in my tummy, bye bye to my ribs
watching your best friend get bigger and bigger was a test of patience you were already losing. who knew a little praise slipping from his mouth would be the exact thing to break you, leaving you whimpering under him ?
𑣲 minho .ᐟ
#001 — rockstar
his voice on stage is pure sin, but you’re the only one he wants to ruin tonight. the second he steps into the dark, that heavy focus shifts, making you completely helpless under him.
#002 — the pleasure is all ours ft. jisung
confessing your feelings to your best friend is hard enough. but confessing to two — especially when they’re already in a relationship together ? it feels impossible. except, it isn't. because they want you right between them just as much as you want them — and the pleasure is all theirs.
#003 — zero eight zero one
having minho in the flat right beside yours means there's nowhere to hide from the tension. a single wall is the only thing keeping you apart, and it’s only a matter of time before that thin line completely disappears.
chapter 1: a loafer full of fur
chapter 2: a crumble in the shared wall
chapter 3: a splash on the composure
chapter 4: a dent in the pillows
chapter 5: a tremor in the proximity
chapter 6: a breach through the lace
chapter 7: a sizzle in the resolve
chapter 8: a graze of the lips
bonus: smau
#004 — knuckle in — i meant, buckle in
being a brat was fun until minho decided to teach you a lesson. now, there is no running and no backing out — all you can do is buckle in and find yourself completely at his mercy.
𑣲 changbin .ᐟ
#001 — jackhammered
he overheard every single word you said to your friend, and now there’s no taking it back. he’s ready to make you live through it —no slowing down, no breathing room, just him taking exactly what he wants while you beg for a single breath.
𑣲 hyunjin .ᐟ
#001 — buckle up, buttercup
it started with a simple invitation for a late-night drive, but the second your boyfriend pulls over, the tension completely shifts. he looks at you with that slow, dangerous smirk — knowing you have absolutely no idea what you just stepped into.
#002 — gimme gimme more
continents apart, and he still manages to completely ruin you. with nothing but his text commands guiding your hands, he slowly pushes you over the edge — leaving you breathless, undone, and completely at the mercy of his words.
𑣲 han .ᐟ
#001 — lollipop ?
a single look from him is enough to make you completely forget what you were saying. you think you're the one playing games, but he’s just waiting for the perfect moment to taste exactly how sweet you can be.
#002 — the pleasure is all ours ft. minho
confessing your feelings to your best friend is hard enough. but confessing to two — especially when they’re already in a relationship together ? it feels impossible. except, it isn't. because they want you right between them just as much as you want them — and the pleasure is all theirs.
#003 — thick thighs save lives (pt.1)
the quiet yearning and academic rivalry were easy to maintain — until the lines between the classroom and the screen completely blurred. the secret you've been hiding behind a camera is about to collide head-on with the boy sitting next to you in the library. will he finally connect the dots and turn his wildest, late-night support into a shameless reality ?
#004 — can your thighs and my face have a meet-cute ? (pt.2)
the moment the masks come off, there is no going back to just being top-of-the-class rivals. discovering that the boy you’ve been pining for in real life is the same one worshiping you behind a screen changes everything. the hesitation is completely gone, and he’s ready to trade the quiet library stares for something incredibly enticing, proving exactly how loud things can get when your worlds finally collide.
𑣲 felix .ᐟ
coming soon
𑣲 seungmin .ᐟ
#001 — 'cause this type of love's the epitome
academic rivalry doesn't mean a thing when the library door clicks locked. between the quiet stacks, the strict self-control he’s famous for completely vanishes. your books are slammed shut, his hands are on your waist, and the only thing left to do is stifle your breaths against his skin before you get caught.
𑣲 jeongin .ᐟ
#001 — i let him taste it, now he diabetic
best friends aren't supposed to ask questions that make your breath hitch. but the second you admit, the boundaries shatter. he doesn't hesitate, dropping to his knees to show you exactly what you've been missing — and discovering a sweetness he never plans on giving up.
──── in which ︵ chan’s obsessed with one thing; hearing you moan his name. what starts slow and sweet quickly turns into rough, relentless pleasure as he pushes you through orgasm after orgasm just to hear those pretty sounds spill from your lips.
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your boyfriend, chan, loved hearing your sweet noises of pleasure. he would do anything to hear you moan his name in that breathy tone, all drunk on his cock no matter where you were. he didn’t mind how loud you got, it only brought him more pleasure. well, you weren’t usually that loud in bed, you knew you’d get a noise complaint if you let your voice out completely, but you can’t really keep quiet when all he does is try to make you moan even louder.
"o—h, chan,” you sighed shakily, your head thrown back in ecstasy as he slowly pushed inside. chan groaned lowly when he bottomed out, feeling your velvety walls pulse around his cock.
he leaned down and nuzzled in your neck, his hands caressing your sides as he started to move. "y’feel so good baby, so fuckin’ beautiful," he murmured against your neck, kissing and nipping on the skin there.
chan being chan, with his hyper fixation with your moans, groaned in pleasure when he heard you moan so delicately, but he didn't want you to moan softly—he wanted you to scream his name.
he wanted the whole neighborhood to know who was fucking you so good, who was making you feel so good. your eyes rolled back briefly when he started to pound into you, the tip of his cock mercilessly slamming into your cervix.
your eyes closed shut, eyebrows knitted together and back arching as profanities left your parted lips along with louder moans. chan relished in them. a shudder went down his spine when he heard you moan his name loudly when he hit a particularly spongy spot. he knew what he was hitting, he knew your body inside and out, after all.
"oh, did I find your sweet spot ma?" he cooed, tauntingly, before slamming hard into that spot again – purposely this time, making your back arch more, hands scrambling up to grip onto his forearms that held your hips in place on the bed. your whole body shuddered and trembled as he kept slamming precisely into your g-spot with a relentless pace, your moans nothing short of pornographic.
chan let out shaky low moans as he heard your sounds grow louder, his fingers working deftly on your puffy slippery clit, bringing you closer and closer to something earth-shattering.
your eyes teared up in pleasure, already so fucked to say anything except "harder" and "faster".
what could he do other than give you what you wanted? after all, he wanted it as much as your needy self.
the bedframe slammed against the wall in rhythm with his pounding, the bed creaking with each movement. your body rose up the bed with each thrust, making chan groan in annoyance. he wanted your body to stay still so he could fuck you harder just like you wanted, but with the way your body was bouncing it was near impossible, and so, he quickly thought of a solution.
you whined when he suddenly stopped and pulled out, "all fours, ass up, face down." he ordered, his voice breathless with unfulfilled desire and exertion. chan watched as you scrambled into position, presenting your backside to him, your face flush against the pillow.
he let out a low whistle, "fucking love this view," he gave your ass a sharp slap before grabbing the flesh there with one hand and your hip with the other. you moaned into the pillow when he filled you up again.
his thrusts were punishing, exactly what you wanted as he surged forward with renewed vigor. chan couldn’t help but notice the way the pillow silenced your screams of pleasure.
oh, he was having none of that.
his hand left your ass and tangled in your hair, wrapping your locks around his hand before tugging your head up. your moans immediately filled the room, making his whole body shudder. your moans were music to his ears.
"fu—ck, chan, cumming, o—h," you mewled, "m’gonna—gonna cu—m." he grunted in satisfaction when he heard your desperate – barely coherent – words.
"oh yeah? fuckin’ come on this big dick," one hand came down and around to draw quick circles on your swollen clit in time with his thrusts.
"c’mon ma, wanna feel you fucking suffocate my cock." his voice was a near growl as he worked you closer and closer.
your body shook and trembled when you reached your peak, pure unadulterated pleasure etched on your features as you moaned his name. he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when you were moaning his name like that. you gasped when he pushed you down fully, your front side now flush against the mattress as he started to pound into you.
this was it. this was the position.
chan moaned lowly in pleasure when he heard your loud gasping moans, the way your legs lifted whenever he went balls deep only spurred him on. he fucked you mercilessly, and you couldn’t move away, you were trapped between his body and the bed. his hand yanked your head back by your hair so he could hear all the sounds you were making without it being muffled by the bed or pillow.
"fucking love your sounds baby, your sweet fuckin’ moans, only for me." he moaned in your ear, causing shudders to ripple through your body.
you were fast approaching your second orgasm, the feeling of him going so deep and so fast was too much for you. his hand that was on your hair snaked around and wrapped itself around your throat. not quite cutting air supply, but enough pressure to have you gasping.
his free hand snaked under your body and strummed your bundle of nerves, the stimulation on your clit along with him repeatedly hitting your sweet spots deep inside you was your undoing. you let out high pitched keens and cries as you came again, your whole body shaking.
your pussy clenched around his cock rhythmically, all while pulling him in more. "f-fu—ck, your pussy’s fucking pulling me in, greedy girl," he groaned as he felt his release so close that he could practically taste it.
a few more brutal slams and chan let out a guttural moan when he finally felt the pressure in his lower abdomen snap, his hips jerking against your ass as he filled your welcoming cunt full with his seed.
his hand soon left your throat, his breathing ragged, matching yours as his body slumped on top of you, his cock still letting out little spurts of cum inside your quivering pussy, painting your walls white. he nuzzled his face in the side of your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried to control his breathing.
after a while, he finally pulled out, both of you moaning at how sensitive you’d become. and almost immediately after he pulled out, his cum trickled out of your well loved hole. chan couldn’t help himself, he just had to take a picture. he took his phone from the bedside table and nudged you gently, showing you his phone. "can I?" he asked and you nodded, chuckling in amusement, still breathless.
he sighed in contentment after taking the photos and plopping down next to you, pulling you closer by your waist and nuzzling his face in your hair. "i love you," he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his hands caressed your body, worshipping every inch as you two lay there on his bed, relishing in the afterglow and love.
genre: crackfic, dark comedy, dark romance, thriller
summary: hyunjin invites you over to hang out with him and his friends. they try to kill you. you survive! aaaand now they’re obsessed with you.
warnings: non idol au, attempted murder of protagonist(reader), violence, blood, stalking, obsessive behavior, mentions of death/murder/dismemberment/(implied)rape(it’s just in a conversation, it didn’t happen to anyone in the fic!!), cursing, homicidal behavior/psychopathy, dumb han and felix, people die, the love interests(skz) are the problem, nobody here is okay, english is obvi not my first language
word count: 13k
you almost got murdered.
by eight gorgeous men.
yea, y/n. you got yourself into that situation. but how?
you were walking home once, minding your own business, chewing on some thought. could have been anything. from dinner to what you need to do tomorrow, let’s not act like it matters. none of these little details matter, what does, is that a man was walking towards you. (an: guys i’ll clarify it now that it’s hyunjin. i just hate when fanfics try to describe looks when we don’t know names yet)
the man passed you. smelled great. nothing more.
“is this yours?”
that was him. his voice. he talked to you.
you stopped then and turned around. he was also standing still, looking at you. holding a single airpod.
no. it was not yours. at all. not your airpod.
“shit. yes, it is.” you smiled. a hundred percent aware that the single airpod was not yours.
hyunjin smiled, relieved in a way that suggested he had not planned beyond step one: talk to pretty girl. he asked your name. you asked his. he pretended he wasn’t internally rehearsing how to introduce you to the worst decision of your life.
and that’s exactly how you got yourself into the situation before your getting murdered one, where you kept seeing hyunjin, never really revealing that the airpod was not yours. you didn’t want to, he was just so cute.
and also a serial killer, not like you knew that though.
hyunjin was always the best with the women. or with the people in general. the other seven guys were… doing alright with them, sure, some better and some worse, but hyunjin always got what he wanted. he was the one collecting the people, another person to kill.
which did not happen to you, duh it’s in the first line, but how? how, when the eight of them, eight little nobodies who only got through life because of each other, are so good at killing? how, when it’s the main thing that bonds them together and gives them their sick little dosage of joy? how, when that’s the thing they can do best? how, when they’re fit? lucky? hot?
yea i’ll just stop with all the questions. i’m boutta explain, obvi.
so. you two started meeting up. you not telling him that the airpod wasn’t yours, him not telling you he was planning on sliming you out.
once, he invited you out. you two have been out hundreds and thousands of times(like five times), so it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary to you. not a date, he said hang out. his place. “a few friends might be there” he added. you went. fucking idiot.
the place was so fucking cool. big. looked good. kinda place where you immediately lost cell service and your sense of direction.
“that’s just the guys.” hyunjin had also said when you two got there, gesturing inside.
you met them all in under three minutes, which was about two minutes too many. chan was a gentleman. he smiled. he shook your hand. he had huge arms and was gorgeous.
minho and seungmin both looked like they hated you. looked you up and down. acted like bitches. acted like they didn’t understand what you wanted when you said hi and introduced yourself. acted like you were beneath them. hm.
changbin saved the moment by immediately knocking over a chair and laughing at himself. he was sweet. he asked you if you wanted a drink. that was nice, because he meant that. he wanted to get you something to drink, even if he wanted to kill you after. wanting to absolutely murder you wasn’t personal, so he wasn’t going to make it personal.
felix and unfortunately han, two sunshine or whatever you heard the guys say about them(why were there two?) were sweet, but dumb. han tried to shake your hand and missed. felix complimented your shoes and then apologized to the floor.
jeongin bowed. he asked if you were real. he told chan you were out of his league. chan was about to smash his head into a wall. he seemed intelligent though, a little playful, a little flirty. sweet guy. (also a fucking psychopath y/n run run RUN)
through all of it, hyunjin, the liar, the asshole, stayed near you. calm. watching. soooo fucking hot, man. everyone else was loud or mean or deeply stupid, but hyunjin looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with you.
which was funny, because the rest of them clearly knew exactly what they wanted to do with you.
they were bad at hiding it. terrible, actually. chan kept whispering. minho and seungmin stared too long. felix dropped something sharp and went “oops”. jeongin asked, loudly, if you were good at running, then immediately said he meant marathons.
you thought they were weird. intense. hot, unfortunately. you had no idea you were being sized up.
so. like two hours into the hang out. you didn’t have your phone with you, it was in the living room somewhere. you were in the kitchen with hyunjin, leaning against a counter, listening to him explain, calmly, something about the cabinets.
“uhuh.” you said, opening three drawers and finding nothing but knives. so many knives. “oouukay.”
from the living room, something heavy scraped across the floor.
“alright.” chan’s voice came. “enough foreplay.”
you frowned, no idea what he was referring to. yet. “that’s a weird thing to say out loud.”
hyunjin hummed. then seungmin appeared in the doorway, posture lazy, swaying a lil, with a fire poker in his hand. i repeat, fire poker.
you had just enough time to think oh that’s new, before he swung. clean. aimed at your head.
you ducked on instinct. the poker smashed into the cabinet behind you, splintering wood, sending a drawer of knives exploding onto the floor.
everyone froze for half a second.
“jesus.” changbin said from somewhere nearby. “we just fixed that.”
you stared at seungmin. he stared back. you two stared at each other for a while.
“…huh.” you said. “okay.”
then you ran.
the boys just… got into it immediately. switched. getting up. listening to your footsteps. laughing. jeongin whooped. they all obviously had done this before. they were so boyish, all of them. and so fucking evil.
you ran down a hallway, heart slamming in your ribs. a door on your left? locked. on your right, open.
you ran into a study and immediately regretted it. felix was there, sitting on a desk, holding a crossbow. WHERE. DID. HE. GET. THAT. FROM.
“oh!” he said, genuinely delighted. “hey.”
“move.” you said.
he winced sympathetically. “can’t.”
the shit that he shot out of the bow that i don’t know the name of thunked into the wall beside your head. close enough that you felt the vibration in the air, from the ground.
“fuck you.” you said, accepting it surprisingly quick that you were getting hunted down.
you burst back into the hall and nearly collided with changbin. he caught you by the shoulders automatically(so like without thinking about it), steadying you.
“okay.” he said, quick and quiet. “left stair’s blocked. right one buys you maybe twenty seconds.”
“why are you telling me?” you panted.
he shrugged. “i like you.”
then he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss into your hair, oh, and shoved you forward by the middle of your back.
“go. before i change my mind.”
you went.
behind you, he called out cheerfully: “she went right!”
“YOU FUCKING LIAR.” minho yelled.
you ran up the stairs two at a time. at the top when you turned, han was waiting, holding a bat.
“oh shit.” he said. “hi.”
you grabbed the bat midswing, yanked it free, and cracked him across the shin. you fucking rock y/n.
he screamed, fell over, yelled “timeout! timeout!”
you ditched the bat(DUMB bitch) and ran into what looked like a… whatever room. it was big, pretty big, too open, too much of a bad choice.
chan stepped into your path. was this bitch there the whole time? no, he couldn’t be. could he?
you spun, only to find minho closing in. you kicked him in the knee, hard. he lunged. you ducked, grabbed a chair again and swung blindly. the thing is, you were extremely weak tho. the chair could have been a fucking pillow at this point, because he just stepped away from it. and you… kinda went with the chair. but you stood up! luckily.
they loved this, they loved the way you fought, the way you adapted. it was cute, girly how you didn’t scream, just swore and moved and made it harder than it was supposed to be because they know their shit in this field. it made them better, sharper, more playful.
you ran out the door you came in thru and shut it behind you, jamming a heavy table against it. the boys could have prevented that, they just didn’t. you were way too fun, and they knew that you were getting tired. they knew they were going to win this. again.
you waited a bit.
the door shuddered. once. twice.
then stopped.
silence.
your stomach dropped. that was never good.
“okay.” hyunjin’s calm voice came, suddenly close, from behind you.
you spun.
for a bit, you just stared at each other.
“yeah. so. the airpod?” you said breathlessly.
he winced. “yeah.”
“figures. sorry for lying about it.”
“it’s fine. i lied too.” he stepped aside, gesturing toward a side door. gentlemanly. “run. i’ll count to five.”
“why?”
he smiled, beautiful. “because it’s more fun when you almost make it.”
you didn’t wait for five. you ran again, heart in your throat.
“YOU’RE DOING GREAT!” felix shouted when he saw you run past him. “I MEAN—STOP!”
yeah. pfftt.
the house stopped making sense after a while. corridors doubled back on themselves, which was fucking brutal. there were rooms you swore you’d already crossed. you ducked into a side room and slammed the door, immediately realizing, too late, that it didn’t lock.
“fuck.” you whispered, hands on your knees, trying to quiet your breathing. and you listened. footsteps walked past. someone laughed, a really… loud laugh. jeongin’s voice echoed from somewhere far off. you could hear how unserious his voice was, talking bout sum “she’s still upright, folks, which is honestly impressive” genuinely just making fun of the situation.
“keys.” you muttered. “i need keys.” because you clearly remembered hyunjin closing the front door after you.
from behind the curtain came a soft, confused, very close: “…huh.”
you froze.
the curtain moved. it was han, holding a knife and a flashlight upside down, blinking at you.
“oh. hi.”
third hi he said tonight. hi to you too, han.
you stared at each other.
“uh.” he said.
“yeah.” you replied.
a beat passed.
another.
he frowned at the flashlight, turned it the right way up, blinded himself, and yelped.
“sorry.” he said, rubbing his eyes. “didn’t mean to corner you.” serial killer btw.
“you did. that’s literally what you did.”
“right.” he nodded. “yeah. so. i’m supposed to, uh—” he made a weak stabbing motion with his hand that held the knife. missed entirely. “—do the thing.”
you glanced at the knife in his hand. them at him. then back at the knife. “you don’t look super confident about that.”
he shrugged. “i get nervous.” he hesitated. then leaned in and whispered: “hyunjin gave his keys to chan, i saw it.”
“…thaaanks.”
he smiled, shy. “okay.” he said, stepping aside. “i’m gonna count to… uh… what’s fair?”
“ten.”
he nodded seriously. “ten.”
you bolted.
“ONE—THREE—WAIT—”
you ran out. didn’t get far though, you heard too many noises, so you did what made sense at the moment. hide again. and you did hide again, at least tried, you were soon interrupted by seeing felix, who was crouched behind a couch, chewing on a cereal bar.
he looked up mid bite. “oh. hello again.”
“move. again.” you said.
he scooted instantly. “yep.”
you walked past. paused. looked back. “why are you hiding?”
he swallowed. “i forgot what the plan was.”
“oh. i’m sorry.”
“it’s alright.”
from the hallway, heavy footsteps. chan, probably. he walks confident. you can just… hear his walk. he walks like it’s heavy, grr. felix heard it too, grimaced.
“he’s gonna be mad. he hates when i lose track.” felix whispered.
you looked at felix. then at the hallway. then back at felix. “you’re fine. it’s not your fault. i think so, at least.” you looked around. “he just feels like the fucking star of the show, having the keys and all that”
felix’s eyes lit up. “oh! yeah, he’s got those.”
boom. that was your plan. sneak the keys into the conversation. get to know about it. you’ll be out of there in no time, y/n.
you looked back at him. “can you distract him?”
felix thought for a second, then shook his pretty head enthusiastically. “absolutely not.”
“…fair.”
he stood anyway, shook himself together kinda, and ran into the hallway yelling “HEY BRO I THINK SHE WENT—”
you didn’t hear the rest, you ran. climbed stairs, ducked under a railing(just being extra for no reason pfffft), slipped through a door that led into a laundry room, and locked it. the blessed, beautiful click of a lock nearly made you cry. then you crouched between machines, shaking, trying not to laugh or scream or do both.
minutes passed. nothing. then, a knock. polite. gentle.
you stared at the door.
hyunjin’s voice, calm and exactly what made you like him. “i’m not coming in.”
“yeah? promise?”
“cross my heart.”
“don’t have one.” jeongin added from somewhere farther back.
hyunjin sighed.
the fact that jeongin heard you talk and didn’t go to the laundry room says a lot about them though. tells you that they’re doing this for fun, that they’re not in a hurry at all.
you edged closer to the door, careful. “i need the keys.”
“i know.”
“give them to me.”
a pause. you imagined him leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, watching the floor. “you almost deserve them.” he said. “that’s the problem.” from down the hall came a crash, followed by changbin yelling. hyunjin continued anyway, softer now. “if you get them, though… you’re really leaving.”
“yes.”
“shame.”
fucking manipulator. that’s what he is. “you’re really leaving” oh boo fucking hoo. sappy asshole. not one sincere bone in his beautiful body. he said this cringe shit on purpose.
the doorknob jiggled once.
“five minutes.” he said. “that’s what I can give you.”
then footsteps retreated. you sagged against the dryer, adrenaline basically ripping your muscles, like ripping. we all know the feeling. anyways, five minutes. okay. you had to get out for sure, otherwise you would be so dead. so, next, run. you were going to run. open the door and… go… some… way. anyways, that’s what you did after about one minute of sitting on the floor and thinking about how will you do that. you got out, and didn’t stop running so much as you failed forward into the next hallway.
somewhere behind you, han shouted your name wrong, twice, then tripped over absolutely nothing and went down with a sound that sounded like multiple things falling with him.
“FUCK. i’m okay! I’M OKAY.”
you risked a glance back just in time to see him scramble up, only to immediately collide with minho, who had come around the corner too fast. they hit the wall together, tangled, swearing.
you burst through a door and nearly slammed straight into seungmin. both of you froze. like actually froze. inches apart. his breath was loud. yours was worse. he stared at you. you stared at him. his grip tightened on whatever sharp thing he had in his hand.
“…hi.” you said.
“sup.” he said. “you’re shorter up close.”
“fuck you.”
“later.” easily.
you looked at him, furrowing your pretty brows.
he glanced down at the knife in his hand, then back up at you. “this is awkward.”
“yeah.”
he tilted his head. “you okay?”
“no.”
“hm.”
there was a beat where neither of you moved. somewhere far away, something crashed, probably han.
seungmin tilted his head. “you gonna run, or are we doing this weird staring thing?”
you lunged left.
he lunged right.
you both smacked into the same doorframe and recoiled in pain.
“fuck.” you mumbled, rubbing your pretty head.
“shit, okay, that one’s on me.” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder. his pretty shoulder. that sweater looked good on him, by the way. yeah. hm. really good. but that didn’t fucking matter when he lunged again.
you screamed, slipped on a rug, and fell, only for minho to come in from the side and tackle seungmin directly into a glass table. the table shattered.
you stared.
they stared back.
“…go.” seungmin shook his head, waving you off.
you did not need to be told twice. behind you, minho yelled smth like “WHY ARE YOU LETTING HER GO?”
a crash. a thud.
then seungmin, very calmly: “because you’re pissing me off.”
you ran straight into han and felix arguing at the end of the hall.
“i said left.” han insisted, holding a crowbar upside down.
“you always say left.” felix argued, holding a taser and clearly forgetting how it worked.
you skidded to a stop.
all three of you froze.
you were panting. “can you both—”
felix lunged. han lunged. they lunged into each other. they crashed, arms everywhere, legs everywhere, clothes everywhere, the smell of men everywhere, tangled up, the taser going off uselessly into the air.
“STOP STABBING MY JACKET.” felix yelled.
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE HER.” han yelled back.
you stepped over them. “thank you.” you said sincerely, and ran.
you rounded a corner and slammed straight into chan, full chest to chest. you both stumbled back a step. he held you automatically, hands on your arms. you stared up at him. he stared down at you.
he almost smiled.
then han came sprinting in, tripped over nothing again, and took chan out at the knees.
“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY.” han yelled, tangled in chan’s limbs. “I DIDN’T SEE YOU.”
seungmin and minho found you again. jeongin leaned on a wall, wiping dust off his knees. han just got up and felix came in late, and they tripped over each other again. chan just sighed at this point.
you backed toward the door, hands up.
then while getting up, felix slipped. took han down with him. again. they crashed into minho, who slammed into seungmin.
jeongin smiled. “DOMINOES!”
that was your chance to do something. something to even just slow these guys down, anything, bro. so, you did. when chan stood up finally, you lunged for him.
but like… that asshole just laughed in your face and twisted away easily, shoving you past him. “go.” he said. “you’re warmer when you keep moving.”
weirdo. but you ran again anyway, down a side corridor, thru a door and immediately ate shit. your foot caught on something, and you slid, palms burning, your pretty little skin they want to cut so bad just gone like that.
behind you, there was a collective “OOHHHH.”
you rolled your eyes. sighed. thought about just lying there because they would probably still miss even if you were completely still. you decided maybe not. so you scrambled up and ran again, swearing, adrenaline making everything feel fucking crazy. unreal. is this really happening?
you didn’t know how long you ran, time stopped somewhere around the third near death experience.
you went downstairs and upstairs and downstairs again, back and forth, hoping to find something that could save your life. when you were back at the stairs for the seventh time that night, you took the stairs three at a time, only to find han at the top, again, wheezing, holding a knife backwards.
“WAIT.” he said. “hold on—euh—my lung—”
you ran past him.
he tripped over his own foot and tumbled down the stairs alone, screaming “I’M FINE—I’M NOT FINE—TELL MY MOM—”
you didn’t look back. you burst into a bedroom and slammed the door, locking it just as something heavy hit the other side.
silence.
your chest heaved. sweat slicked your now skinless palms. you pressed your back to the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, brain finally catching up enough to think.
okay. door. big house. front door has keys. keys are on someone. they told you it’s at chan but he could have gave it to anyone since that.
that was bad.
you stood, looking through the room. window. too high. bathroom. connected. closet. tiny but usable. fuck yes. you hid in the closet just as the door opened.
footsteps. slow, manly. so confident in himself.
“you know, i really thought we had something.” jeongin. sweet. acting, obviously.
you clapped a hand over your mouth.
he paced the room, dragging something metal lightly along furniture. an axe, maybe.
“like, don’t get me wrong. i love the chase. big fan. but the eye contact earlier? intimate.”
you heard him stop in front of the closet.
“…you in there?”
you didn’t move.
he sighed. then, dropped to his knees. you could see him through the slats now, sprawled on the floor.
“y/n.”
you could hear your breathing. you could also hear his. which meant…
“come out.”
…he could hear yours too.
okay. fuck. your only option was to make a run for it. so, after taking a biiiiig big breath, you burst out of the closet and kicked him in the shoulder. was it successful? was it a good kick? who knows. it knocked him down, that’s what matters, but it was a pretty lame kick after all. he only went down because he wanted to, not because you actually kicked him good.
anyways, you ran again. out the room. then immediately skidded to a stop when seungmin opened a door in front of you.
he stepped aside immediately. “after you.” he said, gesturing inside.
you stared at him.
he stared back.
you could hear hyunjin make a noise, talking with changbin.
seungmin raised his brows. “i insist.”
he knew that you needed an escape route and this was your only option. you knew he knew.
you sighed. ran through it, and it slammed shut behind you. you could hear a snicker(his voice), then silence. maybe he left. maybe not.
the room you were in was darker. storage. boxes. is this place even owned by these guys? or do they just come here to… play?
you hid behind a shelf, crouching, heart in your ears.
okay. think.
front door. locked. too obvious. you needed keys. you needed a person.
but they were playing. this wasn’t about killing you quickly, it was about the fun. about testing themselves. about proving, again, that they were smarter, faster, better. the teamwork thrilled them, having prey thrilled them.
footsteps approached.
door opened. han stepped into the room, tripped, and fell into a stack of boxes. why always this guy?
“oh COME ON.” he groaned. “i wasn’t even chasing her!”
neither of you moved.
“…you okay?” you asked.
“yeah.” he said, looking up, nose bleeding. “yeah. you?”
“living the dream.”
he nodded. then, very gently, he pointed back towards the door. “they’re coming.” he whispered.
in the doorway, felix appeared, pointing at han. “dude. again?”
you took the chance and got out of your hiding place, quick, and bolted past them both.
felix gasped. “oh shit—sorry—sorry—”
han tried to follow, slipped again, and yelled: “WAIT FOR ME!”
a crash. a curse. someone else falling over him.
you ran down the hall toward what you hoped was the front of the house. behind you, shouting, laughter, whooping, bodies colliding, someone yelling “WHO LEFT THIS CHAIR HERE?” you rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of the front door. you tried the door. locked. you didn’t know where the keys are. your chest tightened. behind you, footsteps slowed. confident. chan, seungmin, minho, jeongin, closing in.
you turned around. the wall met your back hard enough to knock the air out of you.
“okay.” you said, breathless, girly, the prey they wanted you to be. “okay. this is—yeah. alright.”
the other four found you too. felix, panting. han, limping. hyunjin and changbin obviously not affected because they didn’t really take part of the chase. blocking off every possible exit.
chan didn’t take his eyes off you. “everyone good?” he asked, calm. so fucking calm. knowing he won.
“peachy.” jeongin said.
“bit winded.” felix added. “but spiritually fulfilled.”
changbin gave you an apologetic little wave. “sorry.”
then seungmin lunged.
you fought, harder than they expected, apparently, elbowing, kicking, swearing. but they were sure now, hands grabbing wrists, legs hooking yours, pressure applied. you went down. not slammed, though. controlled. that fucking pissed you off more.
seungmin had your arms pinned. minho had a knee on your thigh. chan crouched in front of you, looking down at your pretty face.
the second you were fully restrained, jeongin shrieked. “oh my GOD we got her!”
he leapt into felix’s arms. felix caught him, squealing back.
“we did it!” felix yelled.
they spun once. almost fell. han clapped wildly and then tripped into changbin, taking them both down.
you laid there, chest heaving, heart pounding, really feeling your body, not knowing what the fuck was happening. because they didn’t seem dangerous, but you knew they were.
chan tilted his head. “you ran well.”
“thanks.” you said.
jeongin crouched down to your face. “so. how you feeling?”
“fuck off.”
hyunjin tilted his pretty head, hands in his pockets. “you did really well.”
you forced yourself to breathe slower. think. keys. chan’s jacket pocket. right side. you’d seen the outline earlier when he caught one of the boys midfall.
jeongin tilted his head at you. “are you afraid? like, i’m actually asking, because i need to know what to do differently next time. are you afraid of death? did we make you feel like you’re going to die? how would you rate it out of ten?”
you sighed, looking down at the floor. “getting killed is, like, the last thing on my list right now.”
they paused.
seungmin grimaced. “yeah, no.”
“oh, no.” felix said, shaking his head
“dude.” minho murmured.
“we would never.” changbin whispered.
“ew.” han blurted, horrified.
you narrowed your eyes. “ew?”
“no—no—not ew you. i mean—fuck—you’re hot—shit—sorry—what i meant was—”
jeongin smacked the back of his head. “stop talking.”
seungmin pulled his mouth up. “we’re not… that evil.”
minho crossed his arms. “jesus.”
chan straightened slightly. “that’s not our thing.”
you watched the discomfort, the immediate correction, the way the tone shifted. interesting.
“relax.” you said, rolling your neck as much as the hold allowed. “i know.”
“thank you.” han said, sweating. “sorry. respectfully.”
“you’re fine.” you murmured.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
but something had changed, you saw it. that weird line you’d dropped, (half joke, half truth because it’s horrible that we have to live in a world like this), went somewhere they didn’t like. their version of evil had rules. sooo fucking weird ones, but still.
“okay. wait. wait.” you said.
…
“what.”
“i think i’m gonna throw up.”
“fuck—” changbin recoiled.
“not on me.” minho said, backing up.
“turn her head!” felix yelped.
jeongin scrambled backward on his hands and feet.
chan watched seungmin loosen his grip. “are you actually nauseous?”
“yeah.” you croaked, gagging for effect. “stress. adrenaline. it hit now that i’m still.”
hyunjin crouched beside you, studying your face. “you might want to give her space.”
“THANK you.” you gasped.
they got off you. you rolled to your side, clutching your stomach dramatically. and in that shuffle, arms moving, balance adjusting, you shoved your hand straight into chan’s jacket pocket. your fingers hit metal.
keys.
you grabbed them and curled them into your palm just as jeongin leaned back in. “you good?”
you scrambled to your knees, pushing past them, one hand over your mouth, the other clenched tight around the keys.
“don’t run.” chan warned.
you made eye contact with him.
and ran.
“FUCK.” seungmin yelled.
“GO GO GO.” han screamed, even though he was on the wrong side.
you sprinted down the hallway, heart about to explode, keys biting into your palm. behind you, footsteps. but now… less playful. more oh shit.
han tripped. felix ran into a wall. changbin yelled: “STAIRS—CUT HER OFF—” and jeongin was just shouting around for fun. just hootin n hollerin.
you ran down the hall.
behind you, hyunjin’s calm voice said: “don’t panic.” which was because they finally were.
you ran away from them, deep into the house again. you heard the footsteps disappear from behind you. good. good.
you slowed just enough to think. you couldn’t outrun eight of them forever.
chan and hyunjin were walking together on the halls. hyunjin had a small, neat folding knife now loose between his fingers. chan had taken a syringe with him. already prepped. yes, he can do a lot with only one syringe. his other hand kept brushing the empty space where the keys used to be.
he didn’t like that.
“she took them clean.” chan said.
“yeah. good hands.”
“you sound impressed.”
“i am.”
“you like her?”
hyunjin didn’t answer.
“if we lose her, we change locations.” chan said, ignoring that his earlier question didn’t get an answer. he already knew it.
hyunjin nodded. but there was something under it, for the first time, the outcome wasn’t certain. that was unusual for them, because they usually did really, really good at this. once someone was caught by them, there was no escape. you were the first one who lived to a second round. he found that interesting. and yeah, he might have started developing a tiny little crush on you, back when you two were just meeting up normally. so what? he’s allowed to!
jeongin moved alone. still with his axe that he’d twirled into familiarity. he swung it lightly as he walked. he checked corners, smiling. as if he was dancing.
“y/n.” he called, singsong. “be honest, was it the flirting? too much? i can dial it back. slightly.”
he stepped over a fallen chair.
“i just feel like we had chemistry.”
he grinned to himself. he loved this part, the story, the tension, the almost. he knew you were thinking now. they got a thinker. he loves that. ohohohoooo
he paused, listening. then grinned. “oh, you sneaky girl.”
seungmin had the fire poker again. holy shit??
he liked the chase because it stripped people down to instinct, survival. that’s what he respected.
“c’mon.” he murmured. “don’t go quiet on me.”
you were irritating him. he barely got irritated. ever.
changbin and minho moved together. changbin carried an injection case now, plus a heavy flashlight he could swing if needed. minho had a hunting knife.
they turned a corner. empty.
“she’s doing something.” minho realized.
changbin’s smile(that came upon his face while he was thinking about you, hehehe) faded. “oh.”
they heard a noise and both spun, only to slam into each other again.
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE.” minho snapped.
“shit.” changbin said, steadying the other guy by his shoulders. “let’s just go.”
you moved through hallways. your lungs burned, but your head was clear now. you slipped into a side room and crouched low, listening.
footsteps passed. voices echoed elsewhere. they’d spread too wide.
you waited, then moved when you judged safety.
back at the hyunjin chan duo, hyunjin stopped in the hallway. “she’s heading back.” he said quietly.
chan. followed his gaze toward the front of the house. “you sure?”
“yes.”
“how?”
“it’s what i’d do.”
meanwhile, at the front door han sat on the floor, back on the wall, holding a shovel. felix sat beside him on the other side of the door with a frying pan he absolutely did not need to be trusted with.
“…we guarding?” han asked.
felix looked at the door. looked at the hallway. looked back at the door.
“…yeah.” he decided.
they both nodded.
“you think she thinks i’m cute?” han asked, adjusting his grip on the shovel.
“bro. absolutely.”
“really?”
“yea, mate.”
they dapped each other up.
“if she makes it back here, i call saying something smooth.” felix said thoughtfully.
“what’s smooth?”
“i don’t know yet.”
while they talked, you grabbed a metal… something from a side table. and started walking back toward the front door.
“she definitely liked when i said she was hot.” han said.
“respectfully.” felix said.
“respectfully.” han looked away, then back at felix. “she’s gonna be so impressed when we catch her.”
“dude. literally.”
they fist bumped.
then, a loud sound came from down the hallway, and a metal object rolling fast across the floor toward them.
they screamed, then scrambled to their feet, immediately abandoning the door.
“dude. we’re gonna fucking die.” han cried.
felix grabbed his arm. “if y/n was here right now, she’d hold my hand.”
“yeah. she’d be so brave.”
“should we check?”
“no.”
“…we should get the others.”
“yes.”
they ran away from the door, deeper back into the house, yelling for backup.
the front door stood unguarded.
you waited three full seconds after their footsteps faded. then you moved. silent. you didn’t run, that was important. you didn’t want to make noise.
behind you, distant voices.
“FRONT DOOR!”
“THEY LEFT IT—”
you walked to the door quickly. put the key in. wrong key. tried another. wrong key. another. unlocked it. opened it.
now, you ran. you ran, and didn’t stop. you didn’t look back. already past the gate. past the trees. gone.
for the first time ever, they’d lost.
the boys regrouped at the front door. empty. door slightly open.
silence.
chan looked at the door. then at hyunjin, who stared at the gap, face blank. he felt respect. and relief.
seungmin looked at the lock. then at chan’s empty pocket. then back at the lock.
for a second, nobody spoke.
“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” minho said, sneering.
behind them, han and felix jogged in, out of breath and pale.
“okay.” felix panted. “so—update—there’s a hallway demon—”
they stopped when they saw everyone standing still, all backs turned to them.
felix looked around. “anyone else feel a breeze?”
chan walked to the door in three steps and shoved it open the rest of the way. empty driveway. dark trees. no you.
jeongin blinked. “…no.”
seungmin made a sound like someone had just run over his foot. “noooo.”
minho rubbed both hands down his face. “no no no no—”
jeongin looked at the ceiling. “oh that’s embarrassing. that’s so embarrassing for us.”
han gasped “shit, she did it!”
felix nodded. “i always believed in her.”
they high-fived.
every head turned.
“are you two serious right now?” seungmin snapped.
han immediately jumped into felix arms.
chan stepped back inside slowly and shut the door, quiet. too quiet. “no one moves.” he said.
seungmin was already halfway to the threshold, fire poker still in hand. “we can still see the road—”
chan grabbed his arm. hard. “i said no.”
seungmin yanked free. “she’s on foot.”
“she has a head start.”
jeongin crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “so we just—what—clap?”
“use your brain for once.” chan, voice low. “you’ll make mistakes.”
“oh, i’m sorry.” seungmin snapped. “did your pocket make a mistake?”
OHHHHH.
minho swore and kicked a chair across the room. it smashed into the wall. “THIS is why we don’t get cute.” he said. “this is why we don’t play with our food.”
chanbin winced. “okay, that phrase—”
“not the time.” seungmin cut in.
hyunjin leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching the boys.
seungmin looked at him, suspicious. the level of angry where he gets suspicious at anything. “you’re quiet.”
“thinking.”
“about?”
hyunjin didn’t answer.
“you liked her.” minho accused.
hyunjin’s eyes flicked to him, calm and flat. “irrelevant.”
“bullshit.”
chan stepped between them before it turned physical. “enough.”
“no, not enough.” jeongin shot back. “she got past eight of us. eight.”
“seven.” seungmin muttered. “i was close.”
“YOU HIT A CABINET.” changbin screeched.
felix, still holding han bridal style, raised a hand. “i think we should acknowledge that she was very good.”
everyone stared at him.
han nodded seriously. “and brave.”
minho looked like he might actually kill them. “put him down.”
felix gently set han on his feet.
han immediately pointed at minho. “your energy is aggressive.”
minho grabbed a glass off a table and hurled it into the fireplace. it shattered. “THIS is aggressive.”
“billy badass over there.” changbin murmured, crossing his huge arms.
minho didn’t hesitate to turn towards changbin and shove him. changbin shoved back automatically.
“don’t start.” chan warned.
too late. seungmin grabbed minho’s shoulder and pulled him back. minho shook him off. jeongin stepped between them, not to help, just to watch. “god, you’re all so emotional.” he muttered.
seungmin started toward the door again, fury radiating off him. “i’m going after her.”
now, chan didn’t just stop him but actually pushed him away by the chest. a confident, violent push. manly. frustrated. “no.”
seungmin rounded on him. “she’s RIGHT THERE.”
han raised his hand again. “i still think she likes me.”
everyone yelled at once: “SHUT UP.” “READ THE ROOM.” “YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE DARK.” “SHE HIT YOU WITH A BAT.” “YOU LEFT THE DOOR.”
“we were investigating a threat!” felix said defensively to the last one.
“you are the threat, you idiot!” seungmin barked, then grabbed the front of his own shirt and screamed into it.
minho kicked the wall.
chan exhaled through his nose, centering himself. “no chasing into the dark.” he said. “not like this.”
“she’s getting farther.” jeongin argued.
seungmin made a noise like something dying. chan folded his arms. thinking. hyunjin stared into the night air like he could still see the path you took.
behind them, han whispered to felix: “when we catch her, i’m gonna ask if she thinks my eyes are pretty.”
felix nodded seriously. “they are.”
eight dangerous men. outplayed. and every single one of them wanted you back.
so yeah. that’s what happened, like… two weeks ago now? yeah. about two weeks. now you’re living your life. you hadn’t told anyone. what would you even say? you decided to just leave it. process it. give yourself time to get over it.
now you are standing in line for coffee. life’s been fine since that after all, you deserve it. you slept. eventually. not well, but enough. you changed routines. new routes, new locks, pepper spray, therapy waitlist, the works. you tell yourself you’re fine.
your name gets called.
“hey.”
your stomach drops before your brain catches up. you don’t turn around. because you know that voice. so you grab your coffee and walk. behind you, footsteps.
“okay, so don’t freak out.” jeongin says.
you keep walking.
“that’s actually a terrible opener, sorry, ignore that.”
you cross the street. he crosses too. you don’t look at him. you don’t run. at least you try.
“you look good.” he adds.
“go away.” you say calmly.
“working on it.” he says, which is not how that phrase works.
you turn a corner toward a busier street. people. noise. couples. kids.
“no.” you say.
“i just want to talk.”
“no.”
“did you get a haircut?” he tries.
you stop dead and turn. “how long have you been following me?”
“today? or—”
“jeongin.”
he winces. “okay. today today? like twenty minutes. but not in a creepy way. i was building courage.”
you resume walking faster.
he matches it, breath puffing a little. “listen, i know we didn’t end on a great note.”
“you chased me with an axe.” you cross the street without looking. a car honks. jeongin grabs your sleeve and yanks you back just enough to keep you from getting hit.
you stare at him.
“i didn’t come to hurt you.” he says. “if that helps.”
you keep walking. he groans softly and follows. people passing by just see two hot twenty somethings having what looks like a mildly tense situationship talk. it’s kinda crazy that they have no idea what happened two weeks ago.
you walk faster. he matches it.
“you dropped something.” he blurts. when you give no reaction, he tugs at your sleeve. “really.” he says, pointing behind you.
“that only worked once.” you say, yanking your hand out his grip.
“yeah.” he sighs. “worth a shot.”
a florist stand is set up on the corner. without stopping, jeongin leans sideways, grabs a small bouquet, tosses a crumpled bill onto the table, and keeps moving. he shoves the flowers toward you.
you stare at them. then at him. you don’t take them. but you stop walking and finally look at him.
he looks… normal. hoodie. messy hair. no axe. no grin that clearly tells he’s in animal mode. just this pretty guy.
people move around you, annoyed at the sidewalk blockage.
“you have five seconds.” you say.
he nods, serious now. “okay. we’re not going to hurt you.”
you stare. you start walking again.
he follows. “the boys haven’t shut up about you.”
“that’s not flattering.”
“it kind of is.”
“i don’t know what you want. i’m not coming back.” you say.
“i know.”
“you can’t follow me.”
“already am.”
you reached your apartment building. this is bad. this is very bad. you stop again, turning to face him fully now. his eyes shine.
“we don’t want to kill you.” he says quietly.
you search for anything that could say he’s lying. you can’t find it.
“that doesn’t make you better.” you say.
“i know.”
“you’re still—”
“yeah.”
“…if you come near my place again, i call the cops.”
he nods immediately.
“if i see any of you, i run.”
“mhm.” he holds the flowers out again, then seems to think better of it and just sets them on the sidewalk between you. “i just needed you to see that i’m not… only that.”
“…you are that.” you say. you’re not even being mean, just honest. brutally honest.
“yeah.” he says.
you go inside without looking back. not caring about where will he go, when will he go, why will he go.
the next day, you change your route. different coffee shop. different street. hoodie up, headphones on, just really fucking trying to stay away from them in general. you’re in that coffee shop now. then you step out of the café with your drink, and nearly walk straight into a guy. you flinch back hard.
“whoa—sorry—sorry.” a voice says quickly.
you look up. it takes your brain a second. glasses. plain black frames. simple gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that this man is fucking fit.
changbin.
he gives you a small, awkward wave like you ran into each other and not like he… he found you. “hi.”
you just stare.
“i come in peace.” he adds, lifting both hands.
you close your eyes. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“okay. before you walk away—i deserve that—but just—hi.”
you glance around. public. morning rush. safe enough. “why are you here.”
he adjusts his glasses. “i just wanted to talk. like, normal talk. not chase talk.”
you sigh, and start walking. “you have two minutes before i start screaming.” that’s more time you’ve given jeongin, though.
he falls into step beside you immediately. “you could’ve called the cops.” he says after a moment. genuinely confused. “you still could.”
you look at him. “you don’t think i’ve thought about that?”
“i figured. but you didn’t.”
you sip your coffee, buying time. “you’d disappear before anyone got there.”
“…yeah.” he admits.
“and then what? i spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re gonna show up mad?”
he nods slowly. he can’t argue that.
“also, i don’t want to tell that story out loud. figured it would be the best for me if i just lived through it and got over it. eventually.” you add, quieter.
changbin nods “okay. yeah. that makes sense.”
you study him. he looks the same as in the house, almost friendly. that makes a question pop up in your head. “have you done that before?” you ask. “like. killing people.”
“yeah.”
“how many?”
he blows out a breath through his teeth. “i don’t keep a number.”
“and why?”
he takes a breath, thinking. actually thinking. “it’s not the killing part.” he says slowly. “not for me. that’s just… the end of it. it’s the before. i dunno. i like the teamwork. but that’s just me, ask the others if you want their version.”
you’re confused. “…did something happen in your past?”
he shrugs. “no. grew up rich. had friends. i have a great job. my mom calls me on sundays.”
you stare at him.
“i’m serious.” he says. “i’m just… like this.”
you hate how calmly he says it. “when did you start?”
“early twenties.”
“why didn’t you stop?”
he gives you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “i’m good at it.”
you don’t answer. a car horn blares down the street. someone laughs nearby. the world keeps going, oblivious. “you scared me.” you say.
“i know.”
“you still are.”
“i know.”
you swallow. you check the time on your phone. “i told jeongin i’d scream if any of you came close to me ever again.”
“i heard.”
“you got lucky.”
“i’m glad.”
a bit of silence.
you meet his eyes. “i don’t trust you.”
“you shouldn’t.”
“but you still came now. why? why can’t you leave me alone?”
he shrugs, small and helpless. “i liked talking to you in the kitchen. before we… started.”
ow. sounds bad. so bad that you take a step back. away from him. you’re scared.
“i don’t feel things the way other people do.” he says finally. he wanted to spit that out for a while now, he just couldn’t scrape the courage together. “it’s like everything’s gray unless it’s intense.”
you sigh. “…at least you’re honest.”
he nods. “i just… i wanted one interaction with you that wasn’t you running.”
you watch him. he’s still scary. “you got it.” you say. “now what.”
he shrugs. “now i go away.”
you study him. glasses slightly crooked. trying very hard not to look threatening. failing, because he looks like he could lift a car.
you almost smile. almost. “don’t follow me.” you say.
“i won’t.”
“tell the others.”
“i will.”
you start to walk off.
“hey.” he calls.
you turn, tired.
“you were really impressive.” he says. sincere. really.
you hold his gaze. “i know.”
then you leave him standing on the sidewalk, alone. alone with his horrible, evil soul. alone with this weird dumb crush he recently developed on you. alone with his biceps, flexing because he feels a lot and it just… happens when he feels a lot.
it’s the next day. normal day. sun’s out. people walking dogs. a delivery truck is parked. blablabla anything that says world goes on. you were paranoid this day, sure, but you survived so far. you’re currently locking your apartment building door after yourself so you could go grocery shopping when a voice behind you says:
“okay, don’t be mad.”
you close your eyes. slow inhale. you turn.
it’s felix. and this guy literally tried to shoot you once, you remember clearly, but he looks… perfect. perfect hair. expensive jacket. shoes that cost more than your phone. holding… a container?
you stare.
he smiles, so sweet. “i made you muffins.”
“…you what.”
“blueberry.” he says proudly.
you look at the container, suspicious. “i’m not eating that.”
he frowns a little. “that hurt my feelings.”
“you tried to kill me.”
“sorry.”
you rub your face. “why are you here.”
he shifts his weight. he’s nervous. it’s cute tho. “we voted.” he says.
“you VOTED.”
“yeah.”
“ON WHAT.”
“on not killing you.”
you just stare at him.
he brightens. “it was almost unanimous.”
“WHO voted no?”
“…minho.”
yoy try to step around him toward the street. he mirrors you accidentally.
“felix.”
he freezes. “yeah?”
“move.”
“oh. right. sorry.” he sidesteps so fast he almost falls off the curb.
“you cannot come here.” you say. calm. really hoping he’ll understand. “you cannot follow me. you cannot bake for me. do you understand how insane this is?”
he nods immediately. “yes.”
“then why are you here.”
he looks at the muffins. then at you. “okay. so. we— i— baked.” yes baby, we know. you told us already.
“i see that.”
“for you.”
“i gathered.”
he nods, satisfied that the point has been made.
you start walking. he starts walking. directly into a street sign. it’s loud.
he recoils. “ow.”
you pinch the bridge of your nose.
“is it bleeding?” he asks, pointing at his face, but he immediately goes cross eyed as you push his face away instead. his skin is warm. feels nice tbh. he blinks at you, unbothered. “you have strong hands.”
“go away.”
“okay.” he says.
he does not go away.
you reach the crosswalk and the light changes. felix steps forward without looking. a car honks.
you grab his hand and yank him back.
he stumbles into you.
“jesus.” you mutter, still holding his hand as you cross. “you’d be roadkill in five minutes.”
he looks down at your joined hands, his big eyes shining, absolutely taken aback by the fact that you would do this for him. well, all that until you drop his hand on the other side of the street.
“thanks.” he says cheerfully.
a man wearing a watch worth a month’s rent, carrying something he made for you that you won’t eat, who could absolutely overpower you, and instead just almost died to a car.
“don’t follow me.” you say.
“okay.” he says, still following.
you glance at him. “you’re unbelievably stupid.”
“thank you.” he says.
“that wasn’t—”
“i’ve been working on self-acceptance.”
pffft.
you stop. “felix, listen. i don’t want you guys here.”
he looks at you, tilting his pretty head in confusion.
“you scare me.” you clarify.
“oh.” he says quietly. that, he understood.
you point at the muffins. “those could be drugged.”
“they’re not!”
“i don’t know that.”
silence hangs between you. street noise fills it. someone laughs across the road. life just keeps going.
“i liked talking to you.” he says finally.
“you didn’t talk to me.” you reply. “you hunted me.”
“yeah. i’m sorry.”
you watch him. disappointed that something this beautiful can be this cruel. “you need to leave.”
he nods. but he doesn’t move yet. “do you…” he starts, then stops. tries again. “do you hate us?”
you don’t hesitate. “yes?” of fucking course bro???
his little brain absorbs that. shoulders drop a little. “okay.”
he holds out the muffins one last time, hopeful in the dumbest way possible.
you just look at him.
he lowers them.
“just go, felix. bye.”
“yeah. bye.”
he turns the wrong direction.
you grab his hood and spin him around. “that way.”
“right.” he says, walking off.
he makes it three steps. turns back. holds up the muffin container. “do you want—”
“no.”
“okay.”
he walks into a bike rack.
you watch him go. he looks beautiful.
you hate him.
you check to make sure he crosses the next street safely before you turn away.
that passed too. a few days later you are leaving a pharmacy in the afternoon, receipt crumpled in your fist, focusing on your surroundings now.
and across the street, leaning against a lamppost, is chan. he raised a hand, giving you a little wave, mouthing: you good?
you mouth back go away.
he nods once, then pushes off the pole and walks in the opposite direction. not chasing now. actually walking away.
then you’re in a grocery store, looking at pastas, deciding which one you want to eat tonight. a hand reaches past you and places the more expensive one in your cart.
you turn. it’s seungmin. black hoodie. baseball cap.
you immediately pull it back out. “no.”
he takes it. puts it back into the cart.
“no.”
back in.
“stop.”
it went on for a good five minutes.
at checkout, you unload your stuff, and when you’re about to pay, seungmin comes up behind you and wordlessly uses his card. do you process that in the head? no, only when he is already at the exit, hands in his pockets, not looking back.
he walks straight into the automatic door before it finishes opening. you hear the thud.
you rub your temples.
then you’re walking through the park because that’s the shorter way home. peaceful. sunlight. children playing. then the bush next to the sidewalk starts shaking.
you stop. you kick the bush. han tumbles out directly at your feet. face in dirt.
“…hi.” he says into the grass.
you look down at him. “were you hiding?”
he looks up at you, leaves in his hair, expression hopeful. “no.”
you start walking again. he scrambles up and follows, then trips on the sidewalk edge.
you catch his sleeve before he eats pavement. “use your brain.”
he nods seriously. “i keep meaning to.”
next time about days later, you see felix before he sees you. he’s staring into a store window, clearly confused by mannequins.
you walk past.
noticing that, he turns and his pretty little face lights up. “hi!”
“hi. don’t.”
“okay.”
he walks into a mailbox.
you only see hyunjin once, at a distance. not close enough to speak. just standing outside a train station, hands in his coat pockets, watching the crowd, not just you.
when your eyes meet, he doesn’t smile, just gives a small nod. then he leaves.
days after that it’s seungmin again. at night. parking lot. you only came with car because it was too far. you’re unlocking your car and a shadow leans against the hood.
“you’ve been avoiding me.” seungmin says, casual as hell, like he didn’t once swing a fire poker at your skull. “man.” he continues “small world, right?”
you turn, pepper spray in hand, and spray it directly into his eyes.
he screams, drops to his knees, clawing at his face. “OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE SATAN PISSED IN MY EYES—”
“stop finding me!” you yell.
he’s laughing through the pain. laughing. “you look good today.”
you drive off while he’s still swearing.
the next time minho follows you through a bookstore. keeps pretending to browse. picks up a book upside down. so you turn a corner and wait. he walks right into it. he also gets a taste of your pepper spray.
“SON OF A BITCH.” he chokes, doubling over between romance and self help. “you fucking—”
“YOU’RE STALKING ME.”
they find you in different places. weeks apart. or days apart. but they always come back.
something is clearly wrong with them. like, all eight are sick in the head. but it doesn’t seem like they’re following you around to kill you. they talk too long. they get distracted. they bring you things. they absolutely eat shit every time you fight back. and you do fight back. diva.
minho and seungmin have been pepper sprayed so many times they flinch when you reach into your bag. jeongin tries every possible pickup line on you. han once tried to sneak up on you and got hit in the face with your tote bag and apologized.
it’s ike they’re still in hunting mode. after you. into you. but now they’re… unsure. they don’t seem to want you dead anymore. they just… want you around now. or to just be around you, at least.
it’s the middle of the night right now. you’re in old sweatpants, hair a mess, waiting for the food you ordered. and soon enough, the doorbell rings. you shuffle over and look through the peephole for a second. delivery uniform. cap. bag. seems normal. so you open the door.
it’s felix. smiling ear to ear, holding your takeout, wearing the uniform jacket and cap. “hi!”
“absolutely not.” you say, already closing the door.
he sticks his foot in. “wait, wait—don’t slam it, the soup’ll spill—”
that’s when you see it, behind him, in the hallway. a man on the floor. the delivery uniform pants still on him, only his jacket gone, the one on felix right now. there’s blood under the man.
your stomach drops. your organs drop. after staring for about a minute, you slowly look back at felix. “…is that—”
“okay.” he says quickly. “before you freak out—”
“BEFORE I FREAK OUT?? YOU KILLED THE DELIVERY GUY?!”
jeongin leans into view, coming next to felix, hands in pockets. “it wasn’t him who killed the guy.”
you point wildly, not even concerned about the fact that there’s two of them now. “THAT IS A PERSON ON THE FLOOR.”
“yeah but like…” minho says, stepping into the doorframe, arm around felix’s shoulders now. “he’s not using the uniform anymore.”
your mouth opens. nothing comes out.
and then, without a word, chan walks past you. into your home. into your fucking home. felix shrugs and follows him. the other six too, actually taking their shoes off.
YOU ARE STILL HOLDING THE DOOR. THEY JUST WALK AROUND YOU.
“what—no—no—no—” you manage, backing up as they enter.
han closes the door gently behind them. “heat’s nice in here.” he says.
hyunjin looks at you and mutters a quiet but confident “hi” before going further into your living room.
changbin walks past you and spins slowly, taking in the room. “oh this is cute. this is very you.”
“YOU BROUGHT A CORPSE TO MY DOOR.” you choke.
felix is still holding the food bag. “your noodles are getting cold.” he says softly.
you make a noise that doesn’t exist in human language. (imagine something close to a windows crash sound)
seungmin tosses his jacket over a chair. there’s a smear of blood on his sleeve.
you gag.
he notices. “oh, relax. it’s mostly the delivery guy’s.”
“OH MY GOD.”
“hey, where’s the hand soap?” han asks, already at your kitchen sink, washing blood off his fingers.
you stare at the red swirling down your drain.
jeongin flops onto your couch. “i like what you did with the lighting in here. mood.”
“GET OUT.” you say, voice coming back in bursts. “GET—OUT—OF—MY—APARTMENT.”
they all look at you. it’s obvious that they don’t really understand what’s your problem.
chan gestures toward the takeout bag. “eat first.”
“I DON’T WANT THE FOOD.”
felix looks devastated. “you picked the combo meal…”
changbin is by your bookshelf now. “you alphabetized? that’s hot.”
“a— i— eugh— what is HAPPENING.”
minho leans against the wall. “okay, in our defense—”
“there is NO DEFENSE.”
“—we didn’t come to kill you.”
“YOU’RE TRACKING BLOOD ON MY FLOOR.”
they all look down.
han lifts his foot. “…shit.”
jeongin points at him. “mop boy.”
han salutes and grabs paper towels.
“listen.” chan says, turning to be in front of you. “we just wanted to see you.”
you stare at him. then at the door. “…you couldn’t text?” you ask hoarsely.
eight grown ass serial killer men exchange glances.
jeongin shrugs. “didn’t have your number.” that’s alright sweetie, not like you can’t find a phone number when you can find an address perfectly. not like you can’t ask for it from HYUNJIN.
you make another sound.
changbin steps closer, hands up, gentle. “okay, hey. we know this looks bad.”
“LOOKS—”
“bad phrasing.” he admits.
seungmin rubs the back of his neck. “we didn’t plan the delivery guy part.”
“that’s WORSE.” you sag against the wall. “you have got to be shitting me.” you whisper to yourself. then you look at them. all of them. in your apartment. on your couch. at your sink. in your life. “out.”
they don’t move.
jeongin tilts his head. “we just got here—”
“OUT.”
changbin actually flinches.
seungmin raises his hands. “okay, volume—”
“you killed someone. again, i assume. and brought it to my DOOR. do you understand how fucking insane that is?”
silence.
“i can’t sleep normally. i check reflections everywhere. i don’t walk with headphones anymore. do you get that? do you get what you did to my brain? i couldn’t function for weeks. every sound was footsteps. every guy walking behind me was one of you. i have three different hiding spots in my own apartment.”
han raises a hand slightly. “this one’s not great.”
“NO IT IS NOT GREAT.”
felix looks genuinely confused. “we didn’t think about… after.”
“YEAH. THAT’S THE PROBLEM. you don’t think about after. you don’t think about people being PEOPLE. you think about adrenaline and teamwork and your little murder club hangouts.”
changbin crosses his arms. “okay when you say it like that—”
“how else is there to say it??” you gesture wildly at the room.
they don’t look guilty. they look… attentive. they’re paying attention. trying to understand you.
you swallow. “no, seriously. i want to know. when you followed me for weeks? when you showed up at my job? when i thought every man walking behind me was about to grab me? that was fun for you?”
seungmin shrugs. “engaging.”
you grab the nearest thing, a throw pillow, and launch it at his face. then relax your shoulders and sigh. “i am a person. with a nervous system. i had a normal life before you guys.”
there’s a long pause.
felix raises a hand slightly. “your food is still warm.”
“READ THE ROOM.”
he lowers it.
han whispers to him: “she’s upset-upset.”
“no shit.” you snap.
chan has his hands on his hips. “you’re saying we made you paranoid and ruined your life.”
you stare. “…are you fucking for real right now.”
“trying to understand the damage.”
“DAMAGE???”
jeongin leans forward on the couch, elbows on knees. “we don’t feel fear like that, or guilt the way you do.”
“yeah, i noticed.”
“but we’re not dumb.” hyunjin says quietly.
your eyes flick to him.
he meets them. calm. honest in a deeply unsettling way. “we know we changed your life. we can see the behavioral shifts. we know what we did. we just don’t care.“
you blink. does this fucking asshole hear himself.
he continues. “and what you’re saying is that our continued presence equals harm.”
you blink “yes.”
“even without immediate violence.”
“YES.”
he nods once. processing. filing it somewhere in his terrifyingly organized brain.
chan takes over. “we’re saying, we understand the outcome. even if we don’t experience the emotion attached.”
changbin rubs his neck. “we didn’t think about the after. usually there isn’t one.”
you let that sit. “yeah.” you say. “because people die.”
quiet.
han finally says, softly: “you didn’t.”
you look at him. “no. i didn’t. and now i have to live with what you did.”
there’s a long silence.
then jeongin claps his hands once. “so. solution. anyone? ideas?”
you point at him without looking. “you are on thin fucking ice.”
he mimes zipping his mouth.
seungmin rubs his face. “okay, but question.”
you glare.
“when we stopped trying to actually kill you… that didn’t help?”
you just stare at him. “…you hear yourself, right?”
he thinks about it. “…yeah.”
felix looks like he’s actually using his brain for once. “we thought… not finishing the job was growth.”
“that is the lowest bar i have ever heard in my LIFE.”
but you see, the thing is, this is a system error for them. you’re not prey right now. you’re not running. you’re furious, first of all. human. loud. hurt. they don’t know this game. they only know the killing and manipulating one, but they want to have you. they just… don’t know how to get you.
chan clears his throat. “so the correct action would be… removal of our presence.”
“yes.”
“immediately.”
“so fucking immediately.”
“we don’t want to kill you.” minho cuts in, hoping that this saves their situation a bit.
“yeah, you told me a hundred times already. your point?” you ask
“we like you.”
you make a face like you bit into soap. “that is not how liking works.”
“for you.” he agrees.
chan exhales. decisive. “we adjust behavior.”
you cross your arms. “into WHAT?”
silence.
felix brightens. “dinner?”
you stare at him.
han nods eagerly.
you look around the room at eight serial killers in your living space, one of them holding a roll of paper towels covered in someone else’s blood. “…dinner.”
changbin shrugs. “low pressure environment. public. you feel safer. we practice acting normal.”
minho adds: “exposure therapy. for all parties.”
“i just gave a speech about how you ruined my sense of safety.” you whisper, voice defeated.
hyunjin nods. “we heard you.”
“and you want to take me to DINNER.”
“yes.”
“why.”
he doesn’t hesitate. “because harming you is now counterproductive to the thing we want.”
you are actually taken aback by the words this guy uses. “…which is?”
he holds your gaze.
“you.”
the room goes quiet.
then han whispers to felix, way too loud: “is this flirting?”
“yeah.” felix whispers back. “i think this is the good kind.”
you drag a hand down your face. “…get the fuck out of my apartment.”
they stand, immediately obedient. getting their shoes on and whatnot.
changbin gives you a small wave. “we’ll text?”
“you do not have my number.”
jeongin points at hyunjin. “he’ll give it to us.”
“I WILL CALL THE POLICE.”
they walk out.
han pauses at the door. “sorry about the sink.”
door closes. silence. your apartment is a disaster. your life is worse.
but… they looked weirdly sincere, actually. and they were.
soon, they stopped showing up unannounced. mostly. they also stopped bringing weapons into your line of sight. mostly. and they stopped treating you like prey. completely.
how were they about you, comes the question.
obsessed.
and they did not process attachment normally. if they processed it. they did not understand love. but they understood preference, and if you told them enough times, then eventually they understood your emotions too. well, not understood, but they processed the fact that you feel the way you feel and they can do something about it if they actually try.
han once fell down an entire staircase because someone said your name and he turned too fast. chan pretended he wasn’t competitive about board games and then absolutely lost his mind over monopoly. hyunjin brought you flowers all the time. you learned that seungmin always had to sleep on his stomach.
you started to understand the function of them. not excuse, no. absolutely not. just understand and process the fact that they’re how they are. and you couldn’t do shit about it, and you couldn’t get rid of them now. so you lived with it.
they still killed, of course. that was one of the few things that brought them happiness in life, so you couldn’t expect them to stop doing it. they didn’t kill around you, though.
but you knew they still did it. and you could feel when the tension built when they haven’t hurt anybody in a long time.
it also… what’s the right word, scared? impressed? took you aback? could be either, what matters is that when you saw that all of them had it in them, even han and felix who behaved like total angels throughout the day, it… upset you. or just moved something in you, seeing that each of them has that empty place where fear or guilt or empathy should go.
they didn’t kill out of anger. it was release. their brains were wired wrong. thrill, control, mastery, stimulation, those hit the reward centers. violence scratched an itch they couldn’t reach any other way.
and after, they were calmer. lighter, like they’d gone for a run. when they were satisfied with themselves, they tried to tell you about it. you always stopped them, because you did NOT need to hear the horrible things they did. no matter how much they wanted to brag about it, how much they wanted to make you proud.
you weren’t safe in the world, but you were weirdly safe with them. and they would have died for you.
but you had to set rules. actual rules. “do not follow me into bathrooms.” “do not threaten my coworkers.” “do not kill anyone within a five-mile emotional radius of me.” the basics. and they tried. god, they tried. but they didn’t really… do well.
once you opened your door to seungmin at one in the morning, and he stood there, breathing a little heavy, COVERED in blood.
you just stared.
he stared back.
“…you good?” he asked.
“are you good??”
“oh. yeah. not mine.”
you almost slammed the door. he stopped it with a hand, but gently. always that now.
“didn’t come here for that.” he said.
“for what, seungmin, WHAT possible reason makes this a normal social call.”
he shrugged. “adrenaline crash. didn’t wanna be alone.”
that did something weird to your chest. not forgiving, just… information. because you realized that now they wanted you. your company, your voice, your hands. and it felt good.
anyways, you told him to take a shower, then you let him hang out with you.
they also fought each other more than they ever fought you.
once minho and jeongin, two extremely capable men mind you, actually went for each other’s throats in your kitchen while hyunjin and chan tried to separate them.
you yelled at them then. they paused and looked at you.
jeongin, bleeding from the lip, grinned. but like in that hot way. “sorry.”
“take it outside if you’re gonna be like this.” you told them.
“fair.” chan said, dragging minho back by the collar.
you weren’t scared of them like prey anymore. you were scared of the capacity. the strength. the speed. the way the air changed when something in them flipped.
you’d seen what they could do, you just weren’t the target now.
they were on your dick constantly, though. emotionally. socially. existentially. texting wasn’t their thing, but presence was. which meant they showed up unannounced a lot. but the reason for that was that they didn’t want to lose access to you, to be honest. didn’t like the thought of that.
one night you opened the door to changbin. he told you he was going to come over later. well, it was late. around midnight.
when he saw you, his eyes lit up, and wrapped you in the warmest, most affectionate, full-body hug of your life.
you froze.
because he was sticky.
wet sleeve. iron smell. your cheek against his skin. your hands touching the back of his shirt.
he squeezed tighter, cheek against your hair. “missed you.”
you pulled back.
looked down.
this boy was covered in blood.
he smiled, soft, relieved. “hi.”
you shoved back, stumbling, hand over your mouth, already shaking your head like that would stop it. you barely made it to the sink before you threw up in it.
from the hallway, jeongin yelled: “did you forget again??”
“I GOT EXCITED.”
hyunjin was the only one who followed you then, already grabbing a towel, turning on the sink. he didn’t look at changbin, and he didn’t look at the blood. he looked at you. “i’ve got you. you’re okay. breathe.”
they kept forgetting what you were. alive. normal. human. that for you it was a body, a person, a life.
it wasn’t the only time, of fucking course. they’d be loose, relaxed, calm. you’d be staring at hands that had done something irreversible two hours ago. there were a few nights like that, a sleeve not changed, a stain not noticed, you throwing up in your own kitchen while eight men who could disassemble a human being panicked because they’d upset you.
not because they felt guilt like you did. because they’d hurt something important in the environment. you. you, who sometimes made it to the sink, sometimes didn’t.
they did learn, though. slowly. painfully. they didn’t feel what you felt, but they learned it mattered. which, for them, was the closest thing to empathy available in the system.
you fell asleep on the couch once while they were over. you didn’t mean to. how could you mean to, when you knew what they were capable of?
and you woke up pinned. well, luckily not trapped, just surrounded. han was hugging your ankle. felix was using your shoulder as a pillow. changbin had an arm across your middle. jeongin was half off the couch but anyways. seungmin pretended he wasn’t involved but his foot was hooked under your leg.
they didn’t experience comfort like most people did. but proximity? pressure? familiar scent? that, they liked.
they were really, really glad that you survived them. and because of that, somewhere in their broken little predator brains, you became home. and what do predators do? bring things home.
once han showed up beaming, holding something behind his back.
“i got you flowers.” he said.
you blinked. that was… new.
he revealed it.
you stared.
it was technically arranged like a bouquet. the only problem was that… they were human lower arms. a lot of them. like flowers. just… arms.
you made a noise. you looked away, then back at it, then had to look away again.
“i thought it was romantic.” he said, crushed.
“honey, i appreciate that, but—“ you gagged. held the doorframe. teared up.
he watched you throw up then. patted your back after.
felix once brought you a wallet because “you’re always losing yours.”
you opened it. immediately closed it. “felix.”
“yeah?”
“return that.”
chan was… fucking brutal. he didn’t bring objects. he brought information.
“found a guy who’d been stalking women in your area.” he said once.
you went cold. “…what did you do.”
he met your eyes calmly. “took care of him, of course.”
you didn’t know whether to scream or say thank you. this one wasn’t bad, actually. you just had to sit down for a minute.
they were not house trained though, not even a little. one time you caught seungmin about to piss in your giant houseplant.
“seungmin.” you sighed.
he froze midzip. “…yeah?”
“if you water that plant with your BODY i will end you.”
“okay, okay.” he said, offended. “god. boundaries.”
felix once wiped his hands on your curtains. han sat on your coffee table. minho had to be told three separate times that knives did not belong “wherever feels right.” changbin once tried to “air out” your apartment by opening every window during winter.
and jeongin was just really spontaneous in general. if a guy talked to you, he would insert himself into the conversation, no matter what. “bro.” he’d say, arm slung over the stranger’s shoulders. “i love your confidence. truly. quick question, how attached are you to having kneecaps?”
you hit him. he’d grin. the stranger would evaporate.
hyunjin was the only one who got you normal gifts. they were… brutally expensive, yeah, and you had no idea where he had that kind of money from, but you appreciated every gift from him.
and oh my fucking god, the mailman. felix hated the mailman. for no reason. the man was fifty something and friendly. still, every time the mail arrived, felix would appear at your window, talking bout sum “he’s back.” ???
“felix, that’s his job.”
“yeah but why is he always here?”
“because i live here. that’s how mail works.”
the suspicion remained.
but beneath all the insanity, the red flags, the daily reminder that they could bring a corpse to your doorstep any day, they were sincere. they never played with your feelings. never lied about what they were. never pretended.
they just… adjusted their behavior around one central rule, which was not to lose you. to keep you safe, even if they didn’t understand why they wanted to keep you so safe. or why did you find so many things they did wrong.
you had, at one point, physically grabbed felix by the hair and yanked him backward because he was halfway out your front door, whispering “i just wanna talk to him.” about the mailman.
“NO.” you barked, fist in his hair.
“he’s BEEN HERE THREE TIMES THIS WEEK.” felix insisted.
“THAT IS HOW MAIL WORKS.”
he did not agree with you.
changbin loved cheek kisses. loved them. unfortunately, changbin also had a chronic issue where he just… forgot he was holding things. knife. wrench. crowbar. gun.
you’d feel a gentle kiss on your cheek and open your eyes to see cold steel six inches from your face.
“baby.” you’d say.
“oh, shit.” weapon would go on the table like car keys. “sorry.” he’d say, and kiss your other cheek, now technically unarmed.
then once you mentioned to hyunjin that you were cold and he wordlessly took off his jacket. it had a suspicious stain. he saw you notice.
“…i’ll get another one.” he said immediately.
because he really didn’t want you to be cold. not like he understood what your problem was with a little blood, but alright. anything for you.
now that i’m getting carried away with the stories, i’ll tell you that han did not understand personal space.
for an example, if you scolded him? immediate cling. you’d finish saying “you cannot threaten the barista for writing my name wrong” and suddenly he’d be attached to your side, rubbing his face into you, arms around your shoulders, chin on your head.
“okay, but we’re good though, right?”
“sweetie, i’m trying to pay.”
he’d nod against your hair, not moving. that went on for twelve minutes until a woman asked if he was concussed.
they clung like that a lot, they didn’t understand a lot, they acted up a lot, they hated a lot, but they loved one thing.
you.
they didn’t understand jealousy as an emotion. they understood it as something wrong with their insticts, and you in danger. how did that make sense? it didn’t. it just sounded horrible. because it was. but it was also the most sincere attachment they were capable of.
you were still scared sometimes, still human, compared to them(they’re literally almost not human in their senses). still deeply aware of what they were, and reminded of it a lot of times, of course.
but they’d learned one thing with absolute certainty.
you were not a victim anymore, you were something new to them, to their lives, something…. let’s say home.
and they were trying, badly, incorrectly, concerningly, to deserve to be there.
yo can I get anything Bangchan smut (I know you have a Chan fetish too) 👀👀👀
ooouuu shi okayyy👀👀👀 (lwk was rlly lazy with this one cuz school is gon be starting in 2 weeks🤧🤧)
𝓑𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷 - "𝓢𝓸𝓯𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯𝔂"
𝓐𝓾: I js love me some nerdy chan on a ripe crispy 2am morning🤤🤤✌️
𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Tit fucking, groping, riding (reverse cowgirl), unprotected sex (make good choices), soft aftercare at the end, slight spanking, calling the reader queen/gorgeous, a sprinkle of praising if you squint your eyes.
Chan has always been your nerdy little gamer boyfriend, and you wouldn't have it any other way. The two of you would sit in the couch and watch Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun together and cry like idiots together when the sad parts come on. Today was no different like the others.
You have just finished folding laundry when you go into the bedroom to find Chan playing Genshin Impact on his PC, his gaming set up purple with anime figures around it on stands. The room is filled with happy noises from him when he pulls one of his favorite characters. You pull back his chair where he's sitting and sit down on his lap, your back against his chest "You making yourself comfortable, my queen?" he loves to call you his queen and worship your body and curves.
He earns a giggle from you and assumes it as a yes "So... What do you want?" he gets suspicious of you being so cling and needy. "I just wanna have your attention, Channie" you respond as he chuckles deeply and runs his hands up and down your thighs, suqqezing them lightly "Well you definitely have it now" his hands travel down to your ass and grope it through your shorts. Chan soon understands what you want from him, carefully lifting you up and tossing you onto the bed behind him.
"I need you, baby" you whimper out as he captures your mouth in a deep kiss while removing your shirt and then unclasping your bra with skilled hands, your full boobs now in his hands as he gropes them roughly "Mine to play with". He fumbles with his sweatpants as he yanks them off along with his boxers, his thick and already hard cock springing out "You wouldn't mind if I slide this between those two big beauties?" he strokes his cock as his other hand spreads apart your boobs. "Please... Make a mess on my tits" you beg and whimper to him though it doesn't take long before he slides his thick cock between your cleavage, tit fucking you fast, grunts escaping from his lips.
His cock slides in and out of your cleavage, the way his hips snap makes your boobs bounce "My queen. My fucking gorgeous queen and her gorgeous tits". He makes one final thrust as he slips out onto your chest, his cum splattered all over "That was..." you breathe out before he interrupts you as he pulls you back onto his lap (Reverse cowgirl position) "Amazing? Or all of the above?" he chuckles as he carefully slides off your shorts and panties "All of the above. Definitely" you say, dripping onto his thighs. "Ride me, gorgeous" you waist no time, the moment his words leave his mouth you slam onto him and bounce, your moans sounding straight out of a porn video.
Chan moans with you too, he spanks your ass hard as you ride "I'm close again" he groans as you move wildly. "C-Channie! I'm Cumming!" you scream his name and milk his cock perfectly, that just being enough for his hot seed to shoot inside you and fill you up. You both panting heavily as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close and spooning you from behind "You did so good. My perfect queen" he kisses your cheek as you start to fall into sleep in his arms.
"Shh... Take a nap, gorgeous. I'll take care of everything else and clean you up later".......
Hope u nutted to ts @zoellovstay. Ain't no wind covering up for u now😽😽💕
.....
Cuz I did halfway through writing ts🤤🫶
Moots that will prob like this: @pastelmuffinparis @anna-in-my-own-world @doradoro101 @sillyminknow @pinkmonsoonogre
Synopsis: You and Chris chose future over love once, and it cost you everything you didn’t know how to name. Years later, you wonder if the right person ever truly becomes the wrong time. (10,8k words)
Author's note: Everyone, pls take care on this very extreme weather cause I'm getting a bit not well here. Stay safe and pls enjoy this one 💕
On paper, your life makes sense.
Your startup is thriving—your name attached to headlines as the founder and CEO of Gatherly. An app that went viral for its aesthetic at first and then as an app that turns studying into something communal, intentional, almost romantic. Eventually, the app is dubbed “Tinder for academia” as it connects people online to gather and meet — to study together. Academia loves it. Students swear by it. Investors call it visionary.
In reality, you’ve just called off your wedding.
It’s supposed to be a private decision. An ending to something that no longer fits. You announce it simply to avoid drama, no explanation beyond what’s necessary. Overnight, your name stops being attached to Gatherly first. Instead, it’s followed by words like engagement, business power couple, wedding canceled. Articles dissect the timeline like it’s a case study. Comment sections bloom with speculation. People who’ve never used your app suddenly have opinions about your life decision.
They don’t ask about the sleepless nights you spent building Gatherly.
They don’t ask about the students who write to you saying your app kept them from dropping out.
They don’t ask about the systems you designed to make learning feel human again.
They ask what went wrong.
They ask if you’re okay.
They ask if you’ll ever love again like that’s public property now.
Still, you smile, you stay professional, you stand at the head of glass-walled conference rooms and talk about growth, projections, and futures like your life didn’t just fall apart. Your life still works. The company is thriving. Your calendar is full. You’re successful in every way that matters to everyone else.
And yet, when the lights go out, you’re left with the realization that the thing people are most interested in is the one thing you wish they’d let you keep to yourself.
On paper, everything adds up.
In reality, something essential has been reduced to a headline and no one seems to care how much it cost you to survive it.
-
The office feels quieter after hours but it’s exactly what you need to focus on work.
You’re curled up on the sofa in your office, laptop balanced on your lap, glasses perched low on your nose. One heel has been kicked off, the other dangling uselessly from your toes. Code scrolls past your screen as you work, fingers moving non-stop, comforted by the logic of it all.
There’s a soft knock and once you give the permission, your assistant, Lucy steps in. She takes one look at you—half-curled into the cushions, hair pulled back too loosely, still working and something flickers across her face. Concern, maybe. But she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she reports a few things about deadlines, a rescheduled meeting, a finalized contract.
“Thank you, Luce,” you say without looking away from your laptop screen. “And you can go home.”
She nods but she doesn’t leave. Instead, she drifts to your desk, quietly straightening the clutter you’ve let pile up over the week. You let her and shift your focus back on your work.
After a moment, she clears her throat. “You’re staying late at work.”
“Yep,” you simply answer.
“So it means you’ve decided not to attend the school reunion?”
“Nope,” you answer immediately, eyes still fixed on your screen.
You hate that she brought it up. You hate that you feel the need to share the reason why. You sigh and close your laptop partway, rubbing at your temple. “I’m not going because I’m not in the mood to answer questions about my canceled wedding.”
Lucy tilts her head and then shrugs. “It’s been weeks. People probably forgot.”
You shake your head. “No, they didn’t.”
She looks unconvinced, so you turn the laptop toward her and pull up the article. The headline is still there, far too interested in something that was never supposed to be public.
Lucy’s mouth tightens. “That’s… invasive.”
“It’s upsetting,” you say, irritation creeping in. “I built an app that helps people, employs people. I worked hard on it but all anyone wants to talk about is who I didn’t marry.”
You turn the laptop back, swing your feet up onto the sofa again, and resume working like the conversation never happened.
Lucy hesitates but after a while, she carefully says, “Well, at some point… you should get out there again. Date. You know.”
You don’t even look up and give a strong head shake. “No.”
She tries anyway by coyly says, “I’m sure there’s still a decent man out there.”
You shake your head for the last time. “I’m done with dating. And men.”
Lucy exhales slowly, conceding defeat. “Alright.”
Done with organizing your desk, Lucy walks away and then pause at the door. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“I’m okay. You can go home,” you assure her with a subtle nod.
She nods, knowing that there’s no way to insist you to go home so instead, she says, “Don’t stay too late.”
You give her a thumbs-up instead.
“Goodnight,” she says.
“Goodnight.”
The door clicks shut behind her and you’re alone again. The glow of your laptop fills the room as you keep working, convincing yourself that this success is enough.
-
Silence greets you as you enter your apartment.
You kick off your shoes by the door, drop your bag on the sofa, and head straight to the kitchen. You pick up the half-finished bottle of red wine and a glass, bring them with you as you sink into the sofa like your bones are finally allowed to loosen. You open your laptop again out of habit and yes, you come home only to continue working, not because you want to but because stopping feels worse.
This time, you pour yourself a glass of wine before you start and then take a sip, let the bitterness bloom on your tongue, and scroll through emails that blur together.
Lucy’s voice somehow echoes in your head.
I’m sure there’s still a decent man out there.
You almost laugh at that because the man you were going to marry had looked you in the eye and promised you a future. He’d talked about homes and children and forever like they were facts, not bait. And all the while, he was lying. Cheating. Breaking something inside you so that you’re not sure it ever grew back the same way, breaking you to the point that made you think.
That’s it. That’s the only chance you had with love.
He ruined it. He ruined everything. Your gaze drifts, unbidden, through the crack of your bedroom door, to the vanity table where the engagement ring sits there exactly where you left it, the diamond catches the light like it still has the right to be beautiful. Once, it meant trust. Commitment. Promise. Now it’s just proof of how easily those things can be destroyed. So no—you don’t believe there’s still a decent man out there for you. Not anymore.
You take another sip of wine, but it doesn’t help.
Lucy’s words echo anyway and they tangle with everything else you’ve been trying to outrun. People asking how you’re doing with that careful tone that pretends to be concern but is really curiosity. People reading articles like your heartbreak is a business update, like it’s something neat and consumable.
You trusted him with your heart. You almost gave him your forever. And now strangers get to talk about it like it’s trivia.
They don’t know how it hurt. They don’t know what it’s like to wake up every morning and realize something inside you is permanently altered. That trust doesn’t come back the same way. That love doesn’t feel safe anymore.
You close the laptop too hard, the sound cracking through the quiet apartment.
You curl into yourself on the sofa, wine glass abandoned on the table, shoulders shaking before you can stop them. The tears come fast, chest tight, breath uneven.
This is the part no one sees.
Just you, alone at night, breaking apart with the terrifying certainty that maybe this is it. That whatever part of you believed in love was shattered beyond repair. That you’ll never love again. And no matter how impressive your life looks from the outside, no matter how many things you’ve built and led and survived—
It feels unbearably empty right now.
-
The tech expo is a welcome change.
You stand backstage with a wireless mic clipped to your blazer, listening to the low hum of the crowd on the other side of the curtain. It’s loud, but not in the suffocating way boardrooms are. This noise is anticipation. Curiosity.
You like this better than meetings.
Out there, people aren’t waiting to circle numbers in red and talks about strategies that brings the company most money. They want to know you. How you did it. How you built something from nothing and kept it alive. They want to take notes, to borrow pieces of your story and see if they fit into their own lives.
When your name is announced, the applause hits warm and immediate. You’re introduced as the founder and CEO of Gatherly with the kind of reverence that still feels unreal.
You step onto the stage and smile and this one comes easily.
You talk about the story behind Gatherly, how the app goes viral quietly at first because of clean interfaces, warm neutrals and serif fonts that feel borrowed from old books. People start calling it ‘the academia app’.
Students post their “study with me” videos on Gatherly. Aesthetic accounts post their study sessions—coffee cups, annotated notes, rain sounds. And it sticks.
But the aesthetic isn’t the point—it’s the invitation.
Gatherly works like a dating app reimagined for learning. You don’t swipe on faces; you swipe on compatibility. Subjects. Study styles. Time zones. Energy levels. Goals. The app asks who you are when you’re trying, not when you’re posing.
Users find study sessions instead of profiles. They choose where they belong. The design slows people down. It makes studying feel intentional again—like pulling an all-nighter in a library that smells faintly of paper and coffee instead of doomscrolling in isolation.
Academia loves it because it respects the process. It doesn’t gamify learning. It doesn’t shame productivity. It romanticizes effort, patience, showing up—even when you’re tired, even when you’re unsure. And somehow, that’s what makes it powerful.
Gatherly doesn’t promise success. It promises belonging. Because it was never about going viral. It was about making space for people who are trying their best and reminding them they don’t have to do it alone.
Then you talk about failure, about missteps and sleepless nights and how success rarely looks the way people expect it to. You talk about resilience, about learning when to pivot and when to stay stubborn. You talk about sharing knowledge because hoarding it never made anyone powerful—only lonely.
You see people nodding, writing things down and asks questions they’re curious about. But no one asks about your personal life. No one mentions the canceled wedding or your personal life for that matter. They ask about strategy, vision, grit. They ask how to survive doubt without letting it hollow you out and you answer honestly, passionately.
You leave the stage energized, reminded why you love this part of your life so much. Here, your story is something that helps instead of something people consume.
For a moment, you forget how heavy everything else feels and you carry that feeling with you as you step offstage.
Lucy comes up to you with a bottle of water. You have a long sip of it with a straw while staying still as a staff carefully taking off the mic and wire wrapped around you.
“Do I have anything else scheduled?” you ask Lucy as you hand her the bottle of water back.
She shakes her head. “You’re clear for the next hour.”
“Okay, good.”
The expo floor is alive with screens glowing with information on the new technologies presented in each booth, conversations overlapping in every direction. You move from booth to booth, leaning in to listen, asking questions, impressed by what people are building with nothing but curiosity and persistence.
You chat with young engineers, developers with bright eyes and nervous smiles. You find yourself especially proud when you notice how many women are here—confident, brilliant, unapologetically taking up space in a field that once tried to shut them out. It feels like progress you can see.
You’re moving toward the next booth when you think you hear your name but you keep walking because the hall is loud and you probably misheard it.
Three steps later, you hear it again. A voice you haven’t heard in years, pulling itself out of memory and into the present. You slowly turn around and for a second, you don’t understand what you’re seeing.
There’s a man standing a few steps away from you, tall, familiar in a way that doesn’t immediately land. Your brain scrambles, flipping through faces that almost fit but don’t quite click. He looks older. Broader. Different. Then he starts walking toward you.
And when he puts on a toothy grin, it finally hits.
“Aaron?” you breathe.
He laughs, eyes lighting up like no time has passed at all. “Wow. You still recognize me?”
You gasp, hand flying to your mouth. “What are you doing here?”
Of all places. Of all people. High school feels impossibly far away and suddenly right in front of you.
-
In a different building, in a much quieter space at a café, you sit across from Aaron with a cup of coffee warming your hands, still trying to reconcile the man in front of you with the boy from your memory. He’s older now with facial hair neatly trimmed, shoulders broader, dressed in a fitted shirt and a tie. Someone who grew into himself.
“So,” you say, half-laughing, half-in disbelief, “I really didn’t expect to see you here of all places.”
He presses a hand to his chest dramatically. “Wow. That hurts.”
“No—wait,” you rush to explain. “I just thought you’d still be on a field. Juggling a ball with your feet to dazzle some girls.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, I charm people into buying cars now.”
You nod. “So you’re handling the family business now?”
“It’s legacy,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “Also, because soccer was never really my thing. I wasn’t as talented as Chris.”
Your heart tightens at the mention of his name. You keep your face neutral, lift your cup, take a careful sip of coffee that suddenly feels too hot going down.
Aaron watches you for a second longer than necessary. “You still in contact with him?”
You swallow hard. Nod once. Then shake your head. “No,” you say.
Thankfully, he doesn’t push. He only nods, lifting his own cup. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
A beat passes before he adds casually, “He’s coming to the city this weekend.”
“Oh,” you say lightly. “Yeah?”
“The team he’s coaching has a match here.”
You nod, eyes on your coffee. Pretend you’re uninterested. Pretend this is just trivia.
Aaron smirks as he teases, “You’re probably too busy anyway, huh?”
You scoff. “I’m not that busy.”
As if summoned by the universe, Lucy appears beside you, leaning down to whisper, “You have to leave in fifteen minutes.”
You nod. “Got it.”
When you look back up, Aaron is barely holding in his laugh. “Not that busy, huh?”
You shake your head, conceding the loss.
He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a name card, sliding it across the table. “Call me if you ever need to buy a car.”
You smile, taking it, eyes skimming his name and number. “Do I get a discount?”
He looks offended. “I’ll double the price first. Then discount it.”
You glare at him as he laughs, and the sound of it pulls you backward to lunch breaks, noisy hallways, the humiliating walks to class with his arm around your shoulders.
And then—
Chris.
Your smile fades before you can stop it. You quickly glance at the time and stand. “I’m sorry, I really have to go.”
“It’s fine,” Aaron says easily. “I should get back to my booth anyway.”
“Next time,” you say, “I’ll treat you something better than coffee.”
He points at you. “Hey. You promised.”
You laugh, step in for a quick hug, then pull away. “It was nice to meet you.”
“It was nice to meet you too,” Aaron says back with a smile.
You wave once before turning and walking off, leaving him behind, leaving the memories with him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you walk away.
-
It’s been a long day but even exhaustion can’t quiet your mind.
Meeting Aaron keeps looping you back to high school bleachers. Lunch breaks in the school yard. Names you haven’t said in years. You tell yourself it’s just nostalgia but it clings to you anyway, stubborn and unresolved.
“Do I have anything this weekend?” you absentmindedly ask, leaning your head back against the seat.
“I think there’s an event. A banquet.” She pauses to reaches for her tablet. “Let me check.”
“Can I see?” You reach over and take it from her hands before she can scroll too far. There it is, a banquet, neatly slotted, labeled with polite importance.
“It’s just a social thing, right?” you murmur.
“Well, yeah,” Lucy says, unsure.
You hand the tablet back. “Can we cancel it? I want to rest this weekend.”
Lucy nods, already typing, flagging the change and alerting the organizer without a question.
“Okay,” she says.
You turn back toward the window as the car slows at a red light, the city glowing back at you. You can’t quite name what you’re feeling but there’s a pull there, undeniable, tangled with hesitation.
You know what you’re going to do this weekend. You just don’t know if you should. And the uncertainty sits with you all the way home.
-
The car has been parked for a while now.
You sit there with your hands resting uselessly on the steering wheel, Sunday afternoon light spilling through the windshield, the stadium looming ahead of you like it’s waiting to be decided on. You could still leave. You could turn the engine on, drive back home, pretend this was just another bad idea you almost followed through with. But you don’t.
What brought you here isn’t courage. It isn’t hope. It’s quiet yet persistent curiosity. The need to know that he’s okay. That despite everything, he landed on his feet.
You inhale air, steady yourself, and step out of the car. The crowd swells around you immediately as you join the queue to enter the stadium. You blend in easily, ticket clutched in your hand, heart beating a little too fast for someone who keeps telling herself this means nothing.
When your ticket is stubbed, you head for the upper rows—high enough to see the whole field, close enough to recognize faces. You sit and you patiently wait until the game starts.
When both teams are being called to the field, you raise from your feet, neck craning to find a face. After a moment, he finally appears and your heart sinks.
Chris stands near the sideline, older now—his face more defined, time etched into sharper lines around his eyes and jaw. But his smile is the same. Full. Warm. Those dimples still sink deep into his cheeks just the way you remember it.
He leans in to talk to one of his players, whispers something you can’t hear, then taps the younger man’s shoulder encouragingly. The player laughs, nods, straightening like he’s been given permission to believe in himself.
Your mouth parts before you realize it and for half a second, you almost call his name. However, the roar of the crowd swallows the impulse whole so you sink back into your seat, hands clenched together as the match begins. You really try to follow the ball, the flow of the game, but all you see is him.
Chris watches the field with total focus, shouting directions and encouragements, clapping enthusiastically, pacing the sideline. He tugs at the tie around his collar now and then, loosening it as the game intensifies with each passing second. He looks at home there. Certain. Alive.
You have to fight the urge to stand up, to run down the steps, to close the distance that ten years have stretched thin but never erased. You tell yourself to sit still, to let this be what it is. A proof that he is here, still doing what he loves — only differently.
Eventually, you manage to focus on the second half of the match. You follow the passes, the rhythm of the game, the tension that builds and releases in waves. You catch yourself leaning forward, breath held, reacting without thinking. For a while, it’s just a match again. Just soccer. Just noise and movement and hope shifting back and forth across the field. Then, the whistle blows for the final time.
Everything stills and then Chris breaks into a wide, brilliant grin. The kind that lights up his whole face. He runs straight into the nearest player and pulls him into a hug, laughing as the rest of the team swarms in. Arms tangle around shoulders. Someone shouts. Someone else jumps. They gather around him like he’s the center of gravity, like he belongs there.
You don’t think about it but rise from your seat and clap, cheering with the rest of the stadium, voice swallowed by the crowd but heart loud enough for you to hear it.
You’re happy. Genuinely, achingly happy. Because good things happened to him. Because he looks proud and fulfilled and surrounded by people who believe in him. Because whatever paths you took, whatever distance grew between you, this is something he earned.
You clap until your hands sting, smiling through the tightness in your chest and for a moment, the ache softens.
For a moment, happiness is enough.
-
The stadium has mostly emptied now and you’re back inside your parked car. Across the lot, the team bus idles near the other exit, red and black paint catching the glow of the floodlights.
You wait because you want to see him—just once, just briefly. Proof that this wasn’t only for you and that he’s real and fine and right there.
Eventually, the players spill out in small groups, freshly showered, hair damp, dressed down but still wearing their varsity jackets like a shared identity. They laugh, shove each other lightly, carry duffel bags over their shoulders.
You step out of your car before you can overthink it, you start walking. Your heart beating too loudly in your ears as you move toward the bus. You already know how this goes as Chris is always the last to come out. Always lingering, talking to someone, making sure everyone else is settled.
As expected, there he is. He stands near the exit, his stance is relaxed and confident, head tilted as he listens to someone out of frame. The sight of him draws a smile from you before you can stop it— it’s automatic, reflexive, dangerous.
You take another step and then another. Your mouth opens, breath pulled in, his name right there on the tip of your tongue—
“Chris!”
It’s not your voice and you stop short.
He turns immediately, expression softening into a smile that isn’t meant for you. A girl jogs up to him, her ponytail bouncing, laughter already on her lips.
He grins wider as he warmly says, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She giggles, cheeks pink from the cold or something warmer. When she reaches him, he slips an arm around her shoulders without hesitation. They turn together toward the bus, talking over each other, laughing as they climb the steps.
Their voices echo briefly in the emptying parking lot and you take a step back. Then another. Your smile gone now, replaced by something hollow. You watch him disappear into the bus and the door folding shut behind them.
With one last look—just long enough to hurt—you turn away and you walk back to your car, carrying the weight of what you came here to see, and what you didn’t expect to lose all over again.
-
Another day passes, and you tell yourself that work will help you forget what you saw and heard yesterday.
You sit at your desk with your laptop open, office washed in late-morning light, Gatherly dashboards and reports waiting patiently for your attention. You should be focused. You are usually focused.
Somehow your screen shows a search result for Chris. You’re not even sure what you’re looking for anymore. Proof, maybe. Reassurance. Or punishment. You hesitate only a second before clicking the link at the top.
His social media loads and it’s mostly soccer—practice sessions, candid shots from the sidelines, photos of him standing shoulder to shoulder with his team. There’s one from last weekend, all of them grinning, arms slung around each other.
He looks good and happy. At ease. You continue scrolling and there she is. The girl who walked with Chris yesterday, you click on her profile to find out that she’s assistant coach. Still, there’s no clear sign on whether he’s married or dating someone. Nothing to confirm or deny it.
You close the page and return to the search results when you spot an older article. The one about the injury he sustained in his second year defending his university’s soccer team. A severe one to the knee and the surgeries done to it, the one that eventually forced him into early retirement.
Guilt coils tight, making you feel sick from the inside out. Your chest aches, heart shrinking as if it’s trying to fold in on itself. You stare at the words too long, each sentence a reminder of how much he lost. Of how much he gave up.
You close the tab abruptly and lean back in your chair. Maybe this is the universe reminding you of something. A boundary. A warning. That whatever this pull is, whatever thread still ties you to him, crossing paths again would only reopen wounds that never fully healed.
It’s better this way, you tell yourself.
You close your eyes, pressing your lips together as the sting builds behind them. You breathe through it, steadying yourself, forcing the tears back down.
A knock sounds at your door.
You straighten instantly, smoothing your expression into something calm and slip back into professionalism. “Come in,” you say.
Lucy steps inside with a folder tucked against her chest. She hands you documents to sign, waits patiently as you do. She lists things to approve, questions to answer, confirmations to give.
You respond but only halfway. Your voice is distant, your thoughts somewhere else entirely.
Lucy pauses, studying you. “Are you okay?”
There’s no point pretending, no point on hiding it so you admit quietly, “I don’t feel well. Is it possible for me to leave early today?”
She checks your schedule quickly. “You don’t have anything critical.”
You nod. “But let me know if something comes up.”
She smiles, gentle and understanding. “Of course.”
Lucy cradles her tablet close to her chest and offers you a soft smile, “I’ll get the car ready for you,” she says before leaving your office.
You sit there for a moment longer, alone in your office, wondering when exactly doing the right thing started to feel so heavy.
-
The elevator ride is quiet in the way that makes your thoughts louder. You lean back against the mirrored wall, watching your reflection blur past floors you barely register. You didn’t do much at work today but you feel wrung out anyway. Tired. Restless. Like your body is moving forward while something inside you keeps snagging on something.
When the doors open to your floor, you step out and walk toward your apartment on autopilot. You unlock the door and stop when you notice someone is in your apartment.
An open suitcase sits on your sofa, clothes folded inside with a care that feels almost insulting and standing beside is the last person you want to see today, of all days — Cole, your ex-fiancé.
Your eyes meet, and the air goes cold. He sighs before quickly explaining. “You told me to get my things while you were at work. I didn’t think you’d be home this early.”
You don’t answer, don’t even acknowledge him but walk past him without a word and head straight into your bedroom. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to hear his voice. You especially don’t want to see that.
The engagement ring. It sits on your vanity, exactly where you left it. Small. Gleaming. A reminder why you don’t want to see him. You grab the box and turn back around.
Cole is zipping up his suitcase when you reappear. He looks surprised when you hold the box out to him.
“Take it,” you say flatly. “Take the ring too.”
He frowns and pushes it back toward you. “I gave that to you. It’s yours.”
“No,” you insist, shoving it into his chest. “Take it back.”
“I’m not taking it,” he snaps. “I meant it when I gave it to you.”
“And I meant it when I said I don’t want it.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re really going to do this right now?”
You laugh, sharp and humorless. “You’re packing up our life in my living room. When exactly would you prefer?”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You’re acting like I’m the only one at fault here.”
“Oh, don’t,” you say, anger flaring hot and sudden. “Do not do that.”
“You weren’t there,” he fires back. “You were always working. Always choosing your company over us.”
You scoff. “Right. So you cheated.”
“I cheated because of you.”
You stare at him, incredulous. “Oh, yeah, right, blame my career, blame my success.”
“That’s not what this is about,” he snaps. “I always knew you weren’t sure. You never fully committed to marrying me.”
You shake your head. “Those are excuses. You’re trying to justify what you did.”
He laughs bitterly. “Fine. Yeah. I cheated. But it was because I knew you never believed I was the right one for you.”
You don’t hesitate when you retort. “And turns out I was right.”
The words land hard. Cole drops the suitcase with a thud and steps toward you, voice low and tight. “At least I’m not a hypocrite. You just don’t want to admit that I’m right. That you never been and never will be sure about me.”
Your eyes burn, your hand shoots out, pointing the front door. “Get out.”
He turns toward the door without waiting.
“Never speak to me again,” you shout, tears spilling over now. “Do you hear me?”
“That won’t be hard,” he says without turning back.
“I never want to see you again,” you shout, your voice strained in anger.
His jaw clenches like he’s holding something back but he doesn’t say it. He just opens the door, drags the suitcase behind him, and leaves.
The door clicks shut and, in that moment, you break. You sink where you stand, sobbing into the quiet apartment, grief and anger and humiliation crashing over you all at once. The life you thought you were building collapses in on itself, leaving you alone with the echo of slammed doors and promises that never stood a chance.
You cry until it hurts.
Until you’re empty.
Until the silence is all that’s left.
-
You had a hard time sleeping but you wake to the sound of the door opening.
For a moment, you don’t move. You stare at the ceiling, eyes still burn, body sore in a way sleep didn’t fix. You already know who it is since Lucy is the only other person with the spare code.
You consider staying there anyway but lying still leaves too much room for thinking, and thinking feels dangerous today. So you push yourself up, drag yourself out of bed, and tell yourself it’s better to stay busy. Work is easier than sitting alone with everything you don’t want to feel.
When you step into the living room, Lucy is already setting things down on the coffee table—your breakfast, a cup of coffee exactly the way you like it. In her other hand, she’s holding a garment bag wrapped neatly in white.
“Good morning,” she says gently, smiling like she’s trying not to startle you.
You sink onto the sofa as she hands you your schedule for the day. You lift your coffee and glance at it without really reading. She disappears into your bedroom to hang the clothes, moving around your space as it is routine to her at this point.
When she comes back, she exhales dramatically. “I almost had a heart attack when the tailor forgot where he put your altered suits.”
You hum in response, sipping your coffee. It tastes right. You barely notice.
Lucy watches you for a beat too long. “Is something wrong?” she asks in genuine concern.
“Nothing,” you say automatically, lifting the cup again. “I’m just tired.”
Lucy has been working for you for two years, long enough to notice when you’re just tired or something truly bothers you. But she doesn’t ask but looks at you, patiently waiting for you to decide whether you’re going to tell her or not.
You decide on the former, shoulders slumping just a little. “Cole came by last night and we… we had a fight.”
Lucy’s expression softens immediately as she comes to sit beside you. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Really.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t look fine. You shouldn’t be working today.”
“I can’t not work,” you reply, sharper than you mean to. “I don’t want people thinking I can’t handle this. That I’m not professional.”
Lucy meets your gaze, steady. “At the end of the day, you’re just human. You don’t have to carry everything at once.”
You shake your head. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Do you?” she asks quietly. “Can you even work properly like this?”
You open your mouth to say yes but nothing comes out. The silence answers for you.
Lucy reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Take a few days off,” she says. “Go somewhere. Get out of here.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “You mean… A vacation?”
“Yes,” she answers without a beat.
“What about the company?”
“Herman can handle it,” she says without hesitation. “That’s literally his job.”
She’s right. You know she’s right. Herman is the COO and you’re sure he can handle the company for a few days. And still, the idea of stepping away feels terrifying and yet, oddly relieving.
You look down at your coffee, at your hands, at how tired you feel all the way through. “I don’t think I can get through today,” you honestly admit.
Lucy nods. “Then don’t.”
You exhale slowly. “Maybe I’ll go home. See my mom.”
Her smile is immediate. “That’s a good idea.”
For the first time in a while, it feels like the right decision. You haven’t taken time for yourself, not since you called off the wedding. Not since everything started unraveling.
Lucy squeezes your hand again. “Take your time. Rest. Come back when you’re ready.”
You nod.
And this time, you let yourself believe that stepping away might not be failure but survival.
-
Lucy stayed for another hour before leaving to arrange things for your absent in the company.
You pack a bag with essentials only—clothes folded without care, toiletries tossed in last, phone charger, laptop you debate leaving behind but don’t. The apartment feels strangely quiet as you move through it, like it’s watching you go. You lock the door and don’t look back.
The train station is bustling with people. You buy a ticket, board when they call your line, and sink into a window seat like you’ve been holding yourself upright for too long. When the train finally lurches forward, something in your chest loosens.
The city slowly gives way. Buildings thin out. Noise softens. The view outside the window turns into stretches of green, houses tucked into quiet corners, sky opening wider than you remember. You rest your forehead lightly against the glass and let yourself watch.
You can’t remember the last time you did this. Really watched, really sat still without checking emails, without thinking five steps ahead, without measuring time in productivity. Somewhere along the way, you stopped allowing yourself moments like this and only now do you realize how much you’ve missed.
The way sunlight hits trees at this hour. The way the world moves when you’re not trying to control it. The comfort of going somewhere familiar without needing a reason. It suddenly makes sense why you’ve been craving familiarity, why your chest aches for places and people that existed before everything became so complicated. You miss home. You miss warmth. You miss the version of yourself who wasn’t always bracing for impact.
The memories come gently, uninvited but not unwelcome. And as the train carries you farther away from the life you built and closer to the one that shaped you, you close your eyes and let the motion lull you into something that feels almost like peace.
-
By the time you reach your hometown, the day has thinned into evening.
The train, the taxi ride after, they all blur together until you’re standing on the familiar porch, suitcase at your side, heart oddly hopeful. You knock, already imagining your mom’s surprised gasp, the way she’ll scold you for not calling first and then pull you into a hug anyway. But there’s no answer.
You knock again and still nothing. The house is too quiet. You peer through the window, expecting to see a light on, some movement inside but there’s nothing. She can’t be at the bakery because it’s closed at night. A knot forms in your chest as you pull out your phone and call her. It rings and rings.
On the second try, she finally picks up. “Hello?”
“Mom,” you say, relief flooding you. “Are you home?”
There’s a pause. Then a small laugh. “Oh, honey. I’m on the cruise.”
The words take a moment to land because you don’t remember hearing your mom going on a cruise trip. “The cruise?” you repeat.
“The one you got me for my birthday,” she reminds you gently. “A day before I left, I told you on our phone call.”
You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You must have missed it. Or heard it and forgotten. Either way, it’s your fault.
She doesn’t dwell on it. “What’s going on? Why are you home?”
“I’m just taking a few days off work,” you say quickly. “I wanted to come home for a bit.”
“Are you alright?” she presses because she knows. Mothers always know.
“I’m okay,” you assure her. “I’m just needing some time alone but don’t worry about me. Enjoy your vacation.”
She sounds unconvinced, but she lets it go. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be home soon,” she says softly.
“Okay,” you reply. “Oh—do you still have the spare key somewhere?”
“Yes. Under one of the potted plants.”
You smile faintly. “Enjoy your trip, Mom.”
“I will. Bye, sweetheart.”
With that, the call ends and you crouch down by the pots, fingers brushing against cool ceramic until you find the spare key. You unlock the door and step inside, dragging your suitcase behind you.
The house wraps around you immediately. Warm. Familiar. Lived-in. Changing but also the same — in a way. You stand there for a moment, taking it all in—the faint scent of home, the quiet that isn’t lonely. Then you head upstairs, each step echoing with memory, until you reach your room.
It’s just as you left it. Your books are still lining the shelf, your desk still organized the way you like it, the bedsheets are the same but you catch the smell of detergent, your mom must have washed it like she knows that you’ll come home.
You drop your bag and collapse onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to you. The mattress welcomes you like it always has, and before you can think too much, you drift into an easy, dreamless sleep.
-
You wake up late the next day, sunlight spilling lazily across your room.
For a moment, you don’t know where you are and a second later, it settles. You’re home. You’re in the bedroom where you grew up with the quiet that doesn’t demand anything from you. You stretch beneath the blankets and realize, with mild surprise, that you feel… good.
It’s the best sleep you’ve had in a long time. Deep and uninterrupted, without dreams tugging you awake or your mind racing ahead to the next obligation. You lie there a little longer, staring at nothing, and it feels strange not having to immediately decide what to do next.
Your phone is silent because Lucy has always been good at shielding you when you need it most. No emails. No calls. No emergencies sneaking their way through. Eventually, you get up and wander downstairs, padding into the kitchen for a late breakfast.
You eat slowly, realizing halfway through that the fridge is mostly empty. You should probably do some grocery shopping. The thought doesn’t stress you out. It almost feels… normal.
In the afternoon, you take your mom’s car and drive with the windows down, letting the town guide you. Streets curve into familiarity, muscle memory taking over as if you never left. You pull over across from your old high school without really meaning to.
The soccer field is alive with players running drills, voices carrying faintly through the air. You watch from the car, smiling softly as memories surface. Sitting on the bleachers. Lunch breaks spent laughing. Watching Chris practice while pretending you weren’t. Aaron and Walcott being loud and impossible.
It feels distant, but not gone.
You start the car again and keep driving. You stop for a quick lunch and coffee, savoring both without rushing, then head to the supermarket, listless but content. You push the trolley down the aisles without much thought, tossing things in as they catch your eye.
Snacks you haven’t had in years. Drinks your mom always said were too sweet. Something frozen, something indulgent, something you’ll probably regret later. You don’t stop yourself. You’re not meal-planning. You’re just… choosing.
Only when the trolley starts to look a little ridiculous do you pause and squint at it. You’re grocery shopping like a kid with adult money.
“Okay,” you mutter to yourself. “Maybe some fruits.”
Balance. As someone would say.
You steer toward the fresh produce aisle, grab a thin plastic bag and start filling it with tangerines, testing their weight in your palm, choosing out of instinct instead of skill.
That’s when you think you hear your name and you ignore it because this town is full of echoes and old memories. You focus on twisting the bag closed when a trolley skids to a stop just a little too close to yours.
You slowly turn to the side and find someone smiling at you like she’s been sure all along.
“I knew it was you,” Celia says.
Your face breaks open immediately. “Oh my God—Celia!”
You step forward without thinking and pull her into a hug, the kind that’s easy and warm and unguarded, like no time has passed at all. You linger there with Celia between the rows of fruit, trolleys forgotten, talking like no time ever slipped through your fingers.
She asks about your work first and you give her the light version because you don’t want to give the impression that you’re bragging about your success, and she listens with genuine interest, nodding along like she always did.
Then she tells you about her life. About settling down. About how different things feel now, quieter but fuller. She laughs as she talks, eyes bright, and at some point she reaches out and holds both of your hands.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says softly. “I was so surprised when I saw you.”
“I’m taking some time off work,” you explain. “Just… breathing for a bit.”
Something flickers across her face—recognition, maybe. Carefully, gently, she says, “I heard about the news.”
You don’t have to asks to know what she means. You nod once. “Yeah.”
“I’m really sorry,” she adds, squeezing your hands.
“It’s okay,” you say, and you mean it enough.
Thankfully, she doesn’t linger there. Instead, her face lights up like she’s been holding onto something exciting. “Oh! I’m having a baby shower tomorrow afternoon.”
It’s only then that you really look at her and notice the curve beneath her sweater.
“Oh my god,” you coo, instinctive and soft. “Celia. Congratulations.”
She laughs, cheeks pink, squeezing your hands tighter. “Please come tomorrow. I really want you there.”
“I’d love to,” you say, then hesitate. “But are you sure it’s okay?”
“Of course it is,” she says immediately. “It’ll be fun. Please?”
You can’t bring yourself to say no when she looks at you like that. And maybe—maybe you do need this. Time with someone who knows you, who remembers you from before everything got complicated.
For old time’s sake, you smile and nod. “Okay. I’ll come.”
Her smile blooms on the heart-shaped face, the same as it was back in high school. It strikes you then how some people don’t change much at all.
You help her load her grocery bags into the back of her car, chatting about nothing and everything. Before she gets in, she reminds you once more about tomorrow, pointing playfully at you like she doesn’t trust you not to forget.
You promise you won’t and with that, she waves as she drives off, leaving you standing there with your trolley and a warmth in your chest you didn’t expect.
Maybe coming home was the right idea after all.
-
Later that night, you eat dinner at the small kitchen table—something you cooked yourself, thrown together without a recipe or much thought. It’s probably not the healthiest thing you’ve ever made, but it’s warm and filling and yours. You actually enjoy it, which surprises you.
Afterward, you open a bottle of wine. You pour yourself a glass and carry it to the sofa, settling in with your legs tucked beneath you. It’s funny that you almost forgot how to spend your free time.
Out of curiosity more than anything else, you call Lucy and she picks up immediately. “Just so you know, the company is doing just fine without you.”
You chuckle. “I figured.”
She gives you a quick rundown anyway. Just enough to reassure you that the world hasn’t ended because you stepped away for a few days.
“So,” she says at last, “how’s your vacation?”
You swirl the wine in your glass. “I forgot I sent my mom on a cruise for her birthday, so I’m alone.”
She laughs softly. “That tracks.”
You hesitate, then add, “The bad news is… everyone knows about the canceled wedding.”
“That means you’re famous,” Lucy simply comments. “So what’s the other good news?”
You smile faintly. “I ran into a friend from high school. She invited me to her baby shower tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Lucy says easily.
“I think so too.” You pause to put away your glass of wine. “Can you help me figure out what to get her? I’m terrible at baby gifts.”
“I’ll make you a list,” she promises. “Send you options.”
“Thank you.”
“And,” Lucy adds gently, “enjoy your time there.”
You nod even though she can’t see it. “I will. Goodnight, Lucy.”
“Goodnight.”
The call ends, and the quiet settles back in. You sip your wine slowly, alone again and then the thought slips in, uninvited.
If Celia knows about your canceled wedding… does Chris know too?
-
The bell above the door chimes softly when you step into the flower shop, the air thick with the scent of fresh blooms. You wander between buckets of flowers, fingers brushing over petals, eventually settling on something bright and gentle that feels right for Celia.
The florist wraps the bouquet carefully. You thank them, step back outside, and unlock your car.
That’s when you see him or think you do.
Across the street, between rows of small shops, there’s a familiar shape. Broad shoulders. An easy stride. For half a second, your breath catches. Your eyes follow instinctively as the man turns, the profile almost right, almost unmistakable—
But then he steps into a café and the glass door swinging shut before you can take a good look at the person. You stand there, bouquet cradled in your arms, heart thudding far too fast for something that’s probably nothing. But then, this town is full of people who resemble memories if you stare long enough. So you tell yourself it’s not him. It can’t be. It’s just coincidence. You shake your head lightly, dismiss the thought, and slide into your car.
Fifteen minutes later, you pull up in front of Celia’s house and sit there for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel. A few cars are already parked along the curb. Laughter spills faintly from inside. You exhale, feeling suddenly out of place. Crowds like this still make you uneasy—you’d rather be in a room full of businessmen where motives are clear and conversations are transactional. This kind of gathering comes with expectations you’re never quite sure how to meet.
Still, you step inside, scanning the room instinctively for Celia first. You find her near a growing pile of gifts, glowing in a floral dress that hugs her baby bump beautifully. She’s mid-conversation when you call her name softly, trying to be mindful as to not interrupt.
Her face lights up instantly and pulls you into a quick hug, presses her cheek to yours, and laughs softly. You hand her the bouquet you picked up on the way over.
“Your baby shower gift is still on the way so I bought this,” you say apologetically.
“Thank you for even coming,” she waves it off. “And this is perfect.”
She looks around to find someone and when she finally does, she calls someone over—a tall man with kind eyes and neatly kept facial hair. She pulls him to her side before introducing you, and he smiles warmly, shaking your hand.
Celia steers you toward the refreshment table and pours you a drink. You lean closer to her, lowering your voice. “It’s funny—I ran into Aaron a couple of weeks ago.”
Her brows lift in surprise but her smile never wavers for a second.
You hesitate, then add, “I always thought you two were endgame.”
She chuckles softly. “We did pretty good. We made it through college but then broke up not long after because he got busy with his family business.”
You nod because you understand too well what distance can do. So are time and space.
Then, gently, she asks, “What about you and Chris?”
You blink, feigning innocence. “What about us?”
She scoffs playfully. “Please. There was always something about you two.”
You let out a humorless laugh. “Well, you know, nothing happened. We went our separate ways.”
Her smile softens in understanding. Thankfully, the conversation doesn’t linger. She places a comforting hand at the small of your back and guides you toward the living room where the other guests are gathering.
You recognize a few faces from high school who mostly came here with their spouses, children, or both. But the ones gathered in this room are women as the men takes over the back yard with the children.
You softly greet the people you know and offer a polite smile to the ones you’ve just met. Your smile drops just slightly when you see her. Cheryl. Older now, but the smugness hasn’t faded.
You sit on the far end of the sofa with Celia beside you, as far from Cheryl as possible. You decide to not acknowledge her presence and take a sip of your drink, briefly wishing it contained alcohol.
Conversation drifts easily but they’re mostly about children, marriages, routines. You lean toward Celia and whisper, “I didn’t know you were friends with Cheryl.”
Celia murmurs back, “She’s married to the mayor’s son so I kind of invited her out of courtesy.”
You nod, understanding.
Cheryl soon launches into a story about her family—how her son is a spitting image of his father, how accomplished her husband is, how impressive his family’s influence has become. The others nod politely, murmuring praise. And then, she turns to you.
“And you? Do you have anything to share?” she asks.
“Not much,” you reply calmly. “Work keeps me busy.”
She tilts her head, feigning sympathy. “I heard about your canceled wedding. That must’ve been… sad.”
You kind of expected that to happen because some people only change shape but they’re the same inside. And apparently, Cheryl still has a bully mentality. Instead of stooping to her level, you remain calm and unfazed.
“I appreciate your concern,” you say evenly. “But it’s behind me now. I’m focusing on my career.”
You think that’s the end of it and that everyone in this room is grown and mature enough not to cause drama.
“I think it’s just sad,” Cheryl continues, “that you don’t get to experience being a wife. Or a mother.”
Celia stiffens beside you, about to speak but you gently place a hand on her arm. Giving her a look that says I’ve got this. You meet Cheryl’s gaze and smile before speaking.
“Yeah. I’m single. Not married. No kids.” You honestly admit because there’s no need to feel embarrassed about it. “But I’ve built something I’m proud of. I created an app that helps people, employs people. My company is thriving. And most importantly, I’m no longer insecure enough to tear someone else down just to feel better about myself.”
Silence.
A few women shift uncomfortably. Someone clears their throat. Others sip their drinks, faint smiles tugging at their lips. Cheryl doesn’t say another word but you notice the way she purses her lips together like she’s holding herself back from exploding.
Celia squeezes your hand gratefully and stands, clapping her hands together. “Alright, ladies. Let’s start opening gifts!”
The room softens once the gifts are opened. You watch Celia glow as she unwraps tiny clothes and thoughtful presents, her smile full in a way that makes you happy for her without the ache you expected.
You stay for another hour after that, enjoying the food and drinks, talking with people you know from school. When the afternoon begins to wind down, you step aside with Celia.
“I had a really nice time,” you tell her honestly.
She exhales, then leans in a little closer. “I’m sorry about Cheryl.”
You smile softly. “It’s okay.”
She lowers her voice, conspiratorial. “Just so you know, most of the guests don’t like her either.”
That makes you laugh and you hold her hand as you remind her once again. “My gift is still on the way.”
She squeezes your hands back as she talks. “Thank you. Really. For even showing up and let me brag about having a successful friend like you.”
Right on cue, her husband joins you, slipping an arm around her waist. You take the chance to thank them properly—for the invitation, for the warmth, for making you feel welcome.
“Thank you for having me,” you say.
They both smile, sincere and kind. In that moment, you can see why they’re married and very certain about it.
“Thank you for coming,” Celia’s husband says with a kind smile.
You wish them a goodnight, one last congratulations, and then you’re back outside, the evening air cool against your skin. You get into your car and sit there for a moment before starting the engine, feeling lighter than you did when you arrived.
And you honestly enjoyed the baby shower. More than that—you enjoyed standing your ground. Not because you’ve been holding onto resentment, but because Cheryl pushed, and for once, you didn’t fold. You didn’t shrink. You didn’t swallow it down and pretend it didn’t hurt. Looking back at it, you don’t know why you were so afraid to stand up for yourself but now, you’re glad you did.
You smile to yourself as the road stretches ahead, then realize there’s no one to share that small, quiet victory with. So you call Lucy and put her on speaker, the phone resting in the cup holder.
The second she picks up, you don’t even say hello. “You will not believe the day I’ve had.”
She laughs. “The baby shower?”
“It was actually… really nice,” you admit. “Celia and her husband were so welcoming. They’re genuinely happy, Lucy. It was—nice to see.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums knowingly. “… And?”
You scoff. “Cheryl the bully was there.”
“Of course she was.”
“She’s still the same bitter girl,” you continue, turning onto your block. “But I didn’t let her get away with it this time. I didn’t even raise my voice. I just—”
Your words trail off as you notice a car parked outside the house. It’s one that you know for sure doesn’t belong to one of your neighbors. Your grip tightens on the steering wheel, alarmed.
“Lucy,” you say quickly, eyes narrowing. “I’ll call you back.”
“Wait, what—”
You hang up to focus on pulling into the driveway slowly, heart starting to beat a little faster now. You turn the engine off, gather your bag, and step out of the car.
You sprint to your porch so if anything happens, you’ll make it safely into your house. As you unlock the door, you’re squinting through the darkness, trying to make out the shape of the unfamiliar car. Then—
You see movements from inside the car and then a soft click. The car door swings open and someone steps out from the driver’s side.
You can’t see this person. Just a silhouette shifting, coming closer. You have your hand on the doorknob, ready to slip into the house. But then the person takes a few more steps forward, into the spill of light from your front porch.
Your heart skips a beat the second you recognize him. Chris. And your heart starts beating even faster.
You stand there on the porch as Chris climbs the steps slowly, like he’s not entirely sure that it’s really you. The porch light catches his face properly now—older, sharper around the edges, but unmistakably him. His brows knit together, eyes searching yours like he needs confirmation.
He exhales, almost to himself. “It’s really you.”
You don’t think he means for you to hear it, but you do. A smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
“Hi,” you manage, the word catching awkwardly in your throat.
“Hey.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing toward the door behind you. “I was downtown earlier and saw your mom’s bakery was closed, so I thought I’d stop by. Didn’t expect to—” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at you. “—see you.”
Oh, God, you were right. It was him you were seeing earlier downtown. You hold back from smiling and calm yourself down. “I’m taking a few days off work,” you simply explain. “I’m home for a bit.”
He nods, and something softens in his expression—surprise, yes, but also relief. “I’m… glad you’re here.”
You swallow and mindlessly answer, “Me too.”
The awkwardness settles between you, thick but not unpleasant. It makes sense. Years don’t disappear just because you’re standing on the same porch again. He seems to feel it too, letting out a quiet chuckle.
“I should probably go.”
“Do you want to come in?”
You and Chris say at the same time and a second later, you both burst into soft laughter.
“You first,” he says with a soft, almost shy smile.
“Do you want to come in?”
He looks at you, then grins. God. You missed that grin. “I think this has been sufficiently awkward for one night and I parked too long outside your house so I should probably go.”
You laugh softly. “Yeah. Fair.”
He hesitates, then looks at you again. “What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. If you don’t have plans. We could… try this again.” He pauses. “Or if you do have plans—”
“I don’t,” you say too quickly. “I don’t have anything planned.”
His smile widens. “Cool. Tomorrow afternoon works for you?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ll pick you up then,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah,” you echo.
He looks like he wants to say more from the way his mouth opens, then closes. Instead, he steps down one stair, turns back, and says quietly, sincerely, “I’m really happy to see you.”
Your voice trembles just a little. “I’m really happy to see you too.”
Your eyes meet, and the moment stretches—full of everything you don’t say, everything you’re afraid to name. Then he smiles, softer now.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
He walks down the rest of the steps. You stay where you are, watching as he reaches his car. Before getting in, he turns back and lifts a hand in a small wave.
You wave back and don’t move until his car pulls away and disappears down the street, leaving you alone on the porch with a racing heart, a promise for tomorrow, and the unmistakable feeling that something long buried has just begun to breathe again.
-
The next day, afternoon slips by in a blur of indecision.
You change outfits more times than you’d ever admit to anyone, muttering under your breath as you stare at the limited selection hanging in your childhood closet. You curse yourself for not packing more or better clothes. And you don’t even know what this is. A hangout. A reunion. Something in between. Is it casual or…
Anyway, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. But you also don’t want to look like you didn’t try at all.
Eventually, you settle on something simple—a floral dress and white sneakers. Casual but also cute. For the first time in a long while, you actually do your hair, blow-drying it carefully, watching yourself in the mirror with a focus you haven’t given your reflection in months.
You’re not sure what time Chris will come by, but you want to be ready anyway.
So you wait downstairs. You snack on grapes straight from the bowl, pacing between the kitchen and the window, glancing outside far too often. You repeatedly tell yourself that this is probably nothing. Just two old friends catching up. Dinner, maybe. Conversation.
That shouldn’t make you this nervous but when a car finally pulls into the driveway, your heart lurches violently. You nearly choke on a grape, coughing as you scramble for a glass of water to wash it down. You smooth your dress, wipe your hands on your jeans, and school your expression into something calm like you absolutely did not just wait for him for the last hour.
The knock comes and you wait a beat to seem normal before opening the door with a smile. “Oh,” you say lightly, feigning surprise, “you’re here.”
Chris grins. “Hi.”
“Please, come in,” you say as you step aside, opening the door wider. And it feels strange to say it since Chris used to come in like he owns the house.
He walks in, and for a second, the air is thick with things that you can’t name.
Before it can turn awkward, you offer quickly, “Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks,” he kindly refuses with a soft smile.
“Well, uh… I just need to grab my bag upstairs,” you tell him.
“I’ll be waiting.”
With that, you head up the stairs. In your room, you pause at the vanity, applying a fresh layer of lipstick, spritzing a little more perfume than necessary. You grab your bag and take a breath before heading back down. Your heart starts to race again when you see him waiting at the base of the stairs.
He looks good—effortlessly so—in a dark sweater and blue jeans. You stop for a moment, just long enough to take him in, before continuing down. He looks up and smiles when he sees you.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod, pulse fluttering in your chest. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
-
✨ EVENTUALLY: FOREVER is available on Patreon ✨
Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!
CW: swearing, slow burn (not everyone’s cup of tea), public nudity, oral sex (m&f), rough sex, domination, groping, choking, consensual slapping, masterbation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, blow job, fingering, MinSung, Bang Chan being a total Daddy and more.
Author’s Note: Just wanted to say thank you to my bestie @toomanybiasesforthisurl for giving me the courage to post this. I couldn’t have done it without you, bb. Go check out her stuff, she’s amazing! I was obviously VERY inspired by The kNOw Way Ep. 03, can you blame me? It’s incredibly long, over 15k words, but when it comes to Channie, how could you possibly put a limit on perfection? This is my first fic in well over a decade, so please be kind and enjoy!
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“Come on, you have to come! We always have the best time, the three of us! Plus, you cancelled last time, you owe me!” Jisung whines over the phone, attempting to convince you to join him and Minho on a last minute camping trip. You can hear grumbling in the background, already recognizing Min‘s annoyed remarks, telling Ji to not push his luck. The giggle you had been suppressing over the course of the conversation slips out, your mind having already been made up that you were going, but wanting to tease your best friend, even just for a little bit longer.
“I don’t know, Sungie, it‘s my first weekend off in a while. I kinda wanted to stay home and, ya know, relax. Maybe read?”
“READ?! You would honestly rather stay home and read instead of spending time with your bestie?! Ugh, no wonder you‘re single y/nnie, you have absolutely no social life outside of work and books. Don‘t you want to go out, have some fun? PLEASE?!“ the dramatic begging that is spewing out of your best friend’s mouth right now is too much, laughter erupting from your chest. ”Hyung, talk some sense into her! She listens to you!“ you hear some frantic shuffling on the other line, imagining Jisung attempting to shove the phone to his boyfriend‘s ear, knowing all too well that Lee Know does not allow anyone to force him into doing anything he doesn‘t deem necessary. However, he does have a sweet spot for our precious, Ji.
”Hi, Noona.“ Minho‘s voice comes across in an annoyed huff, the nickname he has always had for you despite the only few month age difference between the two of you causing you to roll your eyes. ”If you’d rather stay cooped up in a book, fine. But if you have any affection for me and my sanity, you will say yes so this maniac will leave me alone.“ You can hear the sulkiness coming off of Jisung through the phone as he starts to defend his integrity in the background, not needing the phone to be directly against his mouth, his voice easily carrying through the speaker.
At this point, you’re practically doubled over, sides burning from laughing so hard, your dear friends brightening your glum day at work, the call taking place during your lunch hour. It was Friday and you had been working overtime the last few weeks, preparing for an important meeting at work. You were dying to have a weekend off, to yourself, to relax, but when you got the frantic call from Han, you knew your weekend plans had already been made.
“Alright, alright, FINE. I will go camping this weekend. Only because you begged me to, Minho.” The outrage that erupts from Han over the phone that it was his idea in the first place to invite you and that Lee Know only wanted it to be the two of them that weekend, despite Han‘s fear of bugs and physical labor. Your laughter fills the call once again, the ache from the lack of air in your lungs growing steadily.
“Great, we will pick you up first thing tomorrow morning. Be ready by, let’s say 7:00?” Lee Know sounded so calm and collected, camping being one of his hobbies and a common activity he partakes in while Han, on the other hand, could be heard babbling in the background about 7 being too early and real human beings aren‘t even alive at that time of day. Lee Know‘s chuckles fill your ears, you can practically envision the chaotic scene of Han stressing out before him, Lee’s hands gently rubbing his boyfriend‘s thigh, attempting to calm him. They are complete opposites as far as temperament, but the love that flows between the two of them makes all the sense in the world when you see them together.
The vision of the loving interaction between your two friends pulls your mind back to Jisung‘s comment “this is why you’re still single, y/nnie”, a momentary flash of envy crosses your body, but quickly disappears. Yes, you had been single for a while, but you enjoyed your life on your own. You can do what you want, whenever you want. Focus on your career, your hobbies. Plus, it‘s not like it‘s due to a lack of trying. The dating pool these days just sucks.
“I‘ll be ready! See you then! Bye, babes!” You go to hang up as you hear Ji start up again on the other end of the call, whining at Min that he wasn‘t done talking to me and that 7 In the morning was still entirely too early to start the day. The call ends, a smile plastered on your face, a positive feeling filling your body. Maybe this camping trip is exactly what you needed.
7:00 on the nose, you are packed and ready to head out into the great outdoors with your two best friends. You quickly adjust your hair in the mirror by your front door, waiting for the usual text you receive from Ji when him and Min have arrived at your place. A car horn beeps from outside your apartment, you ignore it as you continue fussing with your hair, your outfit, knowing that if something is just slightly out of place or not up to his standards, Minho’s side eye is a killer and will destroy you on the spot. Another blare of the horn sounds from outside. You look at the time, 7:06. It’s not unusual for Jisung to be running late, much to Minho‘s dismay. You quickly glance out the window. Nope, Lee Know’s car isn‘t parked out front in his usual spot. You send a quick text to Ji.
YOU
’Running late again?;)’
Three dots appear and then a response.
SUNGIE
‘Oh! Just go on out front, there was a small change of plans! See you soonㅋㅋㅋ‘
Change of plans? Maybe they rented a different car for the weekend? Another blare of a car horn goes off, irritating you slightly. You grab your bags and head down to the front of your building as you were told.
A cool breeze hits your face as you step out onto the front steps of your apartment building, a nice change compared to the heat and humidity that had been ever so present the last few weeks, causing your air conditioning at home to soar and most likely, your utility bill. You glance up and down the street, looking for either Jisung or Minho‘s faces amongst the parked cars. Your eyes lock onto another familiar face, however, confusion evident on your own as you register who it is.
“Chan? What are you doing here?” You call out to the familiar face in the car parked just to the left of your apartment complex. Another blare of the car horn you‘ve been hearing the last 10 minutes erupts from that same car, a smirk plastering itself onto the driver’s dimpled face.
Chan was a close friend of Minho’s and he also worked with Sungie, making him a common topic of conversation at the MinSung household. You had hung out with him a few times, house parties or holiday events thrown by Jisung, causing you and Chan to mingle every so often. You wouldn‘t necessarily say you were friends, more so friendly acquaintances. Sure, you got along well and he was a nice guy, but you had never seen him in your neighborhood and you knew for a fact that you have never given him your address, so your shock to see him waving you over to his car was obvious in your demeanor. You hesitantly walked over, shifting your bags awkwardly on your shoulders.
“What happened to being ready at 7:00? You know Minho is a stickler for time, as am I. Didn’t you hear the horn?” Chan questioned you through the open window of his car as you approached, a joking tone in his voice layered with slight annoyance at your tardiness. You raised your brows.
“What are you talking about? I’m waiting for Ji and Min to pick me up? How did you know about the 7:00 pick up?” the words come stuttering out of your mouth, your confusion drowning out any sort of ability to figure out what was happening. Chan‘s grin only grows the more flustered you appear, a chuckle leaving his lips as your hands rest themselves on your hips, eyes narrowing.
“What are you smiling about? What is going on?“
”They really didn‘t tell you? I‘m going camping with you guys. Minho invited me. Apparently, there were some issues getting Han out of bed this morning and Min is such a stickler for time, he asked if I could pick you up and drive you to the campsite. We are going to meet the two of them there.”
“Well, that’s news to me! A heads up would’ve been nice, although I‘m not surprised about Ji being difficult to get up, he’s not the best morning person. ” You giggle at the thought of what a mess Minho was dealing with, Jisung probably gripping onto their bed for dear life once he realized what time it was. The smile on Chan’s face softens a bit, his eyes crinkling in the outer corners.
“As long as you‘re ready, we are already 20 minutes behind schedule and it’s a bit of a drive to the campsite. Wanna hop in?” Chan lightly taps his hand on the passenger seat, shooting you a wink that causes you to roll your eyes. Yup, that‘s the Chan you‘ve come to know, charming beyond belief and a complete flirt. The few times you’ve talked with him at parties, he has almost always gotten you to blush, his corny pick up lines and charisma infectious even in the most mundane of conversations. You open the passenger door and slide into the seat, tossing your bags into the back of the car.
The ride to the campsite was pleasant. Easy small talk that never felt forced, Chan always seeming to be genuinely interested in whatever you had to say. The two of you talked about all the usual things: work, hobbies, ’have you seen that new movie’, typical small talk that seemingly always snakes itself into long car rides with new acquaintances. It was definitely enjoyable, the questions and answers flowing freely.
This was the longest you‘ve ever truly interacted with Chan and you can see why Minho and Ji talk so highly of him. He‘s such an easy-going, down to earth person, someone you could easily tell all of your deepest, darkest secrets to without fear of judgement. As you talk back and forth with Chan, you find yourself glancing over at him frequently. Your eyes rake down his face, checking out the handsome features that make up the man next to you. His hair is styled, but you can see the natural wave to it beneath the black beanie he’s wearing, silver hoops adorning his ears, dimples flashing every time he grins or speaks. His lips plump, looking pillow soft and the perfect frame for his bright smile that he keeps shooting your way.
“Y/n? You okay?” Chan‘s smooth voice pulls you immediately out of your dazed state, your eyes darting to the windshield, cheeks heating up as you realize you‘ve been staring. You can practically hear the cocky grin on his face as he says “Like what you see?” with a chuckle. Your face burns, your mind frantically searching for a snarky retort. When nothing comes to you, laughter bursts from Chan’s chest, him thankfully dropping the subject after that. You pull your phone out of your pocket.
YOU
‘Ji WTF’
SUNGIE
’idk what you‘re talking about‘
YOU
’YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT’
SUNGIE
‘See you soon xoxo’
And with that, you spend the remainder of the car ride staring at your phone, no longer trusting yourself to not stare at anything else around you.
The campsite was not really your typical pull up an RV and park, close enough to civilization to get late night snacks if needed, family-friendly type of site. It was quite literally in the middle of nowhere, where no one would be able to find you if you didn‘t want them to. No phone service, no easy access to bathrooms. The exact type of place Lee Know would choose for a weekend away in the wilderness. You can imagine Han‘s complete distaste at the realization, making you wish to be a fly on the wall in MinSung‘s car once they pull into the parking area.
Chan places his car in park, gathering his things before turning his gaze to you. You attempt to keep your eyes locked ahead of you, staring out through the windshield at the stretch of woods before you. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you, your peripheral vision picking up the smirk on his face. Just as you were about to cave and turn your head towards him, Lee Know and Han‘s car pulls in next to you, a mess of waves and muffled “HEY BABY!“ screeches coming from behind the car windows. Han is practically climbing into the drivers seat to greet you, smushing Minho deeper into his spot behind the wheel. Giggles burst from you, the heavy air in Chan‘s car thinning out as your best friend distracts you from the handsome man still seated next to you.
Once the four of you have your bags loaded up and the cars locked, you set off on the lengthy hike it takes to get to your actual campsite. Jisung is already complaining about the walk ahead, Minho casually grabbing his hand and bringing the other man‘s knuckles to his lips in a sweet kiss. This causes Ji to short circuit and immediately relax into the tender moment, per usual. Minho knows just how to calm his man down in the most loving ways, a side of him saved for Hannie and Hannie only. You smile, the scene before you always making you feel warm inside, content in knowing that your best friend in the whole world is loved and cared for.
As you watch, you feel the familiar sensation of eyes on you. Turning to your right, Chan stands there, looking at you with a sweet grin on his face. When you lock eyes, he winks, receiving yet another eye roll from you as you begin following the other guys, Chan trailing behind you.
The hike wasn‘t terrible despite Han’s complaints. The only problem that arose was when you met a small, rocky incline, not too far from the site. You took a step up, attempting to follow Min and Han, but a rock shifted beneath your foot, causing you to lose your balance and fall backwards. A yelp leaves your mouth as you stumble back, your arms flailing to grasp onto nothing until you‘re met with the sturdy, muscular chest belonging to Chan, your shadow the entire hike. With your full body weight falling into him, he easily sweeps you up into his arms, shocking you at the ease. Your arms instinctively throw themselves around his neck, broad shoulders beneath them, the press of your bodies allowing you to feel the lean muscles in his chest and arms. Your eyes, wide from the shock of tripping, lock onto Chan’s, his gaze never leaving yours.
“Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want anyone getting hurt.” He practically purrs, his voice deep, almost a whisper. His eyes dart briefly from your own, down to your lips, and back up again. If you hadn‘t been so close, you might’ve missed it. Your throat goes dry and you awkwardly attempt to remove yourself from his arms. He releases you with ease. A warm rumble of laughter leaves him when you give him a curt “thanks” and brush off your hands on your jeans.
The rest of the hike, any stumble or small glitch in your movements, Chan is there, grabbing your hand or placing his on the small of your back to steady you. You realized quickly just how touchy-feely he can be, not in a perverted way, but a protective way. You try to not show any sort of reaction, but the butterflies in your stomach betray you any time you feel his touch.
Finally reaching the campsite, Jisung leaps for joy, his cruel punishment of hiking through the wilderness finally over. Minho simply grins as he watches his boyfriend celebrate. Laughter erupts throughout the group as Ji stumbles in his celebration and ends up on the ground in a lump. Chan gives him a hand back up before walking over to help Min start unpacking. Ji takes this moment to pull you off to the side.
“Hey, are you okay? Minho-hyung said you tripped? I had no idea, I was too busy trying to keep myself upright!”
“Oh, it was nothing, just a stumble. Chan actually caught me before anything serious happened.” You shoot Ji an annoyed look when a smirk blooms across his face at the news. “What?“
”He caught you, huh? Wow, I bet that was exciting. How was your ride here, by the way? Cozy? Isn’t Chris great?“ You can hear the cocky edge to his voice, the questions spewing out of his mouth like a freight train. One part causes you to pause.
”Wait, Chris? Who is Chris?“ you ask, confusion written plainly on your face. Jisung‘s eyes widen momentarily before returning to their normal boba size.
”Chan is Chris. Chris is Chan. You had an entire drive here and didn‘t properly introduce yourselves? Like really, you need to work on your people skills, y/nnie.“ you punch his arm lightly, getting an offended and overly dramatic yelp in return. Before you can explain or defend yourself, an overly obnoxious ‘OH NO’ rips your attention over to where Lee Know and Chan/Chris are standing, assembling bits of a tent.
Minho has his hands placed theatrically on his cheeks, his mouth forming an “o” as he stares down at the tent packages. You see his gaze lock with Han’s, earning a grin from his partner before dragging his gaze over to yours. You feel a knot form in your gut as a knowing glint sparkles in his eyes, eyelids narrowing slightly.
”We must’ve left one of the tents back
home. Looks like Chan-ah and Noona are shacking up for weekend.“ an evil smirk plays at his lips.
”Oh, that’s really unfortunate. I must’ve forgotten to pack it. What a pity.“ Jisung dramatically throws his forearm across his face, convincing no one of his sorrow for the tragedy unfolding. Your eyes immediately dart over to where Chan is standing, his eyes already locked on you. Your cheeks flush slightly at the attention, those damn butterflies in your stomach having a field day. Chan shrugs his massive shoulders.
”I‘m fine with sharing. We can survive a couple nights together, right y/n?“ You swallow hard at the playful look in his eyes, a sudden nervousness settling within you. Aware that everyone is now staring at you, you relax your stance a bit and cross your arms, sticking your hip out slightly.
”We are all adults here. No big deal. Just try to keep your hands to yourself there, Chris.“ You say jokingly, earning chuckles from both Lee Know and Hannie. Chan’s eyes never leave yours, a darkness settling within his.
”I’ll do my best, sweetheart.“ Your stomach drops, butterflies dead on impact. Oh shit.
The morning bleeds into the afternoon, setting up the tents and random camping furniture Lee Know had packed taking much longer than it should have thanks to Jisung‘s complete lack of ability to follow directions. After their tent collapses for a third time, Hannie was placed in a folding chair off to the side, instructed to stay put by his significant other in a huff. This did not upset your best friend in the slightest, giving you the feeling that that had been his plan all along, smug grin appearing on his face after he takes his seat. You giggle as he wags his eyebrows at you, confirming your suspicions and you glance in Minho’s direction, noting the cute smile on his face despite his annoyance.
To make up for his lack of physical help, Han takes it upon himself to serenade the lot of you, belting out song after song from his internal playlist, never faltering on a run or pitch, his voice raspy and comforting. You smile to yourself as you continue working on your and Chan’s tent, lightly humming along to your friend’s voice. Without warning, another voice hops into the mix, jolting you out of your thoughts, eyes flying to the man working next to you. Chan is singing along with Han, their voices melting together, harmonizing beautifully.
You are stunned, unable to move as you listen to the melody. You knew Chan was involved in the music industry through his work with Ji, but never knew of the talent he possessed for singing until this very moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks, your breath catching slightly as Chan hits a high note perfectly, sending heat pooling deep in your belly. You thought he was handsome before, sure, but Chan is on a whole different level of attractive as he sings.
“You’re staring again, sweetheart.” Chan’s teasing voice brings you back to reality, realizing him and Ji had finished their duet, your eyes still locked on your tent mate. Your face flushes an even deeper crimson as you quickly avert your gaze, grasping manically at the side of the tent, acting as if you weren’t completely busted just now. Chan chuckles deeply, only fueling the heat in your cheeks, as well as your abdomen. Fuck, his voice is doing things to you and he knows it.
“Keep telling yourself that, Chris.” You retort, keeping your eyes pinned to the flap of tent held captive in your hands. A gasp leaves your throat as strong hands grab yours, causing your eyes to dart to the right of you, Chan standing so close to you now, you can feel the heat coming off his body, his natural musky scent filling your nose and clouding your thoughts. Your breathing comes out in soft pants as he peers down at you, his gaze heavy, making you feel small and meek.
“Getting awful comfortable calling me Chris today, be careful. You could stir up something you’re not prepared to handle…yet.” His voice is thick with unspoken promises, tongue poking playfully into his cheek before a sly grin spreads. You instinctively clench your thighs together, the heat in your belly starting to leak into your panties. His long fingers pry the tent fabric out of your hands, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your eyes never leave Chan’s, watching as his pupils dilate slightly the closer he gets to you.
“AHEM….” A throat clears behind the two of you, breaking the trance, you awkwardly stepping back from Chan and tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. Chan exhales deeply through his nose, eyes still locked on you. You both turn towards the noise to see Minho now seated in the lawn chair, smug expression evident in his handsome face while Jisung sits happily on the older man’s lap, fingers raking through Min’s hair. Eyes narrowed, Min chuckles at the two of you.
“Everybody getting along? I knew you would.” He teases, shooting you both knowing looks. You glare at him, throwing up your middle finger in retaliation. This brings out another bout of laughter from Min, Han lovingly pecking him on the cheek. Chan had already went back to finish setting up the tent behind you, the tension between you two now nonexistent, your focus having now switched fully to Lee Minho.
Annoyance creeps in as the light bulb goes off inside your head. They planned this. OF COURSE, the two troublemakers planned this, knowing you had been single for so long and them always commenting on how you should let them try to set you up with someone, despite your answer always being no. Never in your wildest dreams would you have ever considered that person to be Chan, always assuming with his good looks and charisma that he had plenty of female attention to keep him satisfied for life.
Just as you’re about to start lecturing the two lovers, Chan appears at your side, slinging a chiseled arm around your shoulder. Your knees feel weak, his natural musk overriding your senses. You bravely glance up to his face as he shoots you a wink, sending another wave of heat directly to your core. “Tent’s done, who’s hungry?”
Dusk settles on the campsite, with the sky turning shades of pink and orange, the silhouette of pine trees stark black in comparison. Minho and Chan have been taking turns grilling a variety of meats and vegetables while you and Ji gab about this and that. You haven’t had the nerve to bring up the situation between you and Chan from earlier, the warmth in your belly simmering still just by looking at him. He had slipped off his black hoodie a while ago, leaving him in a tight black tank top that perfectly highlights all of the ridges and hard lines of his muscled torso. It took absolutely everything in you to refrain from salivating. Jisung, although air headed most days, caught your yearning gaze towards Chan several times over the course of your gossip session, giving you heart eyes every time. You were shocked he hadn’t asked any questions about Chan up until this point, him not being the most patient of souls. Finally, he is seemingly unable to hold it in any longer and you brace for impact.
“Okay, baby, SPILL. What is going on with you two? That interaction earlier was HOT!” Fanning himself dramatically, you giggle and shush him, worried the two other men might overhear your conversation. You both erupt in squeals, catching some side-eyed glances from both Chan and Min before they continue their heated discussion about the best way to grill pork belly.
Your eyes once again land on Chan, staring at his broad shoulders and back as he leans over the grill, the fire casting shadows around him. He bends over further to grab a fallen wrapper from the meat packaging, putting his round ass on display through his shorts. You have to swallow a moan threatening to escape out of you. Ji’s eyes follow yours, then roll back to you. You tear your gaze away from Chan, not even trying to hide it anymore, meeting your besties knowing gaze.
“Oh, baby, you want him BAD.” Jisung can hardly contain his excitement, bouncing in his seat next to you. You shush him again, receiving yet another round of looks from the other two men, Chan’s eyes settling heavy on you for a second longer than necessary, briefly moving up and down your body. You hold his gaze, your panties dampening once again. A purr erupts from Han’s chest, “And it looks like he wants you back. We knew you two would hit it off!”
“So you admit that this was a set up? Some friends you are!” Han throws his hand to his chest, as if you hit him with a physical blow, jaw dropping in a look of utter disbelief. You can’t even begin to keep a straight face, the theatrics being played before you making it impossible.
“I would never! This was all totally Minho-hyung’s idea. He knows what he’s doing. Trust me, I am not the mastermind you make me out to be, babes.” Han glances down at his cuticles, crossing on leg over the other. Your laughter fills the campsite once again, the diva that is your best friend filling your heart with joy. You don’t allow the moment, however, let you forget, this was all Lee Minho’s doing. Oh, he’s got it coming.
“Alright, you two, come and get it while it’s hot or at least before Chan-ah eats it all straight off the grill!” Minho beckons for the two of you, Chan throwing a playful swing at Min, cheeks already full of chewed up food. You and Han laugh as you stand from your lawn chairs, rushing over to grab whatever food Chan hasn’t already devoured.
“ Okay, baby, let’s go! Come on!” Jisung is practically dragging Lee Know down a path, your dinner having been finished after a few drinks had been shared amongst the four of you. You aren’t much of a drinker unless you’re with Ji and Min, the lives of the party. Then, of course, you almost always get tipsy, at the very least. With the alcohol flowing, Ji had somehow convinced the group to take a late night dip in the lake that wasn’t too far from your campsite. You hadn‘t considered swimming an option when packing due to the welcomed drop in temperature this week, therefore neglecting to bring a bathing suit. Both Lee and Han convinced you that your bra and underwear would be just as much coverage as a bikini would, stating that they would even swim in their boxers to make it fair.
You noticed when the topic of you swimming in your bra and underwear came up, Chan got quiet, the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes watching you as you agreed to it with Ji and Min. You could’ve sworn you saw Chan reach down and adjust the front of his pants with his eyes squeezed shut, but got distracted by Jisung screeching “SKRRR” and throwing finger guns, breaking your focus. Chan seemed to distance himself from you for the remainder of the walk after that.
The lake expanded before you, stars reflecting off its surface, a gorgeous crescent moon hanging overhead. You stumble slightly at the edge of the water, the ground soft beneath your feet and your head airy from the alcohol. A light breeze blew past you, goosebumps blistering along your skin. To your surprise, the water itself was actually rather warm, you dipping your feet in after removing your shoes. You stand there for a bit , taking in the view, warm lake water enveloping your feet and the smell of campfire drifting on the breeze.
The tranquility is quickly stripped away as Hannie goes sprinting past you, diving into the water, bright pink watermelon underwear on full display, as promised. Minho, not too far behind him, struts himself in to the shallow water, carrying a large pool float with him. He’s never been much of a water lover. Underwear, once again, out and proud, causing you to giggle when you see the cat designs splayed across his butt. He shoots you a stern look, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. You wrinkle your nose and stick out your tongue at him, further teasing him. Before Min can retaliate, Jisung is calling out for him, splashing water in his direction.
Turning your back to the water, you grab the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it up and off of your torso, adjusting the lace straps of your bra before unbuttoning and sliding your jeans down your legs, the cool breeze hitting your bare ass as you had worn a thong today.
“Holy shit, y/n…” you about give yourself whiplash as you quickly lift your head, the voice startling you, your eyes locking on a shirtless Chan, his sculpted body on full display in the moonlight, shorts hanging loosely on his hips. You can make out the black waistband of his briefs, your eyes wishing they could move down further without being blocked by clothing. Dragging your gaze up to meet his, his eyes are wide, jaw dropped, staring hungrily at your figure. You try to cover yourself with your arms, slightly self conscious at the sudden attention. Your cheeks burn as he physically shakes his head side to side, like he is trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I-uh…just wow.” He breathes, taking in your body again, resting heavily on your chest, the lace doing very little to cover you.
“Hey, my eyes are up here, buddy.” You tease, confidence building thanks to his reaction to your figure as well as the alcohol still flowing inside you. Shockingly, Chan’s cheeks flush red, a shyness you haven’t witnessed from him up until now. His eyes dart away, seemingly trying to focus on something, anything, besides your body. It’s cute.
“TAKE IT OFF! OW OWWW!” Jisung howls from his perch on Minhos float in the lake, a rumble of laughter bellowing from both him and Min. The shyness you just witnessed from Chan quickly vanishes, a cheeky glint in his eyes as he throws up his middle finger towards the men in the water, while unbuttoning his pants with the other. You attempt to not stare, but can’t help watching him skillfully undo the button one handed, wondering what else he could possibly do with those strong hands and long fingers. Chan shoves his pants down in one fluid motion, his underwear catching slightly on the rough fabric, causing the waistband to glide further down his lower abdomen, the v shape his muscles form becoming more and more bare. You swallow hard, seeing Chan in nothing but a pair of tight briefs for the first time, unable to peel your eyes from the bulge of him, making your thighs tremble. Fuck, he is big. Not even hard, although you swear he might’ve stiffened up slightly, maybe from your brief interaction before Ji interrupted?
You lick your lips without thinking, both Ji and Min hooting and hollering from the lake. Chan grins ear to ear at them, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest before giggling and throwing his hands in the air, attempting to brush off their cheers. He glances over at you, eyes locking on yours, and reaches out one of his hands, silver chain bracelets jingling from the movement. “Need a hand?”
Your breath falters, but you recover quickly, nodding your head and grasping onto his outstretched hand with your own, turning so he can lead you into the water. Chan chuckles at how flustered you are, gripping your fingers tightly to keep you upright. The water is calm, the sand and rocks soft under your feet as Chan continues leading you out towards your friends. You take a step and suddenly trip, slipping on a slick rock on the lake floor. Chan grips onto you, the hand that had already been holding yours tight pulling up, his other reaching across your chest to steady your top half, his fingers grazing your breasts as they go.
You are breathless, his strong grip holding you up securely, face searching yours to make sure you’re alright. All you can think about in that moment is the feeling on his finger tips on your soft chest, disheveling the lace covering them in the heat of the moment. Chan’s eyes flick down to your bra and you watch as they widen slightly. He reaches up gently and adjusts the sheer cup, your entire breast essentially hanging out from the near fall. Your face flushes red, but his delicate touches and sweet dimpled smile he shoots at you afterwards quickly erases the embarrassment, comforting you in a way you know only he can.
“We- uh almost lost you there, eh? You’re awful clumsy, you know that?” Chan chuckles, flashing his dimples at you once again. “Why don’t you hop on my back? I’ll carry you out the rest of the way, just incase.” He winks at you, once again taking your breath away at his natural beauty. You simply nod, unable to form words, Chan guiding you to wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders. He places his palms on your plush thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze of reassurance before he pushes them back further towards your rear, feeling every bit of skin as you leap up into his arms. He hooks his hands under your thighs, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms squeezing around his neck as you steady yourself. The feeling of his strong back pressing against your front is intoxicating, you immediately feel the heat pool in your core. Chan lightly taps your forearm, gasping for air. You had been choking him slightly while lost in your thoughts about how the muscles of his back look when he moves, when he thrusts.
“Oh, shit! Chris, I’m so sorry!” You stumble over the words, absentmindedly rubbing his neck and shoulders with your hands, embarrassment and worry consuming you. Chan stiffens slightly, squeezing your thighs before letting out a huff of air.
“You have no idea what it does to me when you call me Chris.” You gulp as he gives your thighs a final squeeze, thumbs rubbing the tender skin there before wading out to finally meet up with Ji and Min, water resting just at hip height. Your mind races, excited to see just how far you can push this ‘Chris’ thing, butterflies returning to your belly.
“Took you guys long enough! It was getting so boring out here with mister scaredy cat!” Jisung whines, wanting to go deeper in the water, Minho anchoring him at that specific spot, unwilling to budge. “Let’s at least play a game! Please!” Ji begs, gripping onto Minho’s bicep, shaking it uncontrollably. Min rolls his eyes playfully, knowing he can’t say no to his Sungie.
Watching the two of them interact reminds you of Ji’s confession earlier, that this whole grand plan had been calculated by Lee Know himself, a need for payback growing within your chest. Have you enjoyed most of this trip with Chan?Of course, but you still can’t accept your friends scheming behind your back. Now’s your chance.
You shoot a devilish look to Minho, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Let’s play chicken.” Your eyes glimmer with mischief, Min still looking slightly confused, unsure of where you’re going with this. “Loser has to strip completely naked. No exceptions.” Hannie’s eyes widen, mouth forming an ‘o’ as he glances over to Minho, who is now throwing the same mischievous aura back at you.
“You really wanna play this game, Noona? You that confident that Chan-ah won’t fail? I’m stronger than I appear.” He grunts playfully, his eyes sparkling from the reflection of the stars on the water.
“Chris has me, don’t you, sweetheart?” You purr in his ear, not only using his name, but throwing the nickname he’s given you back at him. Thankfully, the alcohol is still affecting you, giving you the confidence needed to pull this off. This statement earns you a tight squeeze of your thighs, Chan shifting his weight underneath you. You can feel the growl deep in his chest, but place that in the back of your mind, your focus shifting back to Lee Minho. “Bring it, Lee.” You sneer, Chan giving a curt nod in agreement.
“LET THE GAMES BEGIN! LET’S GO!” Squeals Ji, taking that moment to pounce on his unsuspecting boyfriend, the two of them crashing into the water as if to mimic the sound of an opening ceremony blow horn. Han practically drowns Lee Know, using the older man’s body to push himself up out of the water, Min coming up, gasping for air shortly after. Both you and Chan explode with laughter, watching the two grown men argue back and forth, Min accusing Jisung of attempted manslaughter, Ji simply screaming “I love you” over and over again, trying to escape the wrath of his lover with cuteness.
“No way. You cheated! There is absolutely no way you guys won! I demand a rematch!” You bellow, MinSung cheering obnoxiously at your and Chan’s failure. Best out of 5 rounds and you lost. Plain and simple. You are standing next to Chan, still in waist deep water, hair drenched from the constant dunking. Chan, in all of his muscular glory, is actually huffing and puffing, apologizing profusely, mumbling nonsense about Minho being a beast and stronger than he’s ever seen him. Of course, the constant praise was going to Min’s head, him shooting you a teasing air-kiss with his lips and wagging his eyebrows as Han kisses his cheeks and neck profusely. You thought for sure that you were guaranteed victory, but Lee Know absolutely slaughtered you and Chan, even Ji helped out some, his arms flailing and constant “SKRRR”-ing in your face.
“I warned you, Noona. I know what I’m doing. Now, it’s time to pay the price.” Min taunts, eyes narrowing smugly at your pouting face. “Strip.” He demands, the air being sucked out of you immediately, your throat dry. It’s one thing for Jisung and Min to see you naked, hell, they both already have on many occasions, them being your gay best friends allowing for that kind of comfortability. That wasn’t the problem. The incredibly sexy man that has you weak in the knees and dripping in the crotch is standing next to you, running his fingers roughly through his now curling hair, making you an absolute nervous wreck. You are internally screaming at yourself, cursing your decision to offer up such a lewd punishment.
“Guys, it’s really not necessary, y/n doesn’t have-“ Chan starts but is quickly cut off by Minho’s yell.
“AH! You’re a team, the LOSING team, aren’t you, Hyung? You’re included in this punishment as well, not just our sweet y/nnie.” Min is enjoying himself entirely too much at the moment, Chan’s mouth agape, closing and then immediately dropping open once again, at a loss for words. You freeze, the realization hitting you. Not only do you have to strip, but so does Chan. Shit. Fuck. SHIT. You glance in Chans direction, his eyes already on you, an awkward grin on his face with his hand rubbing the back of his neck.
“He does have a point, sweetheart.” Chan chuckles, your eyes darting from him to Minho to Ji, who is practically vibrating out of his skin in excitement. Everyone stares at you, waiting for your retort, your excuse, something, as you stare silently back at the three of them. It’s at this very moment, whether it be true bravery or the alcohol still heavily in your system, you decide. FUCK IT.
With a deep breath in, you reach your hand around to the clasp of your bra resting in between your shoulder blades. A flick of your wrist and the lace peals away, baring your chest to the three men before you. Hannie starts barking in your direction, whistling nonstop while Minho simply grins and pulls his lover into his arms, attempting to wrangle him in a bit. Your eyes flick towards Chan and if you didn’t know any better, you would say the man is completely wrecked, his dark eyes resting on your exposed tits, pupils blown wide, breathing in deeply.
Keeping your eyes locked with his, you bend down enough in the water to pull down your wet thong, the lace sticking to your skin in the water and stand back up, lifting both your bra and panties up in your hand as proof of commitment. This gains you a round of applause from MinSung, the cat calling still flowing from Jisung’s ever open mouth. Chan however, is silent as ever, his silver jewelry glistening in the light of the moon.
Squatting down slightly under the water line, Chan pops back up, soaked briefs balled up in his fist. Him being taller than you, the water hits him just before exposing his crotch, keeping the mystery alive, but definitely not keeping you from staring, the veins in his muscles popping through his pale skin like arrows pointing you towards your most desired location, sitting just below the water. The tension between the two of you is palpable, the air thick with your unsaid thoughts as you stare at one another.
Just when it seems like Chan is about to open his mouth and say something, a bright explosion of pink splashes in the water between your two bodies. You both flinch, your arms flying to block your eyes from the waves of water and Jisung begins shouting.
“FREEDOM!! I can’t let you guys have all of the fun!” Ji’s completely naked body flopping up onto Minho’s float, baring it all to the crew, his watermelon boxers floating lazily atop the water. Minho shrugs his shoulders, shedding his cat boxers and tossing them up to shore in a wet heap. The heavy tension in the air melts instantly, giggles erupting from you as you watch the two boys wrestle naked, attempting to shove the other off of the float. As you are being entertained by your friends, you can still feel the all too familiar stare coming from Chan’s direction, your core clenching tight around nothing at the sensation, an ache beginning to build, yearning for more.
You risk a glance out of the corner of your eye, seeing Chan wading in the water, having sunk down to cover more of his abdomen and chest beneath the lake. You choke on air when you notice his right arm moving in a slow, rhythmic, pumping motion, his elbow and below completely covered, but you knew exactly what was going on beneath the water. Chan’s eyes raked over your form, resting heavily on your full tits, eyelids becoming heavy, soft pants escaping from his plump, parted lips. You turned your head completely in his direction, wanting to see fully just how wrecked this man was becoming as he looked at you, seemingly stroking himself below the waves.
Once you were fully captivated by him, a sly smile spreads across his dimpled face, tongue pressing into his cheek in a taunting sort of way. He begins moving closer to you, you automatically sinking further beneath the waves, but are halted by Chan shaking his head slowly just before your breasts breach the water. He’s right next to you now, his breath close enough to feel on your cheek as he whispers “Don’t you dare cover those beauties up, I was about to combust just looking at them.”
Chills run down your spine, nipples peaking hard as heat soars to your core, clenching desperately at his words. You glance over towards Minho and Jisungie, expecting them to be staring, but are surprised and a bit startled to see the two men heavily making out atop the float, Ji moaning softly as Min sucks and bites at his collarbones. What the hell was in that booze they handed out back at camp?
Gentle fingers pull your attention back to Chan, his thumb pressing lightly on your chin, bringing your eyes to his. Chan’s face is inches away from you now, nose practically brushing yours. His hand leaves your chin to tuck wet hair softly behind your ear, making you shiver. Chans muscular chest heaves with every breath, every inhale pushing his closer and closer to your bare breasts, nipples begging to be touched, stimulated in any way.
Your eyelids droop, fluttering shut as Chan seems to move in closer, lips almost brushing yours. You lean in, tilting your head slightly, trying to meet him in the middle. Chan inhales and you think this is it, he’s closing the distance, but he only whispers, “Your bra is floating away, sweetheart. Better go grab it.” stunning you in your place, eyes flying open as he pulls away and walks through the water up to shore. You turn around and watch, an incredulous look on your face, beyond confused at what just happened. Chan’s ass is on full display as he makes his way onto the sanded beach, turning around just enough to yell over his shoulder without revealing his manhood.
“Yo, Han! Min! Calm your dicks enough to get our asses back to camp!” Chan’s voice rings out, breaking up the hot and heavy makeout session between MinSung. Han sticks out his lip, pouting as Minho pulls away, sliding off the float after lightly smacking the younger man’s ass.
You are still in shock as you swim out to grab your bra, thoughts running endlessly in your mind. What the fuck? Did something go wrong? Is this just a fucking game to him? You were driving yourself nuts, awkwardly shrugging on your wet bra and thong as you make your way through the water.
Once back on land, Minho and Jisung can hardly keep their hands off each other, both haphazardly tugging their clothes back on, their soaked underwear shoved into Min’s jacket pocket. Chan simply put his shorts back on, draping his tank top over his shoulder, not even glancing in your direction as you throw your clothes on in an annoyed huff.
The walk back to camp was awkward. Chan leading the way, walking ahead of the group without a single glance back. Ji and Min were feeling each other up the whole way, grabbing each other’s asses and whispering things in one another’s ears, eliciting giggles and playful slaps from both men. Lastly, you are left by your lonesome, tailing the group, thoughts racing as you try to figure out where everything went wrong. Before you knew it, the campsite came into view, MinSung immediately darting towards their shared tent without so much as a goodnight or a see you in the morning. Their tent flap zipped shut, Jisung’s flirty giggles audible through the thin fabric, leaving you and Chan alone in front of your own tent.
You try to meet Chan’s eyes, searching for answers, but he avoids them, casually opening the front flap and stepping inside the tent, holding it open for you to follow. You sigh heavily, frustration boiling over as you step through the open flap before Chan zips it shut, enveloping the two of you in darkness.
You plop down on the thermal sleeping bag that had been placed on the floor of the tent earlier, kicking off your damp pants in the process, your undergarments having dripped water steadily down your body during the walk back. Your bra has completely soaked through your shirt, eliciting an annoyed groan from your throat as you stand back up to dig around in your bag for dry clothes. As you rummage through, the hairs on the back of your neck spike, that familiar feeling of someone watching you washing over your skin. Your blood boils, the annoyance and irritation of Chan’s rejection pushing you over the edge.
“Are you fucking with me?” You whip around, voice rising slightly, causing Chan to jolt back from where he had been standing, watching you. His brow furrows, confusion coloring his handsome face.
“What are you talking about, y/n?” He sounds sincere, but you don’t buy it, your stubbornness and temper pushing you further.
“Don’t give me that, Chris. You practically fucked me with your eyes back there only to reject me and completely ignore me the entire way back to camp. I’m not a toy, you can’t mess with me like that.” You spit out at him, ripping your wet shirt and bra off to be replaced with an oversized t-shirt, discarding your panties without thinking. You’re so frustrated, you hadn’t even realized you just stripped completely bare in from of Chan once again, this time without any water to keep some sort of modesty. His eyes practically bugged out of his head, whether it be from the accusations you were spewing out at him or the fact that you bared yourself fully to him again, you probably won’t ever know. Right now, all you want is answers.
Chan seems to regain his composure, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck, opening his mouth to speak. “Y/n-“
SMACK. Chan is cut off by the sudden sounds of what sounds to be a hand connecting to skin, a loud moan following immediately after.
SMACK. Another, this time louder, a broken whine filling your ears. That sounds like Jisung. Holy shit. You cannot believe what you are hearing, your best friend’s wrecked voice and noises sounding throughout camp. They’re fucking, Min and Ji, completely disregarding the fact that they are not the only residents of this campsite. More noises break through the silence of your and Chan’s tent, growing more and more erotic as it sounds like Minho is smacking the life out of Jisung, although the whines and pants that are spilling out of him indicates that it is a consensual beating.
Your cheeks flush, heat rushing up your neck as you meet Chan’s shocked face, both of you stunned at the symphony of moans and whines coming from MinSung’s tent just a mere 5 feet away. The anger you had been harboring, the annoyance towards Chan fades away as you both burst out laughing, unable to truly believe what you are witnessing via Hannie’s vocals. Your ribs ache, gasping for air, tears running down both your and Chan’s faces from laughter. You look at each other and take a deep breath, no longer feeling the need to discuss the earlier events that evening.
You take a seat on the sleeping bag once again, shyly glancing down at your hands as Chan begins to change out of his damp clothes, dropping his pants to the ground, his underwear and tank top already in a pile by the entrance. He clears his throat, indicating that he’s done changing, pulling your gaze over towards him. He’s shirtless, black sweatpants adorning his lower half, resting loosely on his hips, no waistband of underwear in sight. You swallow hard, but tear your gaze away, not trying to get yourself all worked up again.
A hearty chuckle pulls your gaze back to Chan, causing you to raise your brows in question. “What? Still laughing at the two horn dogs next door?” You tilt your head in the direction of MinSung’s tent, the smacking noises having stopped but whimpers and moans continuing to pour out from within. Chan shakes his head no in response, his hand resting on his forehead. “Well?” You push, curiosity getting the better of you.
“There’s only one sleeping bag.” You freeze, Chan’s observation causing you to glance around the tent. Sure enough, he is right, Minho having left only one sleeping bag in your tent despite you knowing there were plenty packed. You groan, throwing your head back in annoyance.
“I’m going to kill him.” You promise, internally adding Lee Minho back onto your shit list. Chan chuckles warmly again, this time stepping closer to you, his facial features showing up more in the dark of the tent. You can’t help but quickly glance down to his chest again, the muscles stretched tightly across his torso, straining with every breath he takes in. He’s like a fucking marble statue, chiseled to perfection.
“May I?” Chan gestures toward the sleeping bag you are seated on, implying that he would like to sit next to you. You nod softly, scooting over to make just enough room for Chan to take a seat. “Listen, I-“ he starts.
“AH, HYUNG!” Jisung yelps from their tent, cutting Chan off once again, breathless grunts filling the air in the tone of Minho’s voice. You snort, covering your mouth to hold back the laughter bubbling out of you. Chan covers his eyes with his hands, his silver bracelets rattling gently. The two of you sit there, holding back your laughter as you hear grunting more and more frequently, an occasional skin slapping sound filling the void in between.
“Damn, Min has got some stamina. No wonder he kicked my ass at the lake.” Chan chides, dimples popping as he grins. You giggle, shoving his broad shoulders softly with your own, bodies resting against one another’s afterwards. A comfortable silence stretches through the tent, the only sounds filling the background being Han’s gasps and a sporadic sigh from Minho. You glance at Chan, a small smile playing on his lips as he gazes down at his own hands, fiddling with the jewelry he always wears. Suddenly, he lights up, a cheeky expression crossing his face. He turns to face you.
“Wanna have some fun? Tease the guys a bit?” His eyes squint from the excited smile on his face, crinkles around the edges that make them sparkle. You sit up straighter, intrigued.
“I’m listening…” you press, raising an eyebrow playfully at Chan. He giggles, leaning back slightly almost in disbelief before calling out in the direction of the other tent.
“You guys think you’re proving something to us with the noise? Wanna hear what a REAL good time sounds like?!” He turns his head slightly towards you, sending a flirty wink your way. Your eyes widen slightly, not exactly sure where he is going with this. A deep chortle sounds from the opposite tent, the sounds of skin on skin never faltering, Ji’s moans softly trickling out every so often.
“Show me what you got, Bahng!” Lee Know’s voice rings out, cockiness laced in his slightly breathless tone. You’re not sure what happened in that moment, but you hear Han make a startled noise followed by a drawn out sigh, the squelching sounds slowing down a bit, maybe indicating a sudden change in positions? You shake your head, not wanting to visualize what is being done to your best friend just a few feet away from you.
Chan begins to shift positions, tugging on your arm lightly, as he goes to lie down on the sleeping bag. You follow, lying beside him, Chan’s arm outstretched for you to rest your head on. You shimmy up against him, digging your head lightly into his bicep, finding comfort immediately. Chan grins, glancing over at you before releasing a strained groan from deep in his throat. The sound shakes you to your core, igniting that fire from earlier, warmth pooling in your belly. He begins to breathe heavy, panting softly, his chest heaving with the effort. His eyes find you again, raising a brow.
“Come on, sweetheart, play the part for me. We are losing here!” He whispers, mischief evident in his stare. You blush despite yourself, a wave of nerves washing over you. Chan’s hand brushes your shoulder gently, the bicep beneath you flexing, attempting to reassure you to join the fun. You relax, a smile forming, and you push out a drawn out moan, earning a wicked grin from Chan. The sounds continue to flow between the two of you, finding a believable rhythm to follow. You let out a yelp, clapping your hands together to simulate a spanking. “Good girl.” Chan purrs, making your stomach flutter, that ever growing pool of heat beginning its descent lower and lower in your abdomen.
You can hear Jisung and Min, their pants and moans escalating, almost as if your and Chan’s added sounds are aiding in their chase to the finish line. Minho mumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite make out, but boy does it have an effect on Han, his voice yelling out, “Fuck, Hyung, I’m gonna cum!” You stifle your giggles, slightly embarrassed to be witnessing such an intimate moment between your two friends, even if only via sound.
Deciding in that moment to level up your own performance, you breathe in deeply before hollering out “Ugh, Chris, yeah right there! Keep going!” You feel Chan stiffen up next to you, the hand that had been tracing random shapes on your shoulder stopping in its tracks. You don’t let that stop you, pushing further. “God, you’re so big, Chris, fill me up, FUCK!” You yell out, giggling softly, feeling empowered by the words coming out of your mouth.
Your eyes move to rest on Chan’s face, wondering when he is gonna jump back in, already hearing Minho and Ji pick up the pace, the distinct sound of skin slapping skin coming faster and louder than before, deep grunts bursting from Min’s chest, Han sounding like a wrecked mess. You’re not sure how it all happened, but as your eyes lock on Chan’s face, his hand shifts completely, moving down from your shoulder and steadily palming your breast through your shirt. He’s already staring at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown out, breathing deep and heavy. Your breath catches, your pussy immediately soaking itself, the pool of heat bursting within you under his gaze. The look he gives you is full of lust and desire, very similar to the one he was sporting at the lake as he stroked himself freely. He gently squeezes your tit, pulling a soft moan from your lips. He breathes out deeply through his nose, eyes closing before returning back to your face, flicking between your eyes and lips. He leans in closer, the heat of his breath dusting your skin. He pauses, just shy of your lips again, practically a replay of the lake incident, only this time, he speaks, voice husky and rough.
“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hand kneading your breast softly, causing your eyelids to flutter. “This is your last chance, y/n.” He warns, fingers now toying with your erect nipple, your breath stuttering. “Tell me now, or I won’t be able to control myself.”
“So don’t…” you breathe, a growl bursting from deep within Chan’s chest, his fingers pinching your sensitive nipple hard at the permission given by your words. You gasp, mouth popping open at the sensation, giving Chan all the room he needs to dive right in. His lips, plump and soft as velvet, crash onto yours, his tongue already breaching your walls, your jaw slack from the gasp you had let out. He explores with his tongue, the rest of his body not wasting a second as he rolls himself over top of you, settling in between your legs.
The kiss is filthy, all tongue and teeth, lips being pulled on roughly, all while Chan’s groin begins to rock itself, brushing up against your bare cunt, you never having replaced your thong from earlier. You moan out in pleasure, feeling the gigantic bulge you had salivated over back at the lake. His body rolls deep and rough, the friction from his clothed dick enough to already start tightening the coil in your belly. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, feeling the muscles contract with every one of his movements. Chan continues to rock his hips into you, growling when you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him firmer against your hot core. You fist the curls at the base of his neck, tugging slightly as his mouth moves to suck on your jaw. A moan slips from his lips, vibrating against the sensitive skin he just marked. You whimper softly, trying to contain yourself as he dry humps you.
“Come on, babygirl, let them hear you. We aren’t letting the guys win a second time tonight.” Chan bends down and catches your clothed nipple between his teeth, causing you to cry out, the pain melting into pleasure almost immediately.
“Ah- fuck, Chan!” You yell out, earning yet another swipe at your sensitive peak, Chan’s hips continuing to grind into you. He pulls back, eyes searing into yours, an almost animalistic hunger evident on his face.
“That’s not what you call me. Say it properly.” Your eyes begin to roll back, the pressure of his rock hard cock rubbing deliciously against your sopping cunt. Chan’s hand grips your face roughly, forcing your eyes to focus back on him. “Say my name.” He orders, his hand leaving your chin, sliding down to rest on your neck, squeezing softly. You try to focus, try to force out the words, but your climax was building fast, Chan’s fingers pressing on your windpipe just enough to make you feel lightheaded. “Y/N!” His free hand connects with your cheek, startling you back to reality.
“Chris, fuck yes, Chris..” you moan out, earning a devilish grin from the man on top of you.
“That’s my good girl. How about a little reward? Don’t hold back now.”
The hand that had smacked your cheek trails down your chest, stomach, and under the hem of your t-shirt, forcing itself between your and Chan’s groins, him still grinding into your pussy, the rhythm intoxicating and never faltering. His long fingers drag down your slit, causing a hiss to spew from your mouth. Gathering the wetness from your center, Chan drags it back up to your clit, beginning his assault on the little ball of nerves. You cry out, the coil inside you practically ready to burst, your hips grinding down into his hand, his hard cock rocking against you. Just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, the build up hot in your veins, Chan pulls away. He removes your legs from his waist, shoving them down and apart against the floor, baring yourself to him completely. Before you can even begin to complain at the loss of contact, Chan stoops down, his luscious lips latching onto your swollen clit, sucking hard and fast. The moan that erupts from you shakes your whole body, your cunt further wetting itself to the satisfaction of Chan, slurping away at your juices. He pulls away only to comment about how fucking good you taste and dives back in, sucking and licking like his life depends on it. His fingers find your entrance, two of them sliding in with zero warning, causing you to buck your hips up into Chan’s mouth. He moans greedily against your folds, eyes locked on your face as he watches you from below.
You can’t look away, his dark gaze holding yours, sloppy squelches filling the silence as he laps you up. He adds a third finger to your weeping hole, curling into the spongy spot inside. Your orgasm hits you hard, crying out in ecstasy at the top of your lungs, Chan relentlessly tongue fucking you through your release. He purrs, drinking you up, your body quaking in the aftershocks. Chan’s lips detach from your cunt with an audible ‘POP’, causing you to shiver from the overstimulation. Your breathing is ragged, eyes hooded in exhaustion. That was the best orgasm you’ve ever had and you can’t imagine it getting any better. You couldn’t be more wrong.
Chan sits back on his knees, your release coating his face from the nose down, his tongue flicking out to taste. “Fuck, babygirl, you taste so good, I could eat you forever.” He groans out, slipping his pruned fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back at the lingering taste of you. You stare as he leans further back to his feet, bringing himself to a standing position, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats, erection straining hard against the front seam.
You swallow, eyes taking him in as he slowly pushes down the fabric, line after line of pure muscle exposing itself, veins popping from the adrenaline in his body. You can feel the drool filling your agape mouth, your breathing heavy with your chest heaving. A cocky smirk pulls at his lips, him pausing just shy of exposing himself to you, causing you to whine and shoot him a pouty face in return. Chan chuckles darkly, flexing his abs as he toys with the waistband of his sweats, eyes glittering in the darkness of the tent. You decide you’ve had enough of the waiting, your pussy already dripping once again just from watching Chan tease playfully.
Before he can react, you jump up from your position on the sleeping bag, resting on your knees in front of him and grasp frantically at the bunched up fabric sitting below his hips. You tug on the thick fabric of Chan’s sweats, finally freeing his cock, the thick length of it bouncy up at attention, pre cum steadily dripping from the tip. You moan loudly, your pussy clenching painfully hard at the sight of his manhood, the shaft twitching to the rhythm of Chan’s pulse. Your jaw drops open, eyes flicking up to meet his, Chan peering down at you, a wrecked look on his face at the sight of you being so submissive in front of his aching cock. Your dominant hand slowly reaches for his tip, fingers tracing the slit, playing in the pearlescent cum dripping from it. Groaning, Chan thrusts his hips towards you, chasing the feeling of your hand fingering his cock.
Your grip tightens as you take more of him into your hand, feeling the ridges of the veins along his length. The size of your hand barely covering half of his thick shaft, you greedily lick your lips as you glance up to Chan’s face once more, peeking through your eyelashes as you do. Chan’s brows are furrowed, him obviously trying to contain himself but as you begin to lean your face towards his member, his hips buck lightly, his eyes squeezing shut momentarily. “Shit, sorry baby, you just look so fucking sexy right now, I can barely stand it.” He breathes in deeply, his control slipping as you slide your fist up and down his shaft once, testing the waters. “FUCK, y/n….” He growls, his hand flying to rest on the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair.
Confidence soaring, you move your free hand back behind your head to rest atop Chan’s, eyes locked on his as you open your mouth mere inches away from his red tip, guiding Chan to push your head closer to where he needs you most. His lips part as he watches you, a choked cry clearing his chest as your mouth sucks him in fully, hitting the back of your throat with a gag. You stay there for a moment, swallowing around him, tasting the salty pre cum dripping sporadically down your throat. Chan’s head flops back, stuttering moans leaving him, his fingers gripping your hair snugly. You feel a gush between your legs, Chan’s fat cock and tight grip pushing you further into your frenzied state. Hollowing out your cheeks, you push your head back against Chan’s palm, bobbing back and forth at a quickened pace. Chan’s veiny hand grips on tighter, moving with you and applying pressure every time his dick hits the back of your throat.
Your tongue presses against the bottom of his slick shaft, tracing every ridge and vein along his length, allowing your teeth to graze lightly every now and then. Your hands explore his toned body, finger tips tracing his abs with one hand, the other fondling his balls, sticky from spit and milky drops of his cum. Chan quivers beneath your touch, moaning erratically with every wet suck of your mouth. His breathing falters, panting heavily as he finally allows his grip on the back of your head to take the lead, bobbing you up and down faster and deeper, his free hand joining the original. With both of his hands now locked tight against your scalp, his hips begin to thrust his twitching cock harder into your mouth, making you gag hard, eyes rolling back into your skull as your arousal peaks. You can feel your juices dripping messily down your thighs and onto the sleeping bag you have been kneeling on, your pussy throbbing as Chan fucks your mouth.
Just as you think Chan is about to burst, he pulls his dick violently out of your mouth, yanking your head back and face up towards him, drool dripping down your chin, a string of it still connecting you to his angry cock. Chan’s face is wrecked, sweat droplets prickling up along his forehead, panting heavily as his abs contract. His dick is throbbing, twitching along with his racing pulse. Keeping your eyes locked with his, you stick out your tongue, showing off the mix of saliva and his salty drippings, wishing you had been allowed to finished him off and taste every bit of his release.
“Such a fucking pretty mouth, I almost let myself go, but I’ve got different plans in mind.” You let out a hiss as he grips your hair tighter in his hands, adjusting the angle of your head into an almost painful position. “Be a good little slut and take that shirt off for me, yeah? I need to see those delicious tits of yours.” Chan barks, roughly releasing your hair to finish pulling his sweats off and kicking them to the side. You do as you’re told, practically ripping the fabric off of you, shivering slightly at the cool air now hitting your overly sensitive breasts.
Chans stares down at you, still obediently sat on your knees, plump breasts bouncing with every breath you take, awaiting your next set of instructions. “Turn around.” He orders, a dangerous glint in his eye, his own hand now gripping his leaking cock, breathing in deeply as he strokes it slowly. You whine out, not wanting to look away from the intoxicating sight before you, Chan’s eyes fluttering closed momentarily from his own touch. When they reopen and see that you haven’t done as you were told, still planted near Chan’s feet, staring hungrily at him masterbate, Chan snarls, baring his teeth in an animalistic sneer.
“Did I stutter? I said turn around, y/n. Don’t make me repeat myself again or there will be hell to pay. “ His head cocks to the side, eyebrows rising slightly as you hesitate, not realizing he was making a serious threat. You quickly flip around, Chan having taken an intimidating step closer to you, sucking in a deep breath through his nose, proving just how serious he was being. You clumsily take position on all fours, your bare ass facing Chan, your heart pounding in your chest as your breasts sway side to side from the movement.
“That’s my good girl…” Chan purrs, making your pussy clench tight, juices dripping down your thighs. You can hear him shuffle behind you, his feet dragging across the floor of the tent. You glance back over your shoulder, desperately missing the view of Chans naked body and rock hard dick. He’s slowly making his way towards you, his erection bouncing with every heavy step, pre cum flinging from its red tip. The sight alone makes you moan out, arching your back slightly, baring your wetness to Chan further. He licks his lips, eyes locking on your cunt, that damn hand of his continuing to stroke himself.
Your breath catches when you feel the heat of Chan’s body near yours, his shins brushing the round cheeks of your ass, sending a bolt of heat through your core and spilling out of your pink folds. “Chris…please…” you whimper, feeling his hand run up your backside, fingers grazing past where you want him most before gliding up your spine and pressing down firmly between your shoulder blades, your chest pushing into the plush sleeping bag beneath you. A groan spills out of Chan, your use of his name seeming to drive him mad, his hand leaving your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck, fingers gripping your hair in the process.
“Shhh, sweetheart. Daddy’s here. You’re so patient, showing off that pretty pussy of yours to me.” Chan’s hold on your neck tightens, tugging your head back slightly to further press your tits into the ground, the arch almost painful, your ass opening itself wide as your cheeks spread from the position. With Chan leaning over your body, you can feel his dick rubbing against the skin of your ass cheeks, moist droplets of cum dripping down to your puckered hole. You arch further, feeling like your spine will snap in the process, trying to press against Chan’s hot cock. He chuckles darkly, shifting down to his knees so he can bring his lips to your ear.
“Don’t you start acting up now, I don’t know how much longer I can stand not being inside you, pretty girl. Just a little longer, I promise.” He whispers, breath hot in your ear and on your neck. This was absolute torture, but a part of you was absolutely reveling in it, the anticipation almost as addicting as the feeling of Chan’s hand around your throat, his dick so close to your holes.
“I want you so bad, Chris. I need you, now…plea-AH!” Chan’s free hand connects to, not only your ass, but your bared pussy as well, your entire backside stinging from the slap, Chan squeezing the back of your neck tighter to keep his balance, your hair still balled up messily under his grip.
“What did I just say?” Chans voice is stern, his hand locked on you, your back beginning to ache from the constant strain of the arch he placed you in. “No acting up, no one likes a brat, y/n. At least, not tonight; be my good girl tonight. I promise, you’ll get a reward for good behavior.” His tone softens, applying a playful smack to your still stinging backside as he releases your neck to allow you to relax slightly out of the intense arch.
You let out a breath, the muscles in your back sore from the strain, your lower back burning as you are still baring yourself to Chan. His free hand roams your body once again, a feverish trail of heat blooming from under his fingertips, a roadmap of where he has been all along your skin. You can hear his breath hitch whenever you clench your core, your arousal steadily dripping out of you, your skin burning hot from his touch. Your eyes drift shut, breathing uneven, when Chan’s hand rests itself on the cusp of your ass, thumb brushing down into the crevice, ass hole quivering at the proximity. You gasp when you feel a stream of cool air, Chan blowing directly on your entrance, causing it to clench violently.
“Mmm, can’t decide which I like more from this position, your asshole or your cunt. Both look equally inviting…” Chan trails off, your eyes flying open, holes tensing up as you feel his hot mushroom tip rub from the top of your ass crack all the way down to your clit, brushing gently across both entrances. Your body trembles, blood boiling with excitement as Chan drags his cock all the way back to the peak of your crack. Your pussy clenches desperately, almost as if it could catch his length as it passes through, eliciting a whine from your throat.
As if in response to your pleading sounds, Chan releases your neck, placing his hand on your hip, the other still guiding his hard length through your folds, growling deep in his chest. In one fluid motion, he allows his tip to be hooked by your weeping hole, pushing in ever so slightly, the stretch from his girth already burning just from the tip. You sigh heavily, the burn bringing about intense pleasure, finally getting what your pussy has been craving from the start. Chan keeps pushing in, slow and steady, your inner walls stretching tight around him.
Once he bottoms out, his other hand grips onto your uninhabited hip, both hands now rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The feeling of his entirety inside you is unexplainable, the pleasure you’re experiencing, while essentially cock warming him, already beginning to tighten the coil within you. Turning your head to look back at Chan, you see him gritting his teeth, jaw tight and eyes closed, his cock twitching erratically inside you as he fights internally to keep his composure. You purposefully clench tight around his straining length, his eyes flying open, grip on your hips bruising.
“Fuck me, Chris…” you plead, clenching around his cock once again before leaning forward slightly to slide towards his tip, then pushing back, desperately trying to initiate movement. Chan’s face mirrors how wrecked he is, his thighs shaking as you fuck him softly. You go to rock again, sliding up his shaft partially before his grip tightens like a vice, immobilizing your body. Staring into his eyes, you see the switch, a decision having been made and a sly smile spreads, dimples settling in his cheeks.
“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.” Chan pushes you away from him, his dick almost completely out of you then ripping you back to him, bottoming out in one quick thrust. You cry out, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix, before pulling back out to near completion and rutting back into you, over and over again. His pace is unwavering, your walls sucking him in, wet squelching sounds filling the tent amongst both your and Chan’s moans.
You feel that familiar sensation of an orgasm brewing at an alarming rate, belly tightening and thighs shaking. Chan stops for nothing, simply shifting you side to side, forwards or further back towards him, however he need to in order to hit every surface of your inner walls, you struggling to hold yourself upright on your knees and chest. A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, the air palpably thick and humid, the tents interior becoming a sauna of sorts as Chan fucks you senseless.
“Brace yourself, babygirl, this isn’t even my highest setting!” Chan lets out a breathless chuckle, your constant moans becoming louder and uncontrollable. “Should we turn it up a notch, baby?” He sneers, grunting ferociously as he pounds into your soaked pussy. All you can manage to do is nod your head yes in response, your orgasm coming on lightning fast, your toes beginning to curl. Chan adjusts his grip on your body, still thrusting, and as he pulls out of your heat, flips you to your back using only his own body strength, the change in position startling you. His pace never falters, him throwing your weak legs over his shoulders, continuing his aggressive assault on your cunt. Holding your legs in place with one arm, Chan reaches down and begins flicking your swollen clit with his fingers, simultaneously quickening his speed, hips snapping against you.
“Chris-AH-Chris, I’m-!” The coil within you doesn’t just snap, it shatters completely, your body going completely rigid, silent scream erupting from your opened mouth. Your back arches up violently, your legs trembling against Chan’s massive shoulders, your orgasm sending your body into factory reset. You come so hard, you feel your heartbeat in your ears, juices squirting out of you all over the sleeping bag and Chan’s lower body. None of that matters, Chan fucking you through it, chasing his own release. You gasp for air, becoming overstimulated as the aftershocks consume you, Chan removing your limp legs from his shoulders. He grabs both of your ankles in one hand and angles your legs to one side of your body, completely changing the feel of your walls around his dick. He moans out, panting heavy as beads of sweat pour down his face, veins bulging across his body. His thrusts begin to lose their rhythm, his cock twitching aggressively inside you, his release building. You’re amazed by him, despite how overstimulated you are, the stamina this man possesses is otherworldly.
With his free hand, Chan reaches down to grasp at your breasts, kneading the soft skin with his palms, fingers flicking your nipples, making you cry out. “I’m close, babygirl. Let me fill you up.” He chokes out, eyes screwed shut under the intensity of his movements. Your hands meet his one on your tit, giving it a reassuring squeeze, telling him it’s okay to let go while inside. “Say my name, baby. Please.” He begs, squeezing your tit for dear life, leaning his body weight into your legs as his thrusts become sloppier.
You lick your lips, mouth dry from screaming, dehydrated from your intense orgasms. Mustering up what strength and voice you have left, you moan out, “You fuck me so well, Chris. The best ive ever had, cum in me, Daddy.” And that’s all it takes. With one final, monster of a thrust, most definitely bruising your cervix, Chan growls loudly, whimpering, as his hot load fills you to the brim, pumping you full of his seed. Even with his dick still inside, you feel his release leaking out of you and down to your asshole.
Chan collapses on top of you, your legs still folded to the side, ankles pinned together by his veined hand. He’s breathing heavy, body shaking crazily from the aftershocks, his orgasm seemingly taking everything out of him. His head rests in the crook of your neck, hair damp with sweet, his forehead clammy. You reach your hands up and around his broad shoulders, fingers entwining with his hair, now curly from his perspiration. The two of you stay like that, attached in the most intimate way possible, catching your breaths. Chan’s breathing finally slows, nuzzling his face deeper into your neck. He breathes you in, sighing happily, you already feeling the grin on his face.
“You smell really good, ugh why are you so addictive?” He inhales again, causing you to giggle. You feel the sweat and stickiness strewn across your skin, Chan’s release still trickling out of you, his dick softening within you. You roll your eyes.
“Chan, I am literally so gross right now, I would give anything for a hot shower.” He chuckles deeply, his chest rattling your limp body. Pulling back to see your face, Chan locks eyes with you, his cheeks flushed and hair messy from you running your fingers through it. You’re sure you can’t look much better, your world having just been completely rocked by the handsome man above you. He smiles sweetly at you, his hand coming up to caress your face, brushing sweat soaked hair off your forehead.
“You’re perfect.” He breathes, thumb brushing your bottom lip lightly, your mouth still swollen from your earlier activities. You blush heavily, heat soaring to your face, a smile pulling at your lips. Chan’s expression is sincere, eyes dancing across your features before locking in on your mouth, thumb still tracing your lip. He leans in, plush lips meeting yours, a gentle kiss full of emotion that makes your chest feel warm and your head dizzy.
Chan pulls away, sucking in a breath before placing a peck on the tip of your nose. You giggle once again, Chan resting his forehead to yours, smile plastered on his face. You stay like that, recovering together, Chans thumb brushing against your cheeks gently. After a short while, you start to wiggle beneath him, your legs still pinned to the side, Chan still fully sheathed within you, though now almost completely soft. You needed to stretch out, body beginning to ache from the intense fucking it just endured. Chan takes the hint, counting to three before sliding out of you, the two of you hissing at the sensation, both completely overstimulated. He flops to the side of you, his muscles flexing with every movement, propping up with his arm bent, head resting in his hand facing you. You stretch out your legs, sighing in relief before mimicking his body position, facing him. You grimace slightly, sore from head to toe, causing Chan to look concerned. You smile softly, reaching your hand up to cup his cheek, Chan leaning into your touch immediately.
“I’m okay, Channie, promise.” His eyes sparkle at the nickname, dimples appearing from under the edge of your palm. Chan brings his free hand up to rest on your hip, lightly grazing the bruises made by his firm grip earlier. His smile slips slightly. “I promise.” You reiterate, bringing his gaze back up to meet yours. He stares into your eyes, like he’s searching for any deception hidden within them. Knowing he won’t find any, you stare back, focusing on his dark, caring eyes, noticing the light freckles sprinkled around them for the first time, along with a mole hidden within his eyebrow. How can someone be so perfect?
“Am I supposed to be impressed by that performance, Hyung? That was nothing! I’m still going!” Lee Know’s strained voice rings out, breaking the silence immediately. Both your and Chan’s heads snap in the direction of MinSung’s tent, reality crashing back to you. Hannie is crying out, sobbing, begging Minho to let him cum. Your jaw drops, the sincerity of your and Chan’s moment long gone, amazed at the true stamina of Lee Minho. Chan’s eyes are wide, eyebrows practically touching his hairline as he shakes his head side to side.
“You’re insane, Lee! Alright, alright, you win! For gods sake, give Jisung a fucking break, you maniac!” Chan bellows back, grinning through the shock.
You can hear Min chuckle darkly in his victory, panting heavily. “Fucking, finally! Hold on tight, Jagi!” The wet skin on skin sounds pick up their pace, Ji’s voice hoarse and broken as he shrieks out. You clamp your hand over your mouth to hold in your laughter, burying your forehead into Chan’s muscled chest. With an earth-shattering roar, Lee Know groans out, signaling his release, Han mimicking him perfectly. You can hear their intense pants, Ji whimpering slightly. “So, round two?” Min questions, toying with Ji, a playful smack ringing through camp.
“LEE KNOW! NO!” Jisung cries out, the interaction causing the four of you to burst out laughing, helping to ease the mood into a more casual setting. Chan wraps his toned arms around you, pulling your naked body flush with his, your face buried between his pecs. He places a soft kiss to the top of your head, still chuckling warmly to the sounds of MinSung bickering with one another in their tent.
“It is a valid question, you know…” Chan mumbles through your hair, his dick beginning to twitch against your thigh as one of his hands glides down to gently squeeze your ass.
“Chan!” You try to shove him away from you, squealing as he grips you closer to him, laughter jostling his whole body as he holds you.
The two of you spend the rest of the night like that, giggling and playfully wrestling as you talk, really taking the time to get to know each other. It isn’t until the sun begins its ascent into the sky, light peeking through the tent that you let your eyes flutter closed, no longer able to fight off sleep. Your body is sore, but blissfully comfortable while being tucked warmly in Chan’s embrace, soft smiles present on both of your faces. You guess Lee Know really DOES know what he’s doing.
Summary:Friends with Benefits. That's all you two were supposed to be. No feelings, no strings attached, just sex. But after a failed confession, a drunken movie night, and another member moving in for their shot, Chan realizes how hard it is to let go of someone who was never rightfully his to begin with.
Pairing:Bang Chan x afab!Reader
Warnings: pure smut; swearing, slight degradation, fighting, kissing, dry humping, p in v, protected sex, floor sex, angry sex, somewhat manipulative behavior (sorry Chan), depictions of half-drunk sex (reader was drunk, had 2 hours of sleep, and is a little hungover, a little tipsy still), Chan calls reader a bitch, small implications of self-hate and guilt/shame at the end. Chan is still a meanie-pants in this one.
Note: the author has chosen to leave out some of the warnings to maintain an element of surprise for the reader. viewer discretion is advised.
** please remember to practice self-care as some of these themes may be triggering to some readers. **
Word Count: 7.3k
Story Inspired By -> Put You Through Me by Arrows In Action
Series Master List || Part One || Channie's Bonus || Part Two || Part Three
*This is a continuation/bonus chapter from my series "I Don't Want To Put You Through Me". This takes place between Part One and Part Two.
Enjoy! ♡
The sound of a loud, relentless knocking at your front door somehow dragged you out of your drunken sleep, your entire body protesting as you blinked toward the clock on your nightstand.
4:17 a.m.
A string of curse words slipped under your breath as you squeezed your eyes shut again, dragging one of your pillows over your head.
I swear to god, if that’s the drunk from down the hall again, I’m going to lose it.
The knocking didn’t stop.
It echoed through your apartment, sharp and insistent, drilling straight into your skull and making the dull throb of your hangover feel ten times worse. You groaned, rolling onto your side, trying to ignore it by pretending you weren’t home, just in case it was the crazy old man from 506 again,
God, I’m never drinking again.
For a moment, it went quiet, but you barely had time to even breathe out in relief before it started up again, louder and more frantic. It rattled the door like whoever was on the other side was seconds away from breaking it down.
Then your phone started to ring, and another line of curse words left your mouth. You let out a frustrated noise, blindly reaching over the edge of your bed to grab it from where it had fallen sometime during the night.
“You have a key, Jeongin,” you hissed to yourself, voice thick with sleep. “What the hell are you doing?”
The brightness of the screen burned your eyes, forcing you to squint as you tried to focus. It took a second too long to register the name at the top.
And when it did, your heart dropped. Every ounce of sleep vanished instantly, your body going completely rigid.
Your thumb hovered over the ‘decline’ button, but curiosity got the better of you, and before you could think twice, you answered.
“What do you want?” You snapped, or at least tried to. The exhaustion softened it, turning it into something quieter than you intended.
There was a long pause on the other end, and you were convinced that he wasn’t going to answer at all, but then he did, and it made you flinch.
“You’re awake.” He said softly, like he couldn’t believe you answered.
“Unfortunately,” you shot back, your grip on the phone tightened as you pushed yourself upright despite the way your head spun. “What do you want, Chan?”
“Open the door. We need to talk.”
That made your entire body freeze. Your stomach dropped as you stared at the wall in front of you, trying to process what he’d just said.
“What the hell are you doing at my front door?”
“I need to talk to you,” he repeated, sharper this time. “Open the door, or I’ll keep knocking.”
You rolled your eyes and let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down your face. You debated calling his bluff, but the last thing you wanted was your neighbours filing a noise complaint, or the old drunk from down the hall snooping around in business that wasn’t his.
You dragged out the silence until Chan huffed out a breath of annoyance through the line, which caused you to snap back at him.
“You’re fucking impossible.”
You hung up the phone and forced yourself out of bed, your legs unsteady as you crossed the room and left to go answer the door.
As soon as you yanked it open, you wish you hadn’t, wish you’d stayed in bed, wish you’d stayed asleep.
Chan stood there, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. His phone was still pressed to his ear, but it slipped from his hand the second he saw you and he nearly didn’t catch it. You watched the way his eyes softened a fraction, shoulders dropping with something that looked dangerously close to relief.
You pinned him with a hard glare, crossing your arms over your chest. “What is so important that you couldn’t wait until morning?” you bit out.
Chan ignored the daggers you were shooting into his head and exhaled shakily, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize it. And then, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Fuck, I missed you.”
The words hit hard. Harder than you wanted them to. Heat flared in your chest, sharp and immediate, dragging up everything from earlier. The fight, the yelling, the kiss that never should have happened. And all the months of healing you just went through, only to be brought back here, with Chan showing up at your door at 4 am like it was routine.
“Fuck you.” You snapped, slamming the door in his face way too hard. That definitely would have woken someone up, but you didn’t care.
You turned, already walking back to your bedroom, muttering under your breath as your pulse pounded in your ears. And then, another soft knock came.
“Y/n, please. Open up.”
His voice was muffled now, rougher than before, and you stopped. You didn’t mean to, your body just kind of did. Your feet were glued in place, fingers twitching at your sides, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek.
Maybe it was the way his voice cracked, or the look on his face before you slammed the door. Maybe it was those four stupid words he said that he knew he shouldn’t have.
Whatever the reason, you hated it, because it made you turn back, moving to yank the door open with a sharp breath.
His expression shifted instantly, morphing into mixture of relief, softness and something else that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You have two minutes,” you warned, your voice low and tight. “Then I’m slamming it in your face again.”
For a second, he didn’t speak. He just looked at you. Really looked at you. He looked at you with those stupid, soft brown eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips like this was something he’d been waiting for. It made your irritation spike.
“Well?” you snapped.
You watched him blink a couple of times, seemingly snapping himself out of a daze before he swallowed and took a slow step forward.
“I miss you.” He whispered.
You barely had time to react before his hand lifted, reaching for you. You flinched away instantly, and the movement made his expression falter. He dropped his hand again, but took another step closer so he was in the middle of the doorway.
“Please, Y/n,” he said quietly, his voice unraveling at the edges. “I’m going crazy. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I can’t even think straight anymore.”
“That sounds like a personal problem,” you shot back before he even had time to finish. You tried to ignore the way your chest twisted, a small sliver of something you refused to draw attention to fluttering in your stomach.
“Please,” he tried again, softer this time. “I need you.”
Your entire body went rigid, the words hanging in the space between you, heavy and suffocating. And for just a second, you didn’t know how to respond. You bit down hard enough on the inside of your cheek that you nearly tasted blood. Your jaw tightened, nails curling into your palm to stop the onslaught of emotions from pouring out.
“You need me?” you asked slowly, your voice sharp. “Or you need my body?”
“I need you.” He answered with no hesitation. You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head and staring at him in disbelief.
“Funny. You seem to be doing just fine on your own.”
You watched the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching like he was trying to keep himself composed.
“I’m not,” he admitted tightly. “I’m just getting better at hiding it.”
The honesty in his voice made your gut turn. You weren’t expecting it, and that small little glimmer that settled in your stomach grew a little bit brighter. You chose not to respond to him, too afraid of what you’d say, what emotions would come tumbling out of your mouth. You just remained quiet, afraid to do anything else.
“Please,” he murmured, the word almost breaking apart in his mouth. “Just, let me have something. I’ll do anything. I swear.”
And that did it. Something in you snapped.
“Something?” you repeated, your voice rising, hurt bleeding through the crack despite your best effort to keep it buried. “That’s what I still am to you? Something?”
Chan started shaking his head back and forth the second the words left your mouth. He took a step closer again, and you didn’t have it in you to even step away. You were too busy fighting with the turmoil inside your chest to even consider anything else.
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what did you mean?” you demanded, your chest heaving now, tears threatening to blur your vision as emotions crashed over each other too fast to sort through. “Because it sounds like you just showed up here at four in the morning because you’re lonely and you know that I’m stupid enough to let you in.”
“I didn’t come here for that.” He cut in, his voice suddenly firm. You laughed bitterly in his face.
“Oh, cut the shit Chan. That’s exactly why you’re here.”
Before you could say anything else, Chan let out a heavy sigh and pushed his way into your apartment. You didn’t even try to stop him. If you two were going to get into another screaming match it was better to do it inside the place than in the hallway for everyone to hear.
You closed the door and locked it, the sound echoing and settled heavy in the space between you. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Not yet.
Because if you did, you knew exactly what you’d see. Those eyes, that look, the same expression that had always made you fold no matter how hard you tried not to.
“Did you ever stop to consider the fact that I can’t stay away from you?” he asked, his voice low, breathing heavy. You could tell he was only a foot or so away from you, not going any further into your apartment than the small foyer.
You curled your hands back in on themselves, nails biting into your skin hard enough to leave marks, the inside of your cheek once again being pinched between your teeth.
Don’t turn around. Don’t let him have this.
“I hate you,” you muttered, blinking away a tear. Your voice was low and unsteady despite the bite you tried to lace it with.
On instinct, you curled your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together. You had barely just made it through the last time he did this; you were so close to being relatively okay again, and now here he was, doing what he did best. Fucking it all up.
A quiet exhale left him, like he expected the words to come from your mouth.
“No, you don’t,” he answered.
Despite your best efforts, you turned sharply, head snapping towards him.
“I should,” you growled back, anger flaring fast now, just sharp enough to cut through the lingering haze of sleep and alcohol. “I really, really should.”
“But you don’t,” he repeated softer this time, like he was stating a fact instead of arguing, and that only made it worse.
“Don’t do that.” You snapped, taking a step toward him against you will. “Don’t stand there and act like you know me better than I know myself.”
“I do know you, though.” He argued, voice still soft, like your anger wasn’t affecting him in the slightest.
You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head, arms tightened around yourself.
“No. You don’t, Chan. If you did, you wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
Chan’s jaw tightened at that, something flickering across his face before he stepped closer.
“I’m here because I can’t stay away from you.” He repeated his earlier sentiment, like saying it enough times would eventually make you have a change of heart. You hated yourself because a part of you knew it was working.
“You’re here because you know I won’t say no.” you fired back, voice rising an octave. “There’s a difference.”
“That’s not fair.” He snapped, his brows furrowing, jaw flexing, eyes turning to daggers. You ignored the goosebumps that raised all the way up your arms from the hard look he was giving you.
“Oh, it’s not fair?” you echo. “You show up at my door at four in the morning after everything that happened, after you—” your voice caught for a second, but you pushed through it. “after you messed with my head like that, and I’m the one being unfair?”
“I didn’t mess with your head,” Chan ground out, frustration bleeding through his words.
“You kissed me!” You spat at him.
The silence only lasted a second before he shot back.
“And you kissed me back.” He countered.
And that seemed to hit exactly where he wanted it to.
Your stomach twisted at the memory, anger and something dangerously close to guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” you didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself. You tried to sound angry, but it wasn’t convincing, not even to you.
“It means something to me.” His voice dropped into something that was quieter, rougher, more believable. You hesitated, for only a second, but he saw it. Of course he saw it. He watched you like a lion watching prey; he was always laser-focused on every movement you made.
“So, what, you just— what?” you pushed, trying to regain control of the conversation before it slipped through your fingers completely. “You get to come here whenever it’s convenient for you? When you’re lonely? When you can’t sleep? And I’m just supposed to be available for you?”
A flicker of irritation rushed over Chan’s face, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.
“That’s not what this is.” he stepped closer again, hand coming up to reach for you. You barely had the energy to move away from him before he made contact. Because you knew once he did, you’d be done for.
“Then what is it, Chan?” you demanded, your chest rising and falling too fast now. “Because it still feels like how its always felt. You only want me when it’s easy for you. When it’s convenient for you. When you need comfort or a distraction. It’s never when you need—”
“I need you.”.
“No you don’t.” you laughed bitterly. “You need—”
”I. Need. You.” He repeated, slower, louder, cutting you off completely.
The force behind it made you falter, and for a second neither of you spoke. And Chan took advantage of your hesitation by stepping into your space, close enough that you would feel his breath fanning across your skin.
“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his voice dropping, but it wasn’t soft anymore. It was intense, pressing, relentless. “You think I haven’t been losing my mind trying to stay the hell away from you? Trying to do what you so clearly wanted?”
“I didn’t ask you to come here.” You tried to shoot back, but his presence made your voice falter, the tension rolling off of him strong enough to suffocate.
“No,” he agreed, licking his lips as his eyes searched your face. “But you didn’t stop me either. You still opened the door.”
“That doesn’t—” The words got stuck in your throat. He took another step closer to you, and with your last shred of instinct, you took a step back.
“Why are you standing here acting like I’m the bad guy for trying to fix this?”
You swallowed hard, and you didn’t miss the way Chan’s eyes followed the movement.
“Fix it?” you repeated, disbelief lacing your tone. “That’s what you think this is? You don’t just get to fix it because you decided you miss me tonight.” Your eyes were trying to focus on anything, anywhere but him. The golden skin. The long blonde hair. The plush lips and thick nose and sharp jaw.
“I miss you every night.” He said softly. And that’s the one that completely unravels you.
Despite your best efforts, your eyes find him again. They meet his, and he must’ve seen the way your resolve was cracking quickly, because he took another step forward. And then another, and then another, until you felt your spine hit the door.
The sound was soft, but it might as well have been deafening with how quickly everything else went quiet. Your heart was pounding loud in your ears now, so much so that you were sure he could hear it.
“You don’t get to do this,” you whispered, eyes already drifting over him, body already leaning into his space, like it had a mind of it’s own.
“Do what?” he asked, closing the remaining distance.
“Show up and act like you didn’t just ruin everything.” You stuttered out, knees growing weak from the way he was staring down at you. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and back again, and your breath hitched with anticipation even though your mind was screaming at you to get away, get away, get away!
“I didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured with a small shake of his head, eyes gentle, his focus locked onto you.
“You did,” you insisted weakly, voice barely holding together now. “You always do.”
Then, his hand came up. It was slow and deliberate as he moved to brace it against the door beside your head, caging you in without quite touching you. Your body moved on its own, head falling back, eyes falling heavy, breathing coming out in short puffs of tension.
The smell of cologne and whiskey wafted into your nose, making you dizzy with an unexpected desire. The need that was simmering low in your stomach was overwhelming. You wanted him. You hated that you wanted him, but you did. If anything just to make you feel something again.
“You’re still here,” he stated quietly, his voice like honey in your ears. “You’re still talking to me, you still opened the door.”
His gaze moved to yours, his breath fanning way too hard against your lips. If you just tilted you head up an inch, your lips would meet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. A small part of you liked to believe it was because you were still holding restraint, but you knew it was a lie. You were a goner the second you opened the front door.
“I hate you,” you whispered again, but there wasn’t any bite left in it this time, only a small whimper, and it made something in his expression shift. Like he knew in that moment he had you wrapped around his finger.
“Yeah,” he let out a low chuckle, his body moving to press against yours, voice barely there now. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Your heart stuttered.
You should’ve pushed him away.
You should’ve told him to leave.
You should’ve done anything except stay exactly where you were, trapped between him and the door, your resolve slipping through your fingers with every second that passed.
Because he knew exactly what he was doing. And the worst part? You were letting him.
Your breath came out uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow, like the air between you had gotten too thick to breathe properly.
He was too close. Everything about him was too close. And still—you didn’t move.
His gaze dropped, just for a second, flickering to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes like he was trying to stop himself.
He didn’t.
“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low, rough in a way that made your stomach twist. “Say you hate me.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers curling against your sides.
“I hate you,” you forced out, quieter now, the words lacking the weight they had before.
Something in his expression broke. Or maybe it snapped. Because the next second, whatever restraint he had left disappeared completely.
His hand came up, not gentle this time—firm, decisive—as it gripped your jaw just enough to tilt your head back, and before you could even process it—
His lips crashed into yours.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was everything you’d been trying to hold back all night—frustration, anger, want—colliding all at once.
The force of it knocked the breath out of you, your back pressing harder into the door as his other hand braced beside your head, boxing you in completely.
For half a second, you froze. And then you broke.
Your hands came up, gripping at his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, like your body had already made the decision your mind was still trying to fight.
The kiss turned messy fast.
Teeth clashed, breaths tangled, the kind of desperate that came from too much distance and too many things left unsaid. He kissed you like he was trying to prove something, like if he just held on tight enough, you wouldn’t slip through his fingers again.
And you let him.
God, you let him.
Every ounce of anger you had just minutes ago melted into something hotter, something heavier, your fingers tightening in his shirt as if you needed him there just as much as he needed you.
It was wrong.
You knew it was wrong.
But when his grip tightened, when he pulled you closer like he couldn’t get enough, when your name slipped out against your mouth like it meant something—
You didn’t stop it. You couldn’t.
“Channie,”
His name left your lips in a broken breath, barely there, and it only seemed to push him further.
Chan didn’t slow down.
One hand still sat firm against your jaw, the other sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a second.
The door rattled softly behind you with the force of it.
Your fingers twisted tighter into his shirt, grounding yourself in something solid as everything else spun out of control.
You barely registered the moment his hand shifted, the way his palms flattened against the back of your thighs before he was lifting you off the ground, pressing you harder into the door. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, teeth biting down on his lip, hands cupping his face.
You were acutely aware of the way his fingers, still planted firm on your thighs, were dancing breathtakingly close to the edge of your panties, and it made sparks dance along your skin. He tried to distract you from the sensation, mouth consuming every inch of yours like you were the only thing that would keep him hydrated. And it worked for merely a second.
Then, he was pulling his mouth away from you, a trail of spit following him as he went, and the second he leaned down to latch onto the skin of your neck, his fingers stopped teasing. He slipped his finger into your panties, curling around the damp fabric, brushing his knuckle against your clit ever so slightly.
Your entire being shook, nerve-endings bursting into flames from the anticipation alone.
“Oh my god, Channie,” you breathed out, eyebrows drawn together in pleasure. You were already so far gone and he hadn’t even properly touched you yet. “Touch me again, please.” You begged.
Chan hummed in response, his tongue licking the spot where he just sucked a hickey into your neck. He lifted his head just enough to look up at you, and before you could say another word, he plunged his middle finger inside you. You couldn’t stop the load moan that left your mouth as the tip of his finger teased your cervix.
“O…oh my god, fuck… oh my god.” The words sputtered out as he pulled his finger out, only to slide it in again, achingly slow.
“Already so wet for me and I haven’t even done anything yet, baby girl.” He teased, pulling his finger out just enough to add a second. When he slid them both back into you, your head fell back against the door, crying at the feeling of his digits stretching you open. He curled them up just right, enough to prod at that squishy part deep inside you that always made you squeal.
His mouth fell back to your neck as he pulled out his fingers completely and let out a low growl.
“God, I missed this pussy so much,” he groaned. He inhaled deeply into your neck, like he was trying to absorb you into his skin, before his large hands squeezed at your thighs and pulled you away from the door.
He skillfully toed off his shoes, his mouth back on your neck as he carried you through the foyer. You made it nearly four feet before he was pushing you back into a wall, adjusting himself to he could bring his knee up to brush against the wet fabric of your panties. Your hips slowly rocked against him, trying to get friction, and a low chuckled left his throat that had you shaking in his hold.
“For someone who hates me so much, you’re fucking eager, aren’t you?” He taunted you, moving his leg just enough to have you moaning as you rode it.
“Fuck you,” you breathed out, unable to stop your hips from moving despite the bite in your words. Chan let out another low chuckle and pulled you from the wall again, walking into your living room.
“Not yet, but you will be soon.”
You had managed to make it another dozen steps or so, lips molded against each other in a familiar lock that always had you struggling to breathe in the best way possible. Your hips continued to rock, your clit catching on the buckle of his jeans just enough to have gasps of pleasure slipping from your mouth.
You pulled your lips from his and moved down to his neck, digging your teeth into his skin so hard he let out a hiss. In retaliation, Channie set you down on one of your accent tables and immediately began unbuckling his jeans.
His lips latched to your neck, sucking more marks into your skin, while your fingers curled into the waistband of his jeans and shoved them down before wrapping your legs back around him and pulling him against you.
He ground himself against your pussy, nothing but his boxer briefs and the poor excuse of panties separating skin, and the pressure of him poking at your entrance was enough to have another cry of bliss leave your mouth.
“F…fuck Channie. It feels so g…good. Please… please don’t stop!”
His response was to pick up his pace, moving his hips faster against yours. The table you sat on began to shake from the motions, and the photo frames that littered the surface crashed to the ground, but neither of you cared.
“I knew you’d let me back in. Knew you still wanted me.” He growled as he rocked his hips forward, pushing deeper against you. “You can pretend to hate me all you want but we both know this pussy aches for me.”
A loud whine left your mouth, head falling back to rest against the wall, giving Chan full access to your neck. He continued rocking his hips against you, mouth back on your neck, teeth digging into skin. Your legs tightened around him, hands tangling in his long hair, heels pressing into his ass to drive him harder against you.
You don’t know how long you both stayed like that for, bodies rubbing against each other, but when Chan eventually let out a low growl and curled his fingers into his boxers, letting them slide down to his ankles, you were both sweaty and panting.
He pulled you against his naked body, his erection pressed against you deliciously. You let out a small whine when he bumped the fat tip against your clit, and it only encouraged him to slide his hands underneath your ass and haul you off the table completely.
He managed to blindly walk the two of you down the hallway, his cock prodding at your entrance with every slow step he took. The anticipation was excruciating, your body growing more and more sensitive with each rock of your hips.
Somehow, you managed to reach down and pull your panties to the side before grinding down again. You were so wet, so hot, so on edge that when the tiniest bit of his cock entered you, less than just the tip, you moaned loudly into the hallway.
Chan abruptly stopped walking, giving you a smirk as you clung to him, unable to stop yourself from moving against him. “God, you’re like a bitch in heat,” he laughed dangerously. Your pussy clenched around nothing at his words, hips still moving pathetically against him. “You want me to stop right here and fuck you on this carpet? Can’t even make it to the bedroom, can you, you filthy little thing?” he teased.
You let out a small cry as he rocked his hips upward enough to let him slide a little deeper into you before pulling out again.
“Answer me, Babygirl,” he rocked his hips up again. “You want me to take you right here?”
He rocked his hips up again, trying to entice an answer out of you when all you could do was moan. And then suddenly, you ground down at the same time he trusted up, and he slid in a little further, stretching you out deliciously. You both moaned in unison, the sound echoing off the walls.
“Fuck, please. Yes.. p..please Channie please. Fuck me. Fuck me right here. Please. I need you.” You begged legs locking tight around his waist, arms pulling his face back to yours just enough to lick into his mouth.
A hiss left his mouth when you rocked your hips and another centimeter of him sunk into you, and before you knew it, he was lowering the two of you to the ground in the middle of your hallway.
You barely had time to rest on the ground before Chan pulled all the way out of you, ripped your skimpy panties away from your body, and then slide all the way back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.
You were so far gone, you didn’t even realize he had slipped a condom on.
The scream that tore through your throat while he stretched you out with his fat cock was borderline pornographic. You were sure your neighbours heard, but you didn’t fucking care. All you cared about was the feeling of an impending orgasm that was already building quickly at the base of your spine.
“God, you always f..feel so perfect.” Chan mumbled as he slowly pulled out all the way, only to slide back in again at a snails pace, like he was savoring every inch of your pussy. Your legs tightened around his hips, and all it took was one slow pull out, followed by a sharp thrust back in, pubic hairs rubbing against your clit, that had you cumming hard around him.
“See? I told you this pussy aches for me.” He growled proudly, grinding his pubic bone against your nub, which only made your cry louder. A loud groan rumbled its way out of Chans chest when he felt you clench around him, and before you could even take a second to recover from your orgasm, his hips had picked up and he was slamming into you.
Instantly, you felt tears prick at your waterline, the pleasure coursing through you as he pounded into you at neck-breaking speed. His large hands moved to grab your waist, and he lifted your hips just enough to drive himself deeper.
“Ch-Channie, oh… oh my… oh my god.” You cried, hands reaching out to grab his veiny forearms to try and stabilize yourself from the oversensitivity. His tip pushed against your cervix greedily and you choked on a cry. “Channie…ooooh fuck. Please. Don’t stop!”
“There she is,” he smirked down at you, the chain around his neck thumping against his chest with every thrust he made. “So pretty when you beg for me,” he cooed. His hand traveled up your body, stopped at your chest to roll your nipple between his fingers just once before it continued up and curled around your jaw.
“Look at me,” he growled. You didn’t even realize your eyes were closing, your body falling victim to the feeling of him stretching you out over and over again. Your gaze met his and his hips faltered for a split second before he was back to tearing your sanity apart. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me while I wreck this pretty little cunt.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks as Chan kept fucking you, hips snapping against hips. His large hands never stopped moving. One second, they were on your hips, pulling you into him with every thrust, then they were traveling up your ribcage, gliding over your chest, the palms rubbing against your nipples. A long shiver raced up your spine, followed by a drawn out moan as he rolled both of them simultaneously between his fingers.
It was overwhelming, the soft heat of his body in contrast with the rough fabric scraping against your back every time his hips connected with yours. You were never one for pain, but you couldn’t deny how good the contrast felt.
“God, your pussy is so tight. She’s sucking me in. Fucking suffocating me.” His eyes squeezed shut as he flung his head back, face to the ceiling as his thrusts slowed drastically like he was trying stop himself from cumming too fast.
He slowed to a complete stop, despite your whimpers of protest, and stared down at you like you were something precious. So much so that it had your heart tightening painfully in your chest.
His hand moved to trail slowly back up your body, thumb eventually coming up to pull your bottom lip down. Your hips bucked against him, trying to get the friction back as the orgasm that was building subsided.
“God, you’re unreal.” He whispered, almost to himself as he dragged the pad of his thumb over your lip softly. “So fucking beautiful when you’re spread out like this for me.”
Something bubbled in your chest that was dangerously close to pride, but before you could respond, he slipped his thumb into your mouth and pushed lightly down on your thumb.
“Suck.” He commanded. Your half-lidded eyes met his and you obeyed him instantly, anything to get him to start moving again. And he did. Just one, slow, shallow thrust that had a squeal forcing its way out around his thumb.
“That’s it.” He cooed, watching you with a look of near adoration. You sucked lazily on him, hips continuing to move against his. He clicked his tongue and shook his head almost in disbelief as he pulled out and slowly thrusted back in. “That’s my girl.”
Like a bucket of ice water being poured on you, you tensed. Your entire body went rigid, eyes snapping all the way open, fully alert. He smirked down at you, and you felt a sliver of anger cut through the haze.
Without thinking, you bit down on his thumb, hard, and a sharp hiss left his mouth. But, instead of him pulling his digit out, his pupils dilated and his smirk grew wider.
“Oh, you fucking hated that, didn’t you?”
With a newfound strength, you ripped his hand away from his mouth and pulled yourself up on your elbows. There wasn’t much you could do, given as he was still deliciously stuffed inside you, but you couldn’t stop the fury that was quickly burning in your chest at those three words.
That’s my girl.
Before you could second guess yourself, you reached up and slapped him across the cheek. Hard.
“Fuck. You.” You growled.
Your palm stung, but you barely paid it any attention when you felt him suddenly throb inside you a second later. You clenched involuntarily at the feeling of his cock somehow filling you impossibly more.
You watched as Chan then prodded the inside of his cheek with this tongue, turning back to look at you with an intense look in his eyes. The side of his mouth turned up into a deep smirk, eyebrows raised like he was surprised you did that. You clenched around him again.
“See, your mouth is saying one thing, but your pussy is saying something else.” He taunted, completely ignoring the mark on his cheek from where your skin met his. “And you know what she’s saying right now? She’s telling me she’s all mine.”
He chose that moment to pull all the way out, causing a pathetic whine to leave your mouth despite the death glare you were sending him. Before you could catch your breath, he moved you onto your hands and knees, and then he was slamming back into from behind. Despite your best efforts, you immediately rocked your hips back against him, unable to stop yourself from arching your back at the feeling of him filling you up. A small plea slipped from your mouth when his hands flew to your hips and his nails dug into your skin.
“You want to act like a bitch, then I’ll just have to fuck you like one.”
From there, your mind went completely blank. His hips snapped against your ass, balls hitting your clit with every thrust, ripping squeals and loud cries from your mouth.
“O..oh shit, oh f…fuck, shit, you’re so fucking big, Channie” You babbled, the bubble of anger threatening to dissolve. You were quickly growing drunk on the feeling of his cock ramming into you, hitting you in the cervix so hard it you knew it was going to bruise. “S’good. So fucking good. D…don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”
A sharp cry left your mouth when his hand connected with your ass in a loud smack a second later. “You like that, huh?” He laughed at the way your pussy fluttered around him, and smacked it again, hard enough to leave a handprint.
The familiar tingling sensation started to form along your back again, and it was building quickly with the way one of his hands curled around you, slipping between your legs and rubbing your little clit.
“FUCK. Fuck yes. I love it. I love it s’much. ” You reached back and grabbed at his ass, trying to push him impossibly deeper into you. He was no longer thrusting in and out, but instead, he was shoving himself in so far and grinding just right that it had your vision blurring. He let out another laugh when you choked on a sob.
“God, you fucking love this cock so much, don’t you Babygirl?” he responded, obeying your silent plea and pushing himself deeper; so deep that your knees gave out and you were slowly sinking to your stomach with every thrust of his hips. He adjusted himself once, angling his himself in a way that made tears prick at your eyes.
“Oh my god,” you choked out. “Harder, please, go harder!” You could feel the sensation of your oncoming orgasm tingling up your back harder than it ever has before, and just when you thought it couldn’t feel any better, he lowered himself so his chest was pressed against your back and grinded his hips into you so hard you felt like you were going to pass out.
Another loud scream ripped its way out of you, your nipples rubbed painfully against the carpet, the chain around his neck cooling the skin of your back as he leaned in close to your ear.
“No one knows you like I do, Babygirl—oh fuck, jesus christ you’re dripping.” He half-growled half-groaned. “No one can make you feel this way, right? No one can fuck you this good?”
Unable to form a coherent sentence, you just nodded pathetically as his nails dug into the carpet beside your head. It was too much. It was all too much.
Him, his cock, the way he was tearing you open from the inside out. He was so deep you could feel him in your throat, and you felt yourself suddenly teetering on the brink of sanity. When he spoke again, you knew it was only a matter of seconds before you experienced the best orgasm of your entire life.
“Tell me, please.” His voice changed instantly from the low growl to a small plea, and you knew he was also getting close, could feel it in the way he was twitching uncontrollably inside you, hips stuttering, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. “Tell me I’m the only one, and I’ll make you cum so fucking hard you’ll see stars.”
“You’re the only one, Channie, your cock is the only—oh my god!” You couldn’t get the rest of your sentence out before you were, in fact, seeing stars. Your vision went blurry, a scream ripping it’s way out your throat as your clit caught onto the carpet below you just right again and again. Suddenly, all at once, that tingling sensation exploded across your entire body as you came, squirting all over yourself.
Chan let out a loud curse, feeling you wet his cock before he slammed into you once, pushing you into the floor and pushing himself so deep into your tight pussy it was like he was trying to engrain himself in your skin.
The groan he let out against your back as he emptied himself inside the condom was so loud, so broken, so full of pleasure that it had your pussy fluttering around his cock again. He hissed at the feeling, biting into the skin of your shoulder. His hips eventually slowed to a stop, but he didn’t bother pulling out. That, or he didn’t have the strength to.
You turned your head and rested your cheek against the carpet, chest heaving so hard your nipples were scraping against the rough fabric of it. Your body twitched at the feeling.
It was silent for a couple of long seconds before you felt Chan move. You couldn’t stop the whine as he slowly pulled out, already missing the way his cock filled you so perfectly. He kept his chest pressed into your back, moving the hair away from your neck to leave a small, sweet kiss behind your ear.
“You doing okay?” he asked softly. The gentleness of his tone was such a contrast to the way he way he was just talking to you before that it had your heart pinching uncomfortably in your chest. “Let’s get ourselves cleaned up and head to the bedroom, yeah?”
He moved slowly, pulling himself away from your body, taking any warmth with him. The cool air of the apartment bit at the sweat on your skin, and as Chan pulled himself to his feet and moved to throw the condom out in the bathroom, you couldn’t make yourself move.
It was like you were stuck to the floor, pinned down by the weight of what just happened. Anger prickled along your skin, but the guilt and shame burned brighter, finally breaking through the post-coital haze.
“Hey, do you know where I threw my shirt?” Chan called over the sound of running water.
But the only response was the feeling of a single tear falling from your eye, sliding down your cheek, and dripping off your chin onto the carpet below.
Not because of the shame and the guilt.
But because despite yourself, despite everything, he still showed up at your door, and you still let him in.
Part One || Channies Bonus || Part Two || Part Three
genre: Fluffy, angsty, and if you squint hard enough a sprinkle of smut
tags: emotional themes (grief, abandonment, burnout) slow burn, so much praise, insecurities and self-worth issues, emotional intimacy, single dad au, strangers to lovers
summary: he moves into the house across from yours in the quiet cul-de-sac and you don’t think much of it at first. Just a new neighbor, that’s all. You don’t know much about him, only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to be a problem on purpose, and always looks a little too tired. Should be easy to ignore. Right?
𐙚
Part One
summary: A quiet cul-de-sac, a man who keeps to his garage, and a life that looks sealed off from the outside. Until a little girl opens the door you didn’t know was there. What starts as curiosity turns into small everyday crossings of distance, where tired hands, shared meals, and soft routines begin to blur the line between neighbor and something more.
preview:
Three days later, Chan learned two very important things.
One: His daughter had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed.
And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment.
“Dad,” the toddler whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.”
He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it.
He barely had time to fully think and react before his daughter started waving both arms aggressively from the cart.
“HI!”
𐙚
Part Two
summary: You didn’t mean to become part of their routine.But somewhere between late dinners, early mornings, and a child who loves loudly without hesitation, the line between helping and staying starts to disappear quietly, without permission.
preview:
For once, Chan didn’t immediately have a response, he just looked at you, like he was trying to decide what to do with that.
His gaze dropped briefly, towards your mouth, then back up. A tiny movement of course, something that was easy to miss.
But for you, impossible to ignore.
Your breath caught, and so did his.
And suddenly the space in between you felt very little, very quiet.
𐙚
Part Three
summary: By Friday, what was meant to be a simple one-on-one outing starts to feel like something neither of you can easily label. The evening unfolds through small, shifting moments that blur the line between casual conversation and growing connection, leaving both of you more aware of each other than you intended.
preview:
And when the crowd shifted again, neither of you drifted apart until the music began to wind down and the crowds started to thin.
You followed the rest of the stragglers toward the exit, watching them as you went.
A couple holding hands.
A man trying to negotiate with a vendor before closing.
A group of friends going into the photobooth.
Right. Photos.
You stopped walking and Chan quickly followed suit.
“What?”
You smiled mischievously, “We forgot to take pictures.”
He stiffened up, “No.”
𐙚
Part Four
summary: Chan’s life as a single dad and his growing connection with you begin to naturally intertwine as you become a steady presence in both his and Jia’s world. What starts as simple comfort and routine slowly builds into something more charged and emotionally loaded, though neither of you rush to define it.
preview:
“Hey, free to chat?” he asked, like he hadn’t been standing outside long enough to lose an entire argument with himself.
“I am” your voice came through easy. “You okay?”
That alone made him exhale a little,“…Yeah,” he lied automatically.
Then, he added on weaker, “Not really.”
That got a small laugh from you, “I figured,” you said.
He shifted his weight, still standing outside the shop without fully committing to going in or walking away.
“Is this one of those situations where I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need thinking?” he asked.
There was a pause on your end.
“Probably.”
That was so blunt he almost laughed. “…That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be,” you said lightly. “It’s meant to stop you.”
𐙚
Part Five (contains smut)
summary: after acknowledging your feelings and sharing your first night without Jia together, you spend a quiet weekend settling into the developing relationship. You begin to learn what it means to simply be together.
preview:
You kiss his nose, "good?" His hold on you tightens as his eyes meet yours, "Perfect," he pecks your lips. "You are so perfect."
Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loudly you were convinced he could feel every beat through the fabric of your shirt. Judging by the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, maybe he could.
"You're staring," you whispered, trying to hide your face against his shoulder.
"I know."
"It's making me nervous."
He laughed softly. "Don't be acting all shy now."
You groaned, burying your face even deeper into his chest. "I mean it," he said, still smiling. "You're cute."
"I'm choosing to ignore you."
𐙚
Part Six (contains smut)
summary: By Sunday morning, Chan realizes he's deeply attached to you, cherishing the quiet intimacy and shared moments from the weekend. As you both prepare to part ways, he expresses his desire to make your time together more consistent and meaningful. Despite the uncertainties about the future, there's a sense of comfort and promise in simply being together in the present.
preview:
You pecked his lips, “I’m already knowing baby, it’s okay. You should go pick it up."
He still didn't move.
You laughed quietly. "Chan."
"I know," he repeated, smiling this time. "I'm just….not in a hurry for this weekend to be over."
Your expression softened, "it isn't over."
"No?"
You shook your head, "We still have tonight."
His eyebrows lifted hopefully, "after Jia goes to bed?"
"If you'll have me."
A grin spread across his face before he kissed your forehead, "I'll always want you, babydoll."
𓂃⋆.˚ perv!chan who's also your neighbour headcanons
neighbour!chan who keeps his curtains half-open on purpose just so he can watch you walk around your apartment in those tiny shorts and tank tops after you get home from work. he tells himself he’s just “checking if you’re safe,” but his hand is already slipping into his sweatpants the second you bend over to grab something off the floor
neighbour!chan who times his evening runs so he “accidentally” bumps into you when you’re coming back from the gym, all sweaty and flushed. he loves the way your sports bra clings to your chest and how your breath hitches when he leans in a little too close to apologize, inhaling the scent of your skin
neighbour!chan who installed a ring camera on his balcony that just so happens to have the perfect angle into your living room. he jerks off to the footage later, moaning your name under his breath while rewatching the part where you stretch on the couch and your shirt rides up, showing your inner wear
neighbour!chan who “borrows” your packages from the lobby so he has an excuse to knock on your door. he always stays a little longer than necessary, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body while he asks you innocent questions about your day but iff you’re wearing anything thin, he’s hard before he even gets back to his apartment
neighbour!chan who jerks off with your stolen panties pressed against his face. he took them from your laundry basket when you left it in the hallway for a second. he cums so hard he sees stars, then carefully washes and returns them like the perfect neighbour
neighbour!chan who listens to you through the thin walls when you touch yourself at night. he matches your rhythm, biting his lip bloody to stay quiet, imagining it’s his fingers, his tongue, his cock making you moan like that instead :(
neighbour!chan who offers to help you “fix” things in your apartment just so he can stand behind you while you’re reaching for something, pressing his hard-on against your ass “accidentally”
neighbour!chan who has an entire private folder labeled “gym” that’s actually just pictures and videos of you. the way your tits bounce when you run on the treadmill, the sweat sliding down your neck, the little sounds you make when you’re tired… poor baby watches them on loop while fucking into his fist
neighbour!chan who leaves anonymous notes in your mailbox telling you how fucking hot you looked last night, how he wants to bury his face between your thighs and make you scream his name, just to see you look flushed. then he acts completely normal and sweet the next time he sees you, he can't get caught ofcourse
neighbour!chan who is one “come over for a drink” away from losing all control and bending you over his kitchen counter the second you step inside — especially after you’ve been dropping those little hints lately, like biting your lip while staring at his arms, wearing the shortest shorts when you know he’s around, and casually mentioning how you’ve been thinking about him at night in that breathy tone that makes his cock twitch instantly
cw: reader has a dramatic inner monologue ( me😘 ), cursing omg, smut — sub leaning chan, male whimpering !!!, pussy job ( humping ), aftercare awww
summary: you went to collect your belongings from your ex’s house.
“well, well, well.” — the nerve of this man to answer the door in just grey sweatpants.
“how can you open the door naked like this? what if i was a neighbour?”
chan smiled down at you through loose strands of dark hair. he blatantly scanned over your outfit — a pink and grey iamgia set. he almost let his bottom lip slide between his teeth. *almost. he figured he should make at least some attempt at not pissing you off. “i knew it was you. i know what your knock sounds like.”
“fuck, i don’t even know why i came back here. i should have just made you bring my shit to my house.”
“you wanted to see me.”
“i wanted to make sure—“
“make sure you got everything, i know.” he finished your sentence for you. you hated how well he knew you. after breaking up with you he should have forgotten everything about you. he didn’t deserve the memory of your presence. “it’s so you never have to come back, right?”
“exactly, you can be smart sometimes.”
“i can, can’t i? well, come on in, sweetheart.” he turned his body to the side in the doorway, forcing you to squeeze past him, chest-to-chest.
“let’s not be starting with that now.”
“yes ma’am, my bad.” chan pretended to salute and you knew you wouldn’t get away from this house as swiftly as you thought. every little quirk he displayed, that rolled together into his goofy personality, brought a different memory to the front of your brain. and it made you nauseous.
“so. where’s my stuff at?” you scanned over the generously decorated walls of the house as you walked down the hall towards his home studio. please can my stuff be in the studio, you thought.
“your stuff’s in my room. you can go get it.”
uh. ok. you switched your direction to start walking up the stairs, not without giving him a disapproving look — you never used to have to do things for yourself when it was you and him. he was always opening doors for you, putting your feet up for you, making you dinner... while you were around halfway up, bang chan was still stood waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, one hand leant up against the bannister with a smug look on his face.
“so, now that we’re not together anymore, you’ve forgotten how to use manners?”
“i’m mean to everyone except my girl.”
you knew he was just playing, but you refused to let him know you still found him funny. “what you are is corny as fuck.”
when you reach his bedroom, it’s dark in there, save for the low lights on his headboard, and it almost looks like they’re casting a spotlight on the bag at the end of the bed. a dark coloured, monogram, louis vuitton travel bag that you can’t tell whether you left behind or he bought it new, just to give your stuff back in it. just to remind you of the life you’re leaving behind. bent in rather an uncomfortable position, you start rifling through the bag to check if everything was there. your toiletries, some pajamas and underwear, some clothes— you didn’t miss the sound of hushed footsteps ascending the stairs.
chan approached to the doorway, leaning his entire body against it and looking down at your figure bent over the bed “you been working out?”
“if you’re staring at my ass, i’m gonna be really annoyed.”
he stifled a laugh.
“and since you’re that kind of gentleman, you should be looking at no one’s butt except your girl’s. which i am not.”
“touché. you got everything?”
you zipped up the bag. “yeah, at this point, if i leave something here, it can’t have been that important to me.”
“mm.” chan pursed his lips, “that feels targeted.”
“nah, you’re just full of yourself.”
you picked the bag up off the bed, smoothed down your trackset and started to walk towards the doorway. the doorway that your ex was still very much stood in. unmoving, like he was the door itself.
“ is there a problem?” you blinked at him and signalling that he get out of your way.
“there’s actually one thing i forgot.”
“right. and that is..?”
“i want one last kiss. before you leave me in the dust.”
you threw your head back with an exasperated sigh. partially in disbelief, partially in annoyance. “your ass is crazy.”
with both hands, he reached to hold onto yours, after taking the bag out of your right hand and placing it on the floor. “i just need something to hold me over. i need closure.”
“boy… you got your closure already.”
“how?”
“mm. you know what you said, you got your closure.”
“just one kiss, baby. for the last time in our lives.”
you scrunched your eyes closed and let out a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “on the lips right?”
“no, your pussy.”
one of his brows quirked up at you and you couldn’t believe what you had just heard. “you got me fucked up—“
“that was sarcasm. god. yes, your lips, cmere.” he gently grabbed your jaw, pulling you in for the kiss and he wasted no time pushing his tongue into your mouth and gliding it against yours, making you moan. his hands roamed slowly; cautiously, down your back to find home on your ass cheeks, as if you had never separated. he deepened the kiss, switching between making out with you and pushing sloppy pecks on your lips. you let him have you for about 20 blissful seconds before you put your hands on his shoulders, signalling that it was time for him to cut it out.
“wow, wasn’t that nice?” you lifted your middle finger to try and salvage what was left of your lip combo. “not exactly one kiss but i’ll let it slide since i only just stopped you.”
“one kiss was never just one kiss with us though was it?”
“riiight… let me grab my shit and go.”
“you’re still not feeling for me after that?”
you sigh for what feels like the 10th time tonight. because of course you are, you just don’t need him to be knowing that.
“i literally knew you would try and get me. i need to get home, i’ve had this makeup on all day, i feel icky.”
“i can take it off for you, just wait” he grabbed back onto your hand and intertwined your fingers. “i’m not ready to let you go yet.” chan was sporting something of a cocky expression. like he wasn’t serious at all. but you could tell, he was masking a sadness under there. you just couldn’t understand how that could be.
“clearly.”
he laughed at your bluntness. even though shit wasn’t funny to him right now.
“what if i told you i can’t let go of you? like physically i can’t.”
“you can deadlift 350lbs but don’t have the strength to let go of my hand?”
his head jolted back in a confused expression, “how do you know the—? anyway, not important, that doesn’t even compare to how hard it is to let go of you. not even close.”
“no?”
he brought one of your hands that he was holding up to his lips to place a barely-there kiss on it, before pulling you closer to him by your hand. “no. don’t go home yet.”
you felt so conflicted. the reason you had left in the first place was because you were standing your ground. what was the point in all that if you weren’t going to continue doing so?
“fuck, ok, fine. but i’m setting down some rules.”
chan tried not to look too excited. not that it worked at all. “i’m all ears baby.”
“i’m deadass when i say; you will never see me again after this. don’t try hitting me up.”
he nodded affirmatively. “i got you.”
“and don’t tell your friends. or mine, especially not mine.”
“it’s our secret” he held his pinky up to yours, swearing this incident to secrecy.
“i can’t believe myself.” you whispered under your breath, intertwining your pinky with his and immediately crashing your lips together. you were so lost.
chan picked you up and carried you that short distance to the bed, just so he could lean his body over yours when he set you down. he pressed featherlight kisses all over your face and the expanse of your neck, making your squirm under him. you whined at the disappearance of his warmth on your neck only to open your eyes and see that he had gotten down on his knees at the foot of the bed. he started to pull your leggings off slowly, leaving kisses all over your legs. when his lips moved over to your inner thighs, chan made it a point to keep his hands steadily holding your legs open when they started twitching closed around his head.
finally, he licked a long stripe over your pussy through your underpants. “these are cute.” he whispered keeping his mouth on you while his big brown eyes bore into yours.
you didn’t reply, only rolling your eyes in annoyance as he dragged the panties down and immediately sucked your clit into his mouth. one of your hands flew to grab his hair while the other gripped the comforter below you. since the both of you had that mutual crash out on each other, you hadn’t been uh.. loving on yourself — you found yourself busy doing other things — so the yearning in you seemed to overshadow the fact that you were letting your ex eat you out right now.
one of chan’s hands reaching up to cup your breast and rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger forced you to break your vow of silence. you moaned loudly and the sound went straight to his ego.
“oh, i know, baby. feels good, doesn’t it?” you didn’t think his tone could get any more patronising. and as much as you didn’t want to admit, it was turning you on so much.
the closer you started to get, the sloppier his lips got against your cunt. leaving heavy kisses all over the expanse of it and ever so often dipping the tip of his tongue inside of you, nose bumping against your clit. your legs started to quiver slightly, “i’m gonna cum, channie.” and that’s when he stops.
“oh my god, why?”
“i want you to cum on my dick, baby.”
you furrowed your brows up at him, but you refused to give in. refused to be submissive to him. especially, not after how he did you. you sat up on your elbows just glaring at him and he couldn’t help but smile back down at you.
“that a problem?” he ran his thumb over the apple of your cheek.
“no. get on your back.” you got up.
“oh, you’re gonna push me around?
“don’t you at least owe me that?”
he smirked at you, taking the place where you were laid on the bed and pulling his sweatpants down, leaving himself in some boxer briefs of a lighter grey.
“you left the boxers on.. you think you’re getting the same treatment as me?”
“not necessarily. i just like it when you undress me.” the way he looked up at your naked body towering over him was almost pornographic. his lips were still glossy from eating you out and his pupils were blown wide with lust.
you pulled his boxers down to reveal that he was already fully hard. chan moaned at the contact of your soft palm against the tip of his dick, slick with glittering precum. you circled your palm around the tip, making him squirm a little before pushing his dick forwards to be flush against his lower abdomen.
“what are you doing, hm?”
his hands rubbed over your naked thighs as you moved to straddle your bare pussy over the shaft of his dick.
gently, you sat down on it and started grinding yourself on him, your clit catching on his tip with each shift of your hips.
chan couldn’t even stop his eyes from rolling back, “ugh, fuck.” as his hand moved to grab your ass for stability. his tip nudging against your clit again and again pushed him into a desperate state. whining and moaning under you.
“fuckfuckfuck— that feels r-really nice. mmh.”
the lewd sounds he was making under you only made your pussy leak more onto his dick and you started effortlessly sliding on him. and still, the louder your moans started to get as you neared your orgasm again, you sounded nowhere near as pathetic as him. you weren’t talking to him and it was driving him crazy. somehow you ignoring him was turning him on more.
“keep moving like that and i’m gonna fucking cum. wait baby, stop, i’m—“ he cut himself off with a low whine.
leaning forwards, you braced yourself against him placing your hands on his arms at either side, unintentionally pinning him down and making his eyes roll.
chan’s breath started to pick up, “no, fuck, i don’t wanna cum like this. wanted to cum in you— ohh, fuck i’m cumming. i’m— shit.”
thick ropes of cum spurted out all over his abs that already glistened with a sheen of sweat. as he came, chan’s hips start stuttering under yours triggering your orgasm with the combination of friction and his cries of pleasure. you let your body flop against his, heavily breathing on his heaving chest.
“fuck.. why weren’t you talking to me?” he dealt a light swat to your ass to get your attention.
“i was concentrating.”
“concentrating on torturing me?”
you opted not to answer that one. “well.” you sat back up on him, not missing the way he twitched at your movement. “i hope you’re satisfied.”
the two of you looked at eachother while you got off of his lap. his hair was moderately fucked up, his cheeks were pink and his face was glowing.
“seems as though you are.”
“you’re cruel.”
you started putting your panties back on, “well, don’t be doing shit to people and expect them not to do shit back. does that make sense?”
he just frowned at you, watching you get ready to go. “wait…”
“what now, chan?” honestly. you did nawt have it in you to go again.
“i can still take your makeup off. i have wipes.”
oh. you watched him disappear into his en suite to clean himself and continued putting your clothes back on. he came out with some sensitive wipes and sat next to you, silently wiping your face, starting with your eye makeup.
“you know these wipes are actually pretty bad for your skin.”
a ghost of a smile settled on his features. “pfft, so why are you letting me do this?” by force of habit, your hand went to hold his arm where he was holding your face still and wiping with the other hand.
“i think it’s only bad if you do it often…”
“i see. who’s your source?”
“tiktok.”
“right.”
chan started wiping around your mouth which shut you up with an offended hum at which he laughed quietly. then he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “done.”
you looked up at him, letting him press a gentle peck to your lips. you both knew between you that this was really the last one and it made your heart ache.
wordlessly he walked with you, all the way to the front door. before you walked out, you stopped yourself.
“hey. if you text me i might reply.”
“oh, how lucky i’d be.” he smiled softly at you.
“but before u think about doing that, maybe take some time. figure your shit out.”
chan scoffed out a laugh. “yeah ok. i’ll see u later.”
or: you didn't think a mere pheromone perfume would have this much of an effect on him. congratulations, you've earned his attention and the hatered of your neighbors, boo you whore
warnings: MDNI! ot8 x reader (separate), they go FERAL, probably highly unrealistic portrays of what a pheromone perfume does, dom/sub dynamics, overstim edging piv begging etc etc, scent kink?, they're really really needy, overuse of italics
bang chan
"P-please please, just -"
and it's the first you've heard him beg.
his voice breaks into a ragged exhale, forehead pressed against your shoulder, inhaling like he's trying to burrow into your skin. His hips stutter, losing rhythm entirely, and the bedframe bangs against the wall with every desperate push of his hips against yours.
He'd laughed when you uncapped the perfume bottle - "Really, babe? Pheromones?" - watching as you dabbed it behind your ears, along your wrists. "Cute," he’d teased, leaning in to sniff you with exaggerated flair. "Smells like -"
His breath caught.
"it actually smells...nice"
And within minutes he was on you.
You didn’t think it’d be this bad - didn’t think the perfume would turn him into this much of a mess, wrecking you like he’s trying to brand himself inside you.
He’s close, faster than any other time - you can tell by the way his rhythm stutters, the way his fingers tremble where they grip you. But he won’t cum, won’t let himself, not until you’re shaking apart under him first. "No wait-" he twitched when you clench around him, his hips jerking wildly, like he’s losing alll semblance of control.
His forehead drops to yours, sweat and tears and god knows what dripping between you, thrusting hard, grinding deep enough to make you sob. "Gonna - fuck, gonna ruin you-"
His thighs tense violently, muscles locking up as he tries - and fails - to hold back. You can feel him twitching inside you, his cock pulsing in erratic little jerks as his breath hitches against your skin. "you're - hnn -you're g-gonna -" His words dissolve into a broken whine when you tighten around him again, dragging a punched out moan from his throat.
His hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit with a precision that shouldn’t be possible when he’s this far gone, tipping you over with a scream that he swallows with his mouth.
He fucks you through it, rough, chasing his own release like he’ll die without it.
then entire body stills , eyes rolling back as he finally, finally gives in - cuming with a choked off cry that sounds more like pain than pleasure, his hips rutting forward in tiny thrusts as he spills into you.
But even as his orgasm crashes over him, he doesn't stop - can't stop. His hands scramble to grip your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer as his hips jerk forward again, his cock still hard and twitching inside you. "it's not -fuck- s'not enough."
lee minho
the perfume must've worn off by now, 'cuz it's been hours.
You try to push back against his thigh, your arms trembling, but he groans, and in one fluid motion, he wrenches your wrists behind your back, pinning them there with one hand.
"Thought you could - hngh - get away?" His voice is a dark laugh, but it cracks halfway through, betraying the desperation beneath the bravado. His hips stutter, losing rhythm for just a second, and he groans , forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. "Fuck - you’re ruining me -"
He’d been smirking when you first sprayed the perfume, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "Really, baby? You think that’s gonna work on me?"
but then it's like a switch flipped - One second he was teasing, the next he had you bent over the couch, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he ruined you.
Now, his free hand slides around your throat, holding , "Gonna - hnn - gonna fuck you stupid ," he rasps, but it sounds more like a plea than anything. His hips snap forward, and you feel him twitch inside you, again, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
The couch creaks so loud you worry it's gonna break, leather protesting under the force of his thrusts, and you try to push back against his thigh again - just to see what he’ll do.
His grip on your wrists tightens instantly, fingers digging in hard " Stay still ," he orders, and then his mouth is on your neck, sucking, marking you as his. His hips jerk forward again, erratic now, and you can feel him trembling - shaking - barely holding it together.
"M-Min, please -" Your voice cracks, barely audible over the wet smack of his hips slamming into yours,
He pulls your hair sharp, tipping your head back, and his lips brush your ear. "Please what , sweetheart?" He’s panting, voice wrecked, but there’s that smug edge to it, "Use your words."
You whimper, and he groans like the sound punched the air from his lungs. His grip tightens almost painfully, and you can feel him twitching inside you again, so close. "Wanna cum,"
"Then cum," he growls, biting down on your shoulder again.
And you do -
you shatter around him, vision going white, and he follows with a groan, his hips stuttering wildly as he spills inside you for the nth time tonight.
seo changbin
“You smell so good,” Changbin groans, and it's the first time he's been so turned on - so hard - by something like the mere scent of you, and the thinks you've unlocked something new in him.
“Yeah?” you murmur, running your tongue along the underside in one slow, filthy stroke. His breath punches out of him like he’s been hit, fingers scrambling to fist in your hair. “You like how I look too, or just the perfume?”
Changbin chokes - half laugh, half moan - before his head drops back against the mattress. “Fuck - both, obviously - ” His hips roll up, desperate, but you hold him down with a palm splayed over his stomach, relishing the way his abs jump under your touch.
“God, please-” His voice cracks, and you finally take him into your mouth, swallowing him down until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base. His hips stutter, thighs trembling under your grip, and you hum around him just to feel the way his whole body seizes.
his thighs quiver under your palms as you hollow your cheeks, dragging your lips up his length. A string of broken curses spills from his lips, fingers tightening in your hair - not to guide, just to hold on.
The musk of his arousal mixes with the heady sweetness clinging to your skin, and when you swipe your tongue over the slit, he whimpers, hips jerking off the bed.
“F-fuck,” His voice is ragged, breath coming in shallow pants. You take him deep again, relishing the way his cock twitches against your tongue, the salt of him thick on your taste buds. His abs flex violently when you swallow around him, a choked-off moan tearing from his throat. “God, your mouth - shit, shit, shit-”
You pull off just to watch his face crumple, lips slick and swollen as you tease the tip with featherlight kisses. His chest heaves, eyes wild, and when you grin up at him, he makes a sound like he’s been gutted.
“Please,” he gasps, hips canting up uselessly. “Please, please, please-”
The desperation in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. You lick a slow stripe from base to tip, humming when his fingers spasm in your hair. “Gonna-” His warning is half swallowed by a groan as you take him all the way down again, nose pressed to his pelvis, and stay there, throat working around him until his legs shake.
He comes with a sob, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat, and you swallow every last drop, lapping at the oversensitive head until he’s whimpering.
Hwang Hyunjin
The shower spray is hot, steam curling around Hyunjin’s bare shoulders as he kneels on the tiled floor, hands clamped around your thighs to hold you still.
He'd crowded you against the tiled wall, his mouth already on your neck before the showerhead even finished warming up, frantically pulling both your clothes off as his hands slid down your waist, "Fuck," he muttered, voice rough, nose dragging along your collarbone "What the hell do you have on?"
You barely had time to answer - not that you could’ve, not with the way his tongue was suddenly all over you, his hips pressing into yours with a desperation that made your breath hitch.
The saleswoman had promised the perfume would be effective, but you hadn’t expected this. Hyunjin’s fingers dug into your thighs as he lifted you, your back hitting the slick tiles, and then his mouth was between your legs before you could even gasp.
His tongue was relentless, hot and wet and insistent, licking into you like he was trying to memorize your taste.
"Oh my god-" you choked out, fingers tangling in his dripping hair, tugging as his lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. He moaned against you, the sound muffled but filthy, hips jerking forward, grinding against your leg.
"Taste - fuck -" he slurred, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in, tongue fucking into you with a broken noise.
Water cascaded over both of you, he was too busy lapping at you like he was starved.
"Fuck, you taste—" he groaned against your skin, the words muffled by your flesh as his lips sealed around you again, sucking hard enough to make your toes curl against the slick tiles. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging as his tongue pressed deeper, fucking into you with a rhythm that had your vision spotting.
"Hyune—" you whined, back arching off the wall, water spraying across your heated skin. He didn’t let up, his hands sliding under your thighs to hike a leg higher, spreading you wider.
His nose brushed your clit as he licked a slow, filthy stripe up your slit, and you squeaked, hips bucking wildly. "God, you’re - hnn - you’re ruining me," you babbled, voice cracking as his tongue circled your clit again. your orgasm was building up, fast .
He pulled back just enough to pant against your thigh, lips slick and swollen, "Smell so good," he slurred, nuzzling into your skin like he was drunk on you, his hips rutting against your leg in frantic, aborted thrusts. "Taste even better- "
You barely had time to even breathe before his lips sealed around your clit again, and - oh god - your vision whited out. Your back arched off the wall as you came with a broken cry, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
He didn’t stop, tongue lapping at you through it, drinking you down, rutting against your leg-
And then he broke.
His own climax hit him, hips stuttering as he came untouched, his cock twitching against your calf, stripes of white mixing with the water running down your skin.
his forehead pressed to your stomach, whole body shuddering as he rode it out. You carded your fingers through his sopping hair, watching as he trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps before he managed,
"please tell me you bought whatever you had on"
han Jisung
"please, please don’t stop," Jisung whines, voice cracking as his hands scramble uselessly at your hips, fingers slipping against your sweat slick skin. His thighs tremble under you, muscles jumping with every roll of your hips, every tight clench of your cunt around him.
You’re both a mess - his cock twitching inside you, oversensitive and leaking, your own thighs sticky with his spend and yours, dripping down onto his stomach in a slow, obscene trickles.
The room reeks of sex, of sweat and musk and the thick, honeyed scent of that godforsaken pheromone perfume you have on that got him so putty in your hands in the first place.
"You’re so good," he babbles, hips jerking up helplessly, chasing the drag of your walls around him even though he’s shaking with it, even though his cock is red and oversensitive and dripping.
"So pretty, so perfect - fuck, fuck, fuck, your pussy’s killing me-" His words are cut off when you grind down, the swollen head of his cock catching on that sweet spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
You’re exhausted, this is - what, the third orgasm? fourth? you've lost count. your thighs burning, cunt throbbing with every movement.
but with the way he’s looking at you, lips bitten raw, eyes wet and pleading, tears clinging to his lashes, you can’t stop. Not when he sounds like this, not when he’s begging so pretty.
His fifth (?) orgasm hits him so intensely, it's got his back arching off the bed, hands clawing at your thighs like he’s trying to ground himself, to survive it.
You feel him pulse inside you, but there’s barely anything left to spill, just weak little spurts that make him sob,
"N-no more, please-" he chokes, but his hips stutter up anyway, betraying him, fucking shallowly into you like his body’s forgotten how to stop.
"You can take it," you murmur, riding him through the aftershocks of his fifth release like it’s nothing, like his cock isn’t twitching pathetically inside you, oversensitive and spent.
"C’mon, baby, one more - just one. For me." You grind down, relishing the way his breath hitches, the way his hips jerk up helplessly, betraying him even as he sobs out a weak "No, no, ‘m gonna die-"
he looks ruined right now. it only spurrs you on, rolling your hips in tight, practiced circles, milking him dry until his sixth orgasm punches out of him with a choked gasp. It’s barely anything this time, just a weak dribbles that leak out around him.
You settle above him, panting, thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. His chest heaves, sweat slick and flushed, his hands limp at his sides like he’s given up.
You lean down, pressing a kiss to his jaw, humming when he whimpers at the contact. "So good for me," you coo, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. "Took it so well."
His breath hitches when you shift, and then you’re moving again, slow at first, then faster, his oversensitive cock stirring inside you despite his weak protests.
His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in, his voice cracking around a "Fuck " that turns into a broken moan halfway through.
You lean down, pressing your lips to his ear, your voice dripping with sweetness. "Think you can handle another?" His
lee felix
Felix’s thighs tremble where they’re splayed open, his cock twitching pathetically in your hand - red and overstimulated, dripping precum onto his stomach in a messy trail.
His breath comes in shaky gasps, lips bitten raw, fingers clawing at the sheets, trying to anchor himself. "P-please - fuck - please," His voice breaks, high n' so desperate , tears welling in his lashes as you slow your strokes to a torturous crawl.
You remember the way he’d grinned when you first showed him the perfume bottle - how he’d rolled his eyes but bought it anyway because you’d pouted, because he always caves for you.
Who knew he'd be like this. His hips jerk off the bed, his cock leaking against your palm, his entire body wracked with shudders as you squeeze him justtt shy of release again.
"No - hnn - no more , I can’t -" He sobs , back arching, eyelashes rimmed with tears.
his stomach is drenched , a glossy mess of precum and sweat, his abs clenching with every thrust. His cock pulsing in your hand, the head flushed dark and aching.
You brush your thumb over it, slow , just to watch his entire body jerk, his mouth falling open in a soundless scream.
his arm flew up to cover his face, ashamed of the tear spilling down his cheeks. "Y-you’re killing me -"
"You bought it for me," you murmur, and his hips twitch up helplessly. "S’your fault , baby."
Felix whines, a high and broken sound, his fingers tangling in the sheets like he’s trying to rip them apart.
"D-didn’t - hngh - didn’t know -" His words are cut off when you speed up, wrist flicking up in quick strokes, his toes curling into the mattress. "F-fuck - stop , s’too much -"
But you don’t stop- you slow down instead, your strokes lazy, teasing, and Felix keens, his entire body bowing off the bed. "P- please ," he begs, "just - fuck - just let me cum -" His cock twitches, dripping, and you grin, " Ask nicely," you purr , and he chokes, his face flushing darker.
Felix’s breath hitches, his lips parted around ragged gasps, his eyes rolled back with desperation . "P-please," he whispers, voice breaking , "please let me cum, please-" His hips jerk up, pathetic , and you coo, "good boy ,"
Kim seungmin
gosh if Seungmin was in the right state of mind, he would be embarrassed right now.
his fingers settle against your hips - gentle at first, just the barest press of his thumbs into your skin as you rock back onto him at a pace so slow it’s cruel.
The headboard isn’t even knocking. The sheets aren’t even rumpled. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs locked tight, his breath coming in little gasps every time you clench around him "F-fuck," he grits out, voice strained, "you’re - hnn -you’re killing me -"
and you shift backwards, just enough for your hair to brush his cheek - just enough for him to catch a whiff of you .
And then - oh - his head falls back against the pillows with a thud , his eyes rolling so far back they might stay there. "Oh," he chokes, voice gone , "oh fuck -" His hips jerk up violently, slamming into you so hard you yelp, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you upwards. "S-smell - fuck - smell so good -" His words slur together, his hips pistoning up mindlessly , his cock throbbing inside you.
"hnng- thought it 'wasn't gonna work' " you tease, grinding down, and Seungmin snaps , you don't even register him flipping you onto your back so fast the room spins .
His lips crash into yours, messy and so desperate , tongue licking into your mouth "gonna ruin you -" he gasps between kisses, his hips snapping forward with a wet slap, his cock pulsing and leaking inside you.
His hands wander, greedy, one tangling in your hair to yank your head back, the other groping at your throat , "M-mine," he murmurs, teeth scraping your jaw, "all fucking mine -"
yang jeongin
Jeongin hates you.
At least, that’s what he keeps saying into your skin between desperate bites - his hips pistoning into you from behind so hard the bed screeches across the floor.
"f-fuck" His voice cracks , stuttering , his cock twitching inside you "H-hate you - hate how you smell -"
And it’s hilarious , really, because he was the one who bought it for you.
Jeongin had shoved the little black box into your hands two days ago, muttering something about "thought you'd like it."
The box was sleek, expensive-looking, the kind of thing that made your brows raise when you peeled back the velvet lining. Pheromone Amplifier, the label read in delicate silver script. For enhanced attraction - effects may vary.
Idiot. He hadn’t even read the fine print.
Now? His teeth are sunk into your shoulder, his hips slamming into yours like he’s trying to punish you for his own mistake.
"S’your fault," he hisses, voice wrecked, his hands clawing at your waist, pulling you back onto him, "Should’ve - hngh - should’ve thrown it away -"
You laugh between a moan, grinding back just to hear him whine, and he stops , flipping you onto your back so fast the room spins. His pupils are blown , lips swollen from biting them, his cock throbbing where he quickly sheathed it back nside you.
"S’not funny ," he gasps, his hips are already stuttering , his rhythm falling apart as he chases his release.
His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips, and when you clench around him , he sobs , his entire body locking up. "N-no - stop " His voice is shattered, raw, his hips jerking forward helplessly. "gonna cum too fast-"
You wrap your legs around his waist to trap him, and Jeongin cums with a moan , his cock pulsing inside you as he spills, his body collapsing onto yours, "H-hate you," he whispers , but his arms are wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck, his lips pressing shaky kisses to your skin.
"it's your fault," he mumbles, and you laugh, running your fingers through his sweat damp hair.
"You bought it," you remind him, and Jeongin groans , his hips twitching against yours, he’s already hard again?
"shut up ," he whines, but he’s pulling you closer, his mouth sealing over yours in a messy, desperate kiss. "... Again ."
CAST I bang chan, yang jeongin (i.n), seo changbin
WC I 3.2k
GENRE I smut, pwp, established relationship
WARNINGS I explicit language, explicit sexual content, mc finds jeongin attractive, usage of “baby girl,” “good girl,” etc., predator & prey dynamic, dom!chan, daddy!chan (ofc), sloppy kissing, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, biting, unprotected sex, dirty talk, clit play
SYNOPSIS I ignoring your boyfriend has its consequences — and its rewards, depending on the way you look at it.
A/N I i meannn obviously this was inspired by the run it music video. what can i say… watching chan move like that awoke something in me </33 also i was torn between making this a hybrid fic or not SO if you wanna see a hybrid!chan fic similar to this let me know 👀
request to be added to current and future taglists here!
MASTERLIST | STRAY KIDS MASTERLIST
The clock on the far side of the room ticks slowly, counting the seconds, minutes, and hours that are going by. The leaky faucet in the bathroom down the hallway drips in unison. Chan’s foot taps, perfectly in sync before dipping out of rhythm every now and then, when he gets distracted.
And he is just that — quite distracted.
Normally, he had no problem keeping rhythm. In fact, he was quite good at it. If he were really paying attention, he would’ve noticed this cacophony of sounds and likely pulled out his old laptop to record a sample or type something out quickly. Inspiration, he often said, was found any and everywhere, if you simply took the time to stop and listen.
He wasn’t about to listen to his own advice right now, though.
Your giggles — usually a source of his own happiness (and inspiration) — were at the moment getting on his nerves. Not because it was you, and not because he thought your laugh was annoying, no — he loved your laugh, loved you. But the fact that Jeongin was the one making you giggle and blush like that… well, that simply wasn’t acceptable.
He glares over at you, where you’re curled up in the corner of the couch and glued to your phone, squealing and giggling as you watch and re-watch Jeongin’s parts in the new music video.
He looks sooo good in this video, Channie!
I can’t believe how much he’s grown into his features, he looks so different now…
Ah, his biceps! Has he been coming to the gym with you more often?
“No, he hasn’t.” Chan’s voice is sour, bitter and jealous. His cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment — here he was, a grown man of nearly 30, throwing a hissy fit over his dongsaeng. Jeongin, of all people! Of all the other members! It made it that much more humiliating, that he was jealous of Jeongin. His baby brother.
If you notice the sullenness in your boyfriend’s voice, you don’t show it, which adds to Chan’s annoyance. Why weren’t you watching his parts? His clips? What was so fascinating about Jeongin in this video?
“Maybe he’s been going with Bin, then… because he’s gotta be working out pretty damn hard for those…” you marvel, rewinding the video again to catch another glimpse of Jeongin’s biceps flexing as he raises his arms.
That was it. Chan’s scowl darkens, and he moves over next to you to grab your phone from your hands — the video still playing — before scooting back over to his end of the couch, a smug smile on his face now as he hears your protests.
“Chan, wha…” you grumble, your gaze finally settling on your attention starved boyfriend. His face lights up as you regard him — never mind that your expression is confused and annoyed — and he shuts off your phone, beaming.
“You’re not paying attention to me,” he pouts, and his cuteness almost makes you forget about his thievery.
“Give it back,” you pout back, playfully reaching for your phone.
“Uh-uh… Jeongin time is over. It’s Channie’s time now.” He grins wider, holding the phone even further out of your reach. You groan in exasperation.
“Babe, come on…”
“I said, it’s time to pay attention to Daddy now.”
A chill runs down your spine at the dominant turn in Chan’s voice. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry, and your heart starting to pound faster. When you meet his gaze, his eyes are dark with lust and control. He makes sure that you’re watching his every movement, as he stands up and places your phone on the nearby table, screen side down. You can hear it buzzing, and he clicks his tongue as he watches you twitch with hesitation.
“Why’re you so focused on other things, baby girl? I’m right here… I need you too,” he croons, slowly walking towards you. You feel exposed, bare, despite the fact that you’re still completely clothed.
Once he’s standing before you, he nudges between your legs so that he’s able to get right in front of you, smirking as he watches your expression change to a flustered one. Your eyes lock with the sight before you — his crotch, his erection straining at the confines of his jeans. A strong, firm hand at the back of your head gently guides you closer, until your plush lips press against his hardness. You let out a small whimper as you feel his cock throbbing, pulsing against your hot mouth.
“Seems like you might need me just as much as I need you,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his voice as he lets out a shaky exhale, feeling every quiver of your desperate, eager mouth. “Is that right, baby?”
“Mm… mhm…” you moan, your voice muffled. He lets out a low groan, the vibrations of your voice making him shudder with arousal.
“Good girl. ‘S what I like to hear.” His grip on your hair tightens, and he pulls you back, away from his crotch. It makes you whine again, but he shushes you as his free hand fumbles with his belt, with his button and zipper before roughly shoving his jeans and his boxers down at the same time. His jaw clenches with impatience and the strain of holding back as his cock twitches and bobs right before your eyes — it’s a bit cruel how he holds you back, makes you watch as a bead of precum forms at his slit. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, salivating as he watches you with amusement and satisfaction.
Finally, finally, he loosens his grip on your hair once more, grunting as you take that as permission to touch him. You move forward eagerly, your hands grabbing at his muscular thighs to pull him even closer, needing him to overwhelm every one of your senses. You press messy kisses to his hip, his upper thigh, making him groan and leak more precum, the sticky fluid dribbling down his aching shaft. You’re careful to not tease too much, knowing his patience is thin already tonight. And anyway, you want to please him. He needs it, and you’re completely willing to give it — to show him just how much you want him, more than anyone else. Forget everyone else.
He lets out an uneven, shaky breath as your lips finally close around his tip, your tongue swirling around his slit and tasting his bitter essence. You put on a bit of a show, moaning at the taste as you flutter your lashes and look up at him, further spurred on by the sight you’re met with — him, his head thrown back already, groaning as he lets you worship him.
You take more of him in your mouth, eager to please him more now, your grip tightening on his creamy thighs as you hollow your cheeks and tighten your lips around his throbbing length. His tip prods the back of your throat, and you hold back a gag as you swallow around it, eliciting a strained grunt from the man above you.
He takes things into his own hands now, mind blurred with lust. He curses under his breath, using both hands to grab your head and thrust fully into your mouth, chuckling breathily at the sound of your surprised, garbled moan. Your nose presses against his crotch, nosing at the short, fine hairs there. You take the opportunity to use your tongue to swipe at his balls, making him grit his teeth and shiver at the sensation.
“Fuck… taking me so good, aren’t you?” he practically purrs, looking down at you with adoration. “My good girl…”
Eagerly, you let out a whimper, the vibrations of your throat around his cock making him mutter a quiet “fuck” under his breath.
Once he’s sure that you’re adjusted, sure that you’re ready, he draws his hips back, sucking in a deep breath as he looks down at his spit slicked length. His hips snap forward, thrusting his cock into the back of your throat roughly, and he moans loudly as you let out a choked splutter. He thrusts hard and fast, chuckling darkly at the sight of your spit dripping down his chin, dribbling down his balls and making a messy puddle of fluids on the floor between the two of you.
“Mn, fuck… ‘y like that? Like the feeling of my cock down your throat?” he grunts, biting his lower lip hard as he feels your tongue swipe along the underside of his length, teasing despite his rough treatment.
Your nails dig into his skin, as if to wordlessly say, yes.
The hungry, lustful look in your eyes paired with the hot, wet cavern of your mouth proves too much for Chan to handle, at least for too long. You’re far from done when he pulls you off of his cock, and you let out a hoarse whine of protest. His chest is heaving, the exposed skin of his lower stomach shiny with perspiration.
“Bedroom,” he growls, dark eyes trained on your shivering form as you stand up immediately, obeying his words like a well trained dog. He kicks off his jeans and boxers, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he follows you to the bedroom, stalking you like a predator closing in on its prey.
You feel like you’re being hunted too — stumbling on shaky legs (even though you hadn’t even been fucked yet), short of breath. You cast a look over your shoulder every few steps, slowing your pace as you watch Chan’s shadowy form trailing after you. He too pauses, to take off his shirt. Your breath hitches as you watch him pull the sweat soaked garment over his head, his muscles flexing deliciously in the limited light.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, baby.” You shiver, your panties dampening and your heart rate increasing as his voice echoes down the dim hallway. You quicken your pace, skittering down the hall and entering the bedroom. You perch delicately, nervously, on the edge of the bed — watching the doorway, waiting for Chan.
He enters momentarily, but every second feels like an eternity until he appears in your line of vision again.
Completely nude now, he looks like a Greek god standing there. There’s a slightly cocky, arrogant look on his face as he watches your hungry expression, and he shifts to wrap his thick fingers around his even thicker cock. Stroking slowly, teasingly, he lets out a low groan, squeezing his tip before letting go, smirking at the way you squeeze your thighs together and suck in a quick, eager breath.
“Strip. And lay back for me,” he orders, watching from the doorway. Refusing to come closer, unless you listen to what he says. Holding the reward of his cock just out of your reach.
What else can you do?
It’s not like you wanted to disobey anyway.
You fumble with your clothes, the fabric suddenly becoming extremely confusing as you try to rip everything off as fast as possible. Chan hides a smile behind a stoic demeanor as he watches you struggle to get your shirt over your head.
You eventually figure it out, your cheeks flushed with sheepishness as you settle in the middle of the bed, propping yourself up slightly with your elbows. Just enough that you can still see Chan.
He’s looking over your nude frame appreciatively, a low grumble of a growl in his throat as he finally begins to approach. He crawls onto the foot of the bed, slowly making his way up to you, back muscles rippling with every slight movement. He doesn’t stop until he’s hovering over you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh, hot and throbbing right next to where you need him most. You’re sure he can feel it too, from the way his length slips against your slick skin, dampened with your juices.
He leans down, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. Memorizing everything about you, as if he didn’t already have it committed to memory.
He adjusts, angling his hips slightly differently, making you gasp as he presses against your sopping slit instead of your inner thigh. It was like he could read your mind — or, he was just thinking the same thing.
Your hands find refuge on his back, nails taking up and down his milky, rippling skin. His hands settle on your hips, squeezing the plush flesh there, anchoring himself before he pulls back slightly, nudging your legs onto his shoulders, that same cocky grin spread across his handsome features as he looks down at your flustered expression. He leans over to press a surprisingly tender kiss to your quivering leg, before he looks down and lets out a shaky breath, tapping his tip against your clit.
“Ready?” he murmurs softly, his other hand reaching up to find yours — both of your hands were lost, clutching at the sheets desperately after you removed them from his back. You squeeze his hand gently, the feeling comforting.
You nod, biting your lower lip in anticipation. And so he presses forward, a guttural groan escaping his lips at the same time a whimpery mewl escapes yours.
There’s a slight bit of resistance as he presses the blunt tip of his cock against your tight slit, reminding both of you that it had been too long since the last time this happened. You wince slightly at the burn, the stretch, as his tip wedges its way inside, pressing deeper and deeper. It begins to satisfy that gnawing hunger from within, making you let out a sob of relief as he bottoms out inside you, despite the slight pain that remains.
Chan lets out a snarl, upper lip curling as he presses your legs up against your chest, nearly folding you in half as he starts to fuck you hard and fast — mirroring the rough pace he’d set when fucking your face just minutes before.
“Fuck, fuck… fuck yes,” he groans, letting out a pleased hum as he hears your mewls increase in volume. He bottoms out, grinning widely as you squirm when he swirls his hips in circles, grinding his tip against your cervix. It feels so deep, so intense — it’s no wonder you can’t help but sputter and babble for more, even though he’s giving you more than you can handle.
“Baby girl likes it when Daddy’s rough with her, hm?” he coos, snapping his hips against yours, the emanating squelches making you moan with embarrassment and arousal. “Come on… say it. Tell me how much you love it, how good you fuckin’ feel right now…”
He reaches down, thumbing at your sensitive, ignored clit, making you gasp at the sudden dual pleasure. “F-feels so good!” you manage to stutter out, finding it extremely difficult to properly form words at the moment.
He pulls out suddenly, and your skin screams for his touch to return. Your legs fall back limply, aching from the position that they had been pressed in all this time. His expression is one of pure lust, endless longing, as he looks at the sweaty sheen of your skin, the way the dim light highlights your curves and dips.
“Flip over for me, baby.” His voice is commanding, that dominant edge not leaving despite the growing exhaustion in his aching muscles.
You do so, your legs shaking as you get on all fours. Chan’s touch is back on you instantly, sending fire through your veins, bringing you back to life. You find your voice, whimpering his name — Daddy — desperately, loudly, as he shoves your face into the sheets and presses his hips against yours.
He drags his tip over your clit, over your aching and swollen hole, stopping just before he reaches your ass. He sucks in a quivering breath, in a trance as he stares at the glorious sight before him. Never before has anyone been able to evoke such animalistic instinct from him before, such primal urge. He stares at your vulnerability, drooling at the implications and potential possibilities. “Pretty… my baby girl has such pretty holes, all for me to use…”
“Daddy, please!” you plead, your cries muffled, tears and snot and saliva soaking the sheets beneath your face.
He growls in response, slapping his cock against your swollen pussy. You sob, your feet kicking against the mattress weakly, listlessly, uselessly.
He plunges his cock back into you without any warning, without even another word. Your sob turns to a deep moan, your walls clamping down around his thick girth, sucking him in deeper.
It takes everything in him to not fill you up right there, right at that moment.
Drawing back slowly, his balls tight and full, he has to hold back even more, biting his tongue. There’s a circle of cream around the base of his cock, your combined fluids making a painfully erotic sight. He needs more, needs to feel you cum on his cock.
He changes his position, faster than you can protest. One hand cements itself on your hip, the grip bruising. The other reaches around, pressing hard against your puffy clit and rubbing in tight circles. He has to muffle a moan by leaning down and biting your shoulder as he feels your pussy clench around him again. His hips start thrusting again, frantic and needy. His teeth release your flesh, soothing the sting with his soft lips, pressing sloppy kisses everywhere you need him.
“D-Daddy…” you moan, the new position bringing you to your orgasm much faster than before. You can feel him so fucking deep, feel the roughness of his calloused fingers directly on your clit. It’s too much, and you both know it. You can practically see the smug grin on his face as you close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of his tip dragging against your g-spot with each knowing draw of his hips.
“Go on, cream on my cock, baby. Know you wanna,” he growls, pinching your clit between his h thumb and forefinger, moaning in harmony with the scream it brings from your lungs. “G-gonna breed this pussy so fuckin’ full…”
You think you black out for a second, but you can’t be sure. All you know is that one moment you’re crying Chan’s name, and the next his front is pressed against your back as he whispers your name back, heat blooming inside you as he spurts ropes of thick cum deep into your womb.
He presses kisses to your sweaty shoulder, hands coming to gently smooth over your waist, soft praises falling from his lips — so sweet in comparison to the dirty filth he’d been spewing just before.
He pulls out with a sharp inhale, watching the pearly rivulets of your combined release flowing from your sweet pussy. He nearly leans back in, but you flip back over to pull him into a searing kiss instead. He kisses back, heart skipping a beat as he gently pulls you into an embrace.
“Satisfied now?” you murmur, voice hoarse but still teasing.
That was something (one of the many things) he adored about you — your insatiable, never ending spark. He rolls his eyes, resting his head on your chest.
“Mm… maybe for now,” he concedes, indeed content for now, as long as your phone (and the replays of Jeongin’s parts) stay away from his girl.
petrichor-han 2026. do not translate or repost without my permission.
please consider reblogging and/or leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic :) tumblr posts revolve around reblogs, and i'd appreciate the gesture!!
CONTENT: Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Backstage AU (Alternate Universe), Idol Life..
SUMMARY: An ocean of thousands of people, a world tour, and a distance that weighs far too heavy. Amidst the roar of the stadium and the glare of the spotlights, he lives with the constant fear that time will eventually cool everything down. But sometimes, to prove you don't plan on going anywhere, all it takes is crossing the world in secret and standing in the very front row.
You wake up with that heavy, sticky feeling of having slept way too little. The room is still dark, the blinds drawn almost all the way down, with only a thin sliver of light cutting through the edge and tracing a line across the floor.
You don't know what time it is, but you do know exactly what you're going to do first.
You reach out, fumbling around the nightstand until your hand finds your phone. The screen lights up, and the glare forces you to squint. You blink a couple of times, waiting for your eyes to adjust, and then you see it.
His name, right at the top of the screen.
A long notification.
Several messages.
It’s not unusual for him to text you while you’re asleep. What’s unusual is the sheer amount.
You swipe and open the chat. The scroll bar is tiny; he’s written a lot. You can already picture him: lying on the hotel bed, his hair still damp from the shower after the concert, the room in semi-darkness and the distant hum of the AC filling the silence. Exhaustion deep in his bones, but his mind way too awake to fall asleep.
You start reading.
We just got back to the hotel.
The concert was incredible, but I can't stop thinking about how I wish you were here.
You feel a soft ache in your chest. Biting your lip, you lean your back against the headboard as you keep scrolling.
I miss you so much.
I feel like it's been way too long since we've talked properly… it’s always quick texts, or voice notes when one of us is half-asleep…
You swallow hard. It’s true. Between your schedule and his, the calls have started to shrink: ten minutes before he leaves for rehearsal, a thirty-second voice note while you’re on your way to work, a "text you later" that sometimes arrives hours later, when one of you has already fallen asleep.
I know it’s because of the time difference and our jobs, but I can’t help feeling like I’m letting you down a little.
Your hand grips the phone a little tighter. You can perfectly picture his expression as he writes that: his brow slightly furrowed, staring blankly at some spot on the ceiling, carrying a guilt that doesn't belong to him, but that he shoulders anyway as if it were his own.
I’ll be there soon. Wait for me, please, okay?
You feel your stomach drop. He always tells you that. "Wait for me." And you do. You wait for him in calls, in messages, in silences. And you would do it a thousand times over. But reading it like this, in black and white, leaves you with a bitter sense of helplessness.
Sometimes I'm scared that this pace will eventually wear you out… that one day you’ll wake up and think it’s easier to be with someone who isn't always far away, busy, exhausted..
You close your eyes for a second.
It’s not the first time he’s talked about this fear. He’s confessed it more than once, in a low voice, almost ashamed, as if worrying about you were a flaw. But he had never written it so clearly. You had never read it this way, with so much weight in every word.
You take a slow breath, refocusing your gaze on the screen.
If you ever feel like you're getting tired of this, promise me you'll tell me. Maybe I can do something. I don't want you to suffer in silence just to avoid worrying me.
I don't want things to grow cold between us. I don't want the distance to make you feel lonely.
Your own eyes begin to sting. Not because you’re tired, but because of the way he blames himself for things beyond his control: the schedules, the flights, the cities changing every week, the stages packed with people cheering while, inside, he wonders if you’re still there, on the other side of the screen, with the same strength as before.
You move your thumb again.
Sorry, I got emotional again… you know me.
I love you. Way more than I know how to explain in texts.
Everything stops there.
The room is still silent, but inside your chest, something has started to shift. A strange warmth, a mix of tenderness, anger at the distance, and a determination you didn't have the night before.
You stay motionless for a moment, the screen illuminating your face, skimming back over the lines you’ve already read. Every phrase of his hits differently now. "I'm scared that this pace will eventually wear you out." "I don't want things to grow cold between us." "Wait for me, please."
You don’t want him to keep asking you to wait for him from the other side of the world, with you unable to do anything more than reply "I'm here."
You don’t want him going to sleep in unfamiliar hotels thinking that, at some point, you might get tired of this.
You take a deep breath and, before you can stop yourself, your fingers are already moving. You exit the chat. You open the browser. You type in the name of the country he’s in right now, the name of the city of the last concert on the tour. Your pulse quickens a little when you see the list of dates, the posters, the image of him and the guys promoting the tour.
His next concert. His next city.
Your next vacation days, still unused.
You feel the idea plant itself in your mind with a firmness that borders on madness.
You could go.
You could ask for those days off.
You could buy the ticket.
You could be in that city, in that stadium, among that crowd.
It could be you he sees when he looks up toward the front row.
You swallow hard, feeling your heart begin to beat faster—this time not from sadness, but from a mix of vertigo and excitement that forces you to sit up properly, straightening your back, as if your own body needed to brace itself for what you are about to do.
You go back to his chat before you have time to second-guess yourself.
You reply to his messages, of course. You couldn't do anything else.
You read it one more time, that "I'm scared that this pace will eventually wear you out," before letting your thumbs drop onto the keyboard.
You take a second to organize what you want to say to him. You don't want to sound rushed, or spill everything that's stirring inside you without a filter. You want him to feel a little lighter when he reads it.
You start typing.
Good morning, love. I just woke up. I've already read all your messages.
You delete the period, then put it back. You let out a sigh, and keep going.
First of all: you are not letting me down in anything. Absolutely anything.
Pause. You reread it.
I know exactly what your pace is like, what your job is like, and it has never been a problem for me. Quite the opposite.
You feel something inside you click into place as you write it. It’s not just for him; it’s a reminder for yourself, too.
I’ve always known there would be crazy schedules, new cities every week, and endless rehearsals, and I still chose to be with you. I’m not getting tired of it. I promise.
Yes, sometimes it’s hard. I miss you, a lot. I wish I could have you here every day, see you come home exhausted from the studio and make you a coffee, or fall asleep with you on the couch. But I wouldn’t change a single thing about what you’re experiencing right now.
A small smile escapes your lips as you picture him, his cap pulled down to his eyebrows, walking through the front door.
I am so proud of you, honey. Of everything you do, how hard you work, what you’ve achieved. I’m always going to be the first one to support you, even if that means that sometimes we have to settle for late-night voice notes.
You pause for a second, feeling the lump in your throat tighten just a little more.
And no, our relationship isn't growing cold. The distance hasn't changed how I feel about you. If anything, it’s only made me want to hug you tighter when I finally have you in front of me.
If something ever weighs too heavily on me, I’ll tell you. I promise. I’m not going to leave in silence or pretend everything is okay if it isn't. But right now, the only things I’m feeling are that I miss you, and that I love you, so much.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you review what you’ve written and add, almost without thinking:
So stop thinking that I’m going to get tired of you, okay? There is no one else I’d rather be with, even if you are thousands of miles away.
I love you. Get some rest if you can. When you wake up, send me a voice note, I want to hear your voice.
You reread everything one more time. You don't mention how much the distance hurts, because he already knows; you don't mention the emptiness in the bed, or the nights when you also find it hard to sleep. You've made it clear to him: yes, it’s hard. No, you’re not getting tired.
You hit send.
The messages shoot out, one after another. His last active status is still locked in the early hours of the morning. You know he must be fast asleep by now, exhausted after the concert, after writing all of that to you. You don’t expect an immediate reply.
You close the chat, but you keep the phone in your hands. The browser tab is still open in the background, with the tour dates shining like a persistent reminder.
This time, words aren't enough for you.
You scroll until you find the city he’s in right now. You recognize the name of the country, the photo of the stadium, the tour poster.
The concert is in just a few days.
Your vacation days are still untouched on the calendar.
Your pulse quickens as you open another app—the flights one. You type in the departure city, the destination city. The numbers start appearing on the screen: times, layovers, prices.
It’s a reasonable madness, you tell yourself. It’s not impossible. You’d have to adjust a couple of things, request the days off right now, organize everything very quickly. But it can be done.
You imagine his face when he sees you in the front row.
You imagine the exact moment his eyes scan the audience, pause, and recognize you.
The thought pulls a smile from you that you didn't know you needed.
Before you keep looking at flights, you know you need someone on his side of the world. Someone you can trust. Someone who can help you make sure all of this doesn't turn into a logistical disaster.
You know exactly who to text.
You look for his name among your pinned chats and open the conversation.
“Felix 🐣”.
Your fingers fly across the keyboard.
Lixie, are you awake?
The double checkmark appears almost immediately. “Online.” It doesn’t surprise you; his schedule is just as chaotic as Chan’s. The ellipsis indicates he is typing.
Yesss, I can't sleep haha. Is everything okay?
You take a deep breath. This is the delicate part.
Everything's okay, I promise. I just need to ask you for a very, very big favor. And don't say ANYTHING to Chan.
He takes a little longer to reply this time.
Okay now you're actually scaring me 😭 are you really okay?
You can't help but laugh a little.
Really, I'm okay. It's about him, but in a good way. I want to surprise him.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Omg
WHAT KIND OF SURPRISE
You stare at the screen for a second, hesitating. Once you put it in writing, it will be real.
I want to go see him at the next concert.
To your country, to the city of the concert.
I don't want anyone to find out, just you and the manager, in case you need help.
You know you’re heading straight into chaos: curious members, a tour in progress, impossible schedules. But if anyone can get as excited about the idea as you, it’s Felix.
He takes a moment to reply. You wonder if he’s jumped out of bed, if he’s gone to knock on someone’s door, if he’s just processing what you’ve just told him.
Finally, the message appears.
NO. WAY.
WAIT
You, here. At the concert. For real for real?
You smile, biting your lip.
For real for real. I have accumulated vacation days, I can request those days off.
But I need your help to organize it. And make sure nobody lets it slip, you know how you guys are 😅
The ellipsis appears again.
HAHAHA ok, you're right, better if everyone doesn't find out.
If I tell Hyunjin, he'll let it slip during a live by accident.
Or Seungmin will accidentally spill it in front of Chan.
You laugh quietly to yourself. You can picture it perfectly.
So… will you help me?
Not even a second passes without a reply.
Of course I will 😤
I'm going to text the manager right now.
I'm going to tell him that we NEED you to come.
You rush to slow him down a bit.
Wait hahaha tell him I want to talk to him first, I want to explain the plan to him.
Ok ok ok, chill
Send me the exact dates you can come and I'll get you the ticket. VIP, obviously.
Chan won't find out a thing, I swear.
You feel the adrenaline rush. This is no longer just an idea in your head. Now there is someone else involved, someone on the other side of the world, moving along with you.
You open the flight app again, take quick screenshots of the schedules that work best for you, and send them to him.
These are the options I have.
I can arrive the day before the concert or the same day in the morning.
The day before
That way you can restttt and you don't pass out on me in the middle of the concert 😂
I'm going to show this to the manager.
You feel a sweet, strange weight settling in your chest: complicity.
And the ticket… don't buy anything yet.
Let us handle that. We'll get you a VIP pass so you can come backstage afterwards.
Your heart leaps.
Backstage.
After the concert.
The hug you’ve been practicing in your head for months.
You stare at the screen for a moment, the open chats, the tabs with flights and dates. All the exhaustion you woke up with seems to have transformed into a nervous energy that you don’t quite know where to put.
You type one last time.
Thank you, Lix. Really.
The reply comes quickly.
Don't thank me yet.
Thank me when I see Chan's face when he sees you in the front row 😉
You cover your mouth with your hand, as if you could hold back your smile that way.
You look at the chat with Chan one more time. His last messages are still there, heavy with fear and love in equal measure.
"I’ll be there soon. Please wait for me, okay?"
You look down at the flight screenshots.
At the concert dates.
At the chat with Felix, where the word “VIP” shines like a beacon.
For the first time in a long while, you’re not just going to wait for him from a distance.
This time, you are going to him.
The rest of the day passes strangely, with the feeling of living two lives at the same time.
In one, you go about your normal routine: you eat breakfast, reply to emails, check your to-do list at work.
In the other, every free second you get, you reopen the chat with Felix, review the flight screenshots, and mentally repeat the concert dates.
By mid-afternoon, the message you’ve been waiting for finally arrives.
From: "Felix 🐣".
I talked to the manager 😳
He says that if you want, he can do a video call with you in a little bit.
Does an hour from now work for you?
Your heart races.
This is becoming too real to back out now.
Yes, I’m free at that time.
Tell him to let me know how: WhatsApp, Zoom, whatever works best for him.
Felix doesn't take long to reply.
He's adding you.
Don't freak out if you see a weird number hahaha
Almost instantly, a notification pops up: a new contact has messaged you.
Hello, I’m the boys’ manager. I’m 'Minho hyung' in Felix’s phone, I guess 😂 Does a video call in 10-15 minutes work for you?
You take a deep breath before replying.
Yes, that works perfectly for me. Thank you for taking the time.
You get up from your chair, tidy up the living room a bit almost out of habit, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You know it’s not a job interview or anything like that, but you still want to look somewhat presentable. It’s not every day you get to talk to the person who manages Chan’s life down to the exact minute.
Your phone vibrates.
Incoming call: Video call.
You settle in and accept.
It takes a few seconds for the image to stabilize: a bright room, bookshelves, a desk. He appears on screen with a polite, slightly tired smile, wearing glasses and with headphones hanging around his neck.
"Hello," he says. "Can you hear me alright?"
"Yes, perfectly," you reply, noticing your voice is a little higher than usual due to nerves. "Nice to meet you… and sorry for the trouble."
He shakes his head, still smiling.
"No trouble at all. Felix told me about your idea. It sounded… very Chan," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes. "Tell me in your own words so we can get it all straight."
You swallow hard, nodding.
"I want to go see him at the concert," you begin. "I know you’re in the middle of the tour and the schedules are crazy, but I have a few days off that I can use. I was planning to travel to the city you're in and…" you pause, searching for the clearest way to put it, "and be in the front row, without him knowing anything. Felix told me you might be able to help me with the ticket and backstage access, if possible."
The manager nods slowly as you speak, as if piecing it all together.
"And Chan knows absolutely nothing?" he asks.
"Nothing," you confirm. "Only Felix, and now you. I’d prefer it if no one else found out, just in case it slips out by accident."
His smile widens a bit, as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about.
"Good call. They’re good boys, but when they get excited..." he laughs. "The fewer people who know, the better."
You relax a little, seeing him so calm, almost like an accomplice.
"Logistically speaking," he continues, "there’s no problem with you coming. In fact, I think it’s a very good idea… for him," he emphasizes. "He could use a little bit of 'home' in the middle of the tour."
The word pricks you softly, right where your chest is most sensitive.
"Thank you," you murmur.
"The only thing we have to watch out for is not interfering with work," he explains. "On the day of the concert, Chan will be busy from quite early on: rehearsal, soundcheck, warm-up, and so on. But if you come the day before, Felix can pick you up from your hotel and take you to the venue so you can look around a bit without any stress. On the day of the concert, we’ll give you a VIP pass and your front-row ticket. After the show, we’ll bring you backstage as soon as we finish up with production."
You nod, trying to process all the information.
"I can take care of the flight and the hotel," you clarify. "I just need you to… help me get in and make sure he doesn't find out ahead of time."
"Consider it done," he replies seriously, but with warmth. "I’ll send you the details I need through here: your full name for the pass, passport if necessary, and I’ll let you know which stadium gate you need to go to on the day of the concert. Someone from the staff who already knows who you are will be waiting for you there."
You feel a shiver of vertigo run down your spine. This is real. There is a plan. There is an itinerary.
"One more thing," the manager adds. "If for any reason there are schedule changes, delays, or anything at all with your flight, message me directly. It’s better not to use the boys as middlemen, just in case one of them is with Chan at that moment."
"Alright," you reply. "I understand."
There is a brief silence. He looks at you with a mix of professionalism and something softer, something that isn't just about work.
"It’s very obvious when he misses you," he says suddenly, without too much solemnity. "He doesn't say it out loud, but you can tell."
Your throat tightens a bit.
"I miss him a lot too," you admit.
"Then let's make this concert count for several," he states. "I’ll handle my part, you handle yours. And Felix… well, Felix will handle trying not to laugh too much in Chan’s face before the show."
You can’t help but laugh too.
"Thank you, truly," you repeat. "For helping me with this."
He nods.
"Thank you for coming. It’ll do him good. You’ll see. I’ll text you in a little bit with all the details."
The call ends, and the screen goes back to the main menu. You sit still for a moment, phone in hand, staring at your own faint reflection in the dark glass.
You are going.
You are going to be there.
It’s no longer just a pretty idea before going to sleep.
The following days pass at a strange pace: slow in the daily routine, fast in the preparations.
You request your days off at work with a simple excuse: you need to disconnect for a few days. You’ve given it your all over the last few months, so no one objects. Your boss nods and wishes you a good rest. There's no need to go into details.
You buy the flight. The confirmation arrives in your email: date, time, seat. You read and reread the information until you’ve practically memorized it.
You book a hotel not too far from the stadium—discreet, no luxuries, but good enough.
You make lists: things to pack, documents, clothes. And on a separate, mental list, the things you want to say to him when he’s finally standing in front of you.
He keeps texting you every day, completely clueless.
He sends you blurry photos of dressing rooms, short videos of the places they visit, and late-night voice notes with his tired voice telling you anecdotes from the tour. You reply just like you always do: you listen, you laugh, you encourage him, you ask how he’s feeling. You guard the secret with care.
There are moments when you're on the verge of letting something slip. A "it won't be long now" that almost turns into "it won't be long until you see me." A "wish I were there" that you almost type as "wish I were there… just like I will be."
You hold yourself back.
You want him to find out on his own.
The night before the trip, you find it hard to sleep. The suitcase is zipped up next to the door, your passport is ready on the table, and your phone is charging beside the bed. You toss and turn between the sheets, mentally reviewing everything: flight schedule, arrival time, the manager’s instructions, the meeting point with the staff.
The airport.
The check-in line.
People with suitcases, families, couples, business suits.
You move forward with your electronic ticket in hand, more aware than ever of the weight of your backpack and the constant fluttering in your stomach.
You go through security, taking your belt off and putting it back on, taking your laptop out and packing it away. It’s routine, almost automatic, but every single step brings you closer to him.
While you’re waiting at the boarding gate, a text from him arrives.
Good morning ❤️
We’re leaving for the venue in a little bit, long day ahead today.
You check the time. It’s already noon over there. He’s heading to the stadium. You’re heading to his country.
Good morning, love
I have a long day ahead today too, but I’ll try to listen to your voice notes whenever I can. Don't push yourself too hard.
You aren’t lying. It will be a long day. You’re just omitting a few details.
I promise to send you a picture of the dressing room 🙈
You smile to yourself, sitting in the row of plastic seats at the terminal.
You look up when your flight is announced over the loudspeaker. You stand up, take a deep breath, and join the line.
As you step onto the plane, something inside you settles. You can’t back out anymore. It’s no longer a matter of deciding whether to do it or not. All that’s left is to follow the plan.
You take your seat by the window. As the plane taxis down the runway, you look at the gray sky, the wings vibrating slightly. You think of him, maybe at that exact moment getting into a van on his way to the venue, hood up, headphones on.
You close your eyes just as the plane takes off. You imagine the two of you moving across different maps, slowly drawing closer to a common point.
Hours later, when you finally land, the announcement in another language and the jolt of the landing gear shake you out of a light doze.
The air in the airport is different: it smells of heavy air conditioning, vending machine coffee, and people speaking in a language you only half-recognize. Everything feels a little surreal.
You pick up your suitcase, follow the signs, and walk out into the public area. Your phone vibrates with an avalanche of notifications: network changes, spam messages, emails. Among all of them, you see one that matters.
From the manager.
Did you arrive safely?
If everything is going according to plan, today you just need to go to the hotel and rest.
Tomorrow at 15:00, someone from the staff will pick you up at the side entrance of the stadium (location attached). Felix will be with them.
You reply quickly.
Yes, I just landed. Thank you for everything. I’ll be there tomorrow.
He sends you a thumbs-up and a message: "Don’t text any of the boys anything weird today 😅 Chan is paying closer attention to his phone than you think."
That coaxes a nervous laugh out of you. You put your phone away, look up, and walk out of the airport. A blast of hot air hits you right in the face. It smells like a new city, like asphalt, like life.
You catch a taxi to the hotel. The city flashes past the window: signs, pedestrians, traffic lights you don’t recognize. Everything is unfamiliar, and yet, it feels like the exact place you are supposed to be.
The hotel is modest, functional. Check-in, key, elevator. You set your suitcase aside and lie on the bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, letting the exhaustion of the trip wash over you.
Your phone vibrates again.
A voice note from Chan.
You open it. His voice fills the room.
Hey… I know you must be busy, but I wanted to leave you this before today's chaos starts. I miss you so much. Last night I dreamed you were at the concert, and when I woke up, I almost laughed because of how real it felt. I wish… well, you know. I wish it could happen someday.
You bite your lip hard, feeling the tears well up without permission.
"Someday."
Tomorrow.
You hold your breath, letting the voice note play to the end.
Anyway, just that. I love you. I’m going to give it my all today, as always, but just a little bit more for you.
You cover your eyes with your forearm. The irony of his dream, of his "someday," squeezes your chest in a new way—both sweet and painful at the same time.
You reply with a short voice note, keeping your voice steady.
"I listened to your message…" you say. "I miss you so much too. Give it your all today, as always. I'm with you, you know that. I love you."
You cut it off before your emotion becomes too obvious.
You turn off the screen, roll over on the bed, and let the exhaustion of the trip, the excitement, and the nerves blend together until you drift off to sleep without even realizing it.
Tomorrow will be the day.
Tomorrow, he will look out at the crowd and see you.
And all the words you’ve shared through a screen will fall short compared to what it's going to feel like then.
The day of the concert dawns differently.
You can't really explain it, but even the silence of the hotel sounds strange. You are woken up by a mix of light filtering through the curtains and that persistent fluttering in your stomach. For a few seconds, you don’t remember where you are. You stare at the unfamiliar ceiling, the neutral walls, and then, all at once, it all hits you:
New country.
Concert.
Chan.
You sit up slowly. Your phone rests on the nightstand. You pick it up carefully, as if the simple gesture could arouse suspicion from thousands of miles away.
You have a text from him.
Good morning ❤️
Today is the big day. I'm a little nervous, but excited.
You swallow hard and type.
Good morning, love.
You’re going to do amazing, as always. I’m with you, you know that.
Your thumb hesitates for a second before adding:
I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you today.
You send the message. It’s not a lie. Just a different kind of half-truth.
You get up, take a shower, and choose your clothes with more care than you’d care to admit. Nothing over-the-top, nothing too flashy… but you want to feel good when he sees you. When he sees you.
In front of the mirror, you study yourself for a second. It's you, the same as always, but for the first time in a long time, you aren't just going to be "her" on the other side of the phone. You are going to be part of the crowd. Part of his landscape tonight.
Time passes slowly until the scheduled hour.
At 14:45, your phone vibrates.
From the manager.
The staff car will be at the hotel door in 10 minutes. White van, small tour logo on one side. Don't worry, they’ll recognize you.
You sling your small backpack over your shoulder and check for the fifth time that you have the ticket on your phone, your passport in its case, and your phone fully charged. You go down in the elevator with your heart beating a rhythm against your ribs.
The van is right there, exactly as described. A staff member rolls down the window and calls you by your name. You nod, introduce yourself, and he opens the side door for you.
"Nice to meet you," he says kindly. "Felix is already at the stadium. He’s really looking forward to seeing you."
That sentence coaxes a nervous smile out of you.
The ride to the venue feels surreal. Through the window, the city stretches out in buildings, billboards, and crosswalks. And suddenly, as you turn a corner, you see it.
The stadium.
Bigger than you had imagined, with the tour banners hanging from the facades, the logo, and giant photos of the boys staring down at you from the walls. Several rows of metal barricades are already starting to organize the crowd, even though it’s still hours before doors open.
Your chest tightens.
You’re entering through a different way.
The van drives around the stadium to a less conspicuous side entrance, guarded by security. The staff member shows his pass and says something in his language. The barrier lifts.
When you step out, the air smells of cables, metal, and a distant scent of generator exhaust. There are trucks packed with gear, flight cases, and people moving around with walkie-talkies and clipboards in hand.
Before you can feel completely out of place, you hear someone call your name.
"Noona!"
You turn around just in time to see Felix running toward you, wearing a cap, his mask pulled down to his chin, and a smile so wide it practically takes up his entire face.
You don’t even have time to say anything before he hugs you tightly, lifting you a little off the ground.
"I can’t believe you’re actually here, seriously," he laughs, letting you go but holding you by the shoulders to get a good look at you. "You are really here."
You laugh too, your nerves easing up a bit just from his presence.
"I can’t believe it either," you confess. "This place is huge…"
Felix looks around, proud.
"Yeah, it’s impressive, isn’t it?" he says. "Come on, I’ll show you around a bit, but without letting anyone 'dangerous' see you."
"'Dangerous'?" you ask, amused.
"You know," he lowers his voice, giving you a knowing look. "Anyone who might run into Chan and leak that you’re here. Better keep the surprise factor at a maximum."
He guides you through corridors packed with sound equipment, stacked lights, and people working. At times, it feels like being inside an organized anthill.
You pass near the stage access. From there, you can see part of the still-empty stands and a few technicians testing spotlights. The distant rumble of a drum kit echoing away signals that soundcheck is going to start soon.
"Chan is inside, backstage," Felix says, pointing toward a hallway that turns to the right. "We’re not going that way, don't worry. The manager has him tied up with interviews and stuff."
He gestures for you to follow him in the opposite direction.
"I'm going to show you where you’re going to be," he adds. "So you can get an idea."
You walk out through a tunnel that leads directly to one of the front areas of the stadium. It’s not the entrance the crowd will use later; you are slightly elevated, looking straight at the stage.
The empty venue is breathtaking. The stands curve around like a gigantic amphitheater, the unlit ceiling lights look like sleeping stars, and the stage… the stage is a black monster, still dormant, with screens, runways, and cables waiting to wake up.
"Wow…" you whisper without realizing it.
Felix smiles beside you.
"Tonight, all of this is going to be packed," he says. "And you are going to be…" He leans in, pointing right in front of the stage, where the barricade separating the crowd from the security pit stands out. "Right there. Front row. Right in the center."
Your heart leaps so hard it almost makes you dizzy.
"That close?" you ask, your voice a little higher than usual.
"That close," he confirms. "Chan is going to lose his mind."
You laugh, imagining it.
Suddenly, a few chords ring out from the speakers. A recognizable guitar rift, a familiar beat. They’re starting to test things out.
Felix turns to you, his eyes shining.
"Do you want to watch a little bit of the soundcheck from up here? You can’t really be seen from the stage, it’s still pretty dark out there. It’s safe."
You hesitate for a second, but curiosity and longing win you over.
"Yes," you nod, almost in a whisper.
You both lean against the railing. From that angle, you watch them start walking onto the stage, one after another, in their rehearsal clothes—comfortable, with no perfect makeup or spotlights on them. Technicians adjust microphones, and someone gestures from the soundboard.
And then, you see him.
Chan.
Cap, oversized hoodie, water bottle in hand. He walks toward the center of the stage, looks around, and claps a couple of times as if testing the echo, saying something to the technician that you can’t quite catch from up there.
Your breath catches for a second.
He is right there.
Just a few yards away.
And you… you are seeing him live for the first time in months.
He laughs at something someone says in the wings, puts in his in-ear monitor, and adjusts his microphone. When he starts singing a few test lines, his voice filling the empty stadium pierces through you in a way no phone call ever could.
Felix looks at you out of the corner of his eye, in silence, as if respecting the moment. You feel the emotion welling up in your eyes, but you blink quickly, fighting it back.
“I’m not going to cry now,” you tell yourself. “I’ll save that for later.”
After a while, the manager discreetly appears from behind and motions to Felix. He nods.
"We have to go now," he whispers to you. "I don’t want to risk Chan looking up toward here."
It’s hard to tear your eyes away from him, but you obey. You turn your back on the stage with your heart racing wildly. As you head back inside the stadium, you can still hear his voice in the background, laughing between songs.
They take you back to the backstage area, but to a more secluded hallway with a few small rooms. One of them is empty; the staff tells you that you can wait there until it’s time to open the doors for the public. Felix stays with you a little longer.
"Are you okay?" he asks, sitting on the plastic chair across from you.
You nod, still processing everything.
"It’s… a lot," you admit. "I’ve spent months only seeing him through a screen, and now he’s right there, on the other side of a wall."
Felix smiles understandingly.
"And he still has no idea," he says. "It’s going to be so intense when he sees you."
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Remember: when the doors open, you go in just like any other fan," he explains. "The staff members we spoke with will guide you to your spot, but Chan won’t suspect a thing because we don’t go near the front row right as the concert starts."
"Okay," you reply, memorizing every detail.
"You’ll have your regular ticket and your pass. You show the ticket to get onto the floor, and we’ll use the pass after the show ends to bring you backstage. Don’t show it to anyone beforehand unless they are staff, okay?"
"Understood."
He looks at you for a second in silence, then laughs softly.
"Of all the crazy plans I’ve heard, this is one of my favorites," he comments. "Seriously."
That relaxes you a bit.
After a while, he has to leave. The schedule is tight, rehearsals continue, and the pre-concert routines begin.
You are left alone in that small room, with a table, two chairs, and your own nerves. You check the clock. There are still hours before it starts, but time seems to have compressed into a sort of electric wait.
At a certain hour, one of the staff members knocks on the door.
"It’s time," he says kindly. "We’re going to open the doors in a few minutes. Come on, I’ll walk you out."
He hands you an envelope with your printed ticket and, inside, a laminated pass with your name on it. You tuck it away carefully, as if it were a treasure.
You head back to the internal tunnels, but this time you take a different exit, closer to the regular entrances. Through a few gaps, you see the lines and hear the growing murmur of excited crowds, laughter, and screams. The atmosphere has changed completely: the stadium that was dead before is now beginning to burst with life.
The staff member points out where to go in. When you cross the checkpoint with your ticket, you blend in, for the first time, with the rest of the crowd.
It’s strange. You are there, surrounded by fans with signs, lightsticks, and tour t-shirts. Some are talking excitedly in different languages, others are staring at the stage with shining eyes. You feel like one of them, and at the same time… you don’t.
The same staff member who came with you discreetly guides you toward the center section. You walk along the side of the floor, through groups of people who are already running to find a spot.
"Through here," he tells you, opening a small gap in the inner barricade. "This is your spot. Stay here and don’t worry about anything else."
You take your place right behind the security barricade, in the exact center of the stage. So close that you could almost count the screws on the edge of the platform.
"Thank you," you tell him, your voice a bit shaky.
He nods and walks away, blending back in with the staff.
Little by side, the floor fills up around you. You feel the warmth of the crowd starting to press against your skin, and the murmur rising until it becomes a constant noise of pent-up excitement. Lights, screens playing pre-show videos, background music.
You pull out your phone. You have a text from Chan.
Just finished soundcheck 🥵
The stadium is huge… I'm a little scared haha.
Will you be awake by the time we start? I just want to think that you're with me somehow.
You are. Much more than he imagines.
Of course I’ll be with you.
Always.
You put your phone away. You don’t want to risk your screen giving anything away at any point. Besides, from now on, your eyes are going to be fixed on one single spot.
The lights dim a bit. The cheering swells like a tidal wave. The screens light up, projecting the tour logo and an introductory video. You feel the goosebumps rising on your arms.
And then, all at once, the lights go out almost completely.
Darkness.
Screams.
The roar of the crowd filling every single corner.
The first chords ring out. The screens explode with light. Shadows appear on stage, rising up on lifts, taking their positions.
Your heart is beating so hard you think the security guard in front of you might hear it.
When the main spotlights flash on all at once, they are there.
All of them.
You’ve seen them hundreds of times in concerts, fancams, official recordings. But nothing has prepared you to see them like this—so close, so real, moving, jumping, smiling, filling the stage with a brutal energy.
Among all of them, your eyes search for one.
Chan.
You find him almost instantly. Your body knows where to look before your head does. He is in his position, right in the center, the jacket of his first outfit glittering under the spotlights, microphone in hand, his gaze sweeping over the ocean of people screaming his name.
They start the first song. They dance, they sing, the crowd around you moving in unison. You try to keep up, but your awareness is split between the madness of the show and the simple existence of him just a few yards away.
During the first few songs, he doesn’t see you.
He has too much on his plate: millimeter-perfect choreography, lyrics, interacting with cameras, formation changes. Still, at times, when he gets close to the front of the stage, your heart races, convinced that this will be the moment.
It isn’t.
Not yet.
During a short breather between songs, he catches his breath, smiles at the crowd, and speaks in the local language with some effort, saying phrases he’s probably been rehearsing for days. The crowd screams, laughs, and replies to him. Then he switches to a language you understand better, thanking everyone, saying how happy he is to be there.
"Seriously…" you hear him say, "you have no idea how much it means to us to see you here. Every city, every stadium… reminds us why we do this."
His words hit you differently, because you also know exactly what you are doing here.
The concert moves forward. The adrenaline never drops. You sing along to the choruses, let yourself go during the most powerful moments, and jump when everyone else jumps. At times, you almost forget the plan and are just another fan, completely lost in the show.
Until that song comes on.
The one you know matters so much to him. The one he has hummed with you over the phone more than once, his voice soft, late into the night. The one where the tempo slows down, the lights soften, and the atmosphere is dyed with something deeper and more intimate.
The boys take different positions. The stage darkens except for a few warm spotlights. Chan walks toward the edge of the center runway, heading right in your direction, a mic stand in front of him.
Your throat goes dry.
He begins to sing. His voice, more stripped-back now, floats over the low murmur of the crowd singing along. He closes his eyes at times, gripping the mic stand with one hand, as if he needed to hold onto something.
And then, during one of those breaths between verses, he opens his eyes and looks straight ahead.
He looks your way.
He doesn't see you yet, you tell yourself. He's just taking in the crowd. There are hundreds of faces, banners, and lights. His gaze moves from side to side, capturing the moment.
He keeps singing.
He takes another step forward, right at the part of the song where his voice cracks just a tiny bit, even though he's rehearsed it a thousand times.
And there, mid-step, his eyes stumble upon you.
It’s just a second.
A second where his brow furrows ever so slightly, as if his brain had recognized something that the rest of him hasn't caught up with yet. His eyes lock in. His body remains on autopilot with the song, but his face changes.
The spotlight doesn't move, but it feels like the world does.
You see, with absolute clarity, the exact moment he understands what he is looking at.
His eyes widen a bit.
His mouth parts slightly, taking in a breath that the mic catches as a faint, almost inaudible gasp.
For a fraction of a second, the note he was singing trembles.
Instinctively, you raise your hand. You don't make any grand gesture—you just give him a small, restrained wave, with a smile that feels like it’s going to break your face.
He blinks once. Twice.
A smile spreads across his face—slow, incredibly genuine, and completely different from any of the ones he’s been giving the crowd all this time. It’s softer, more open, almost incredulous.
He doesn't stop singing. He can't. He's a professional; he's in the middle of a show. But his eyes are no longer drifting aimlessly through the crowd. They are anchored to you.
You feel it physically, like a direct electric current.
When the verse ends and the spotlight shifts to another member for their part, Chan steps slightly away from the microphone, bringing a hand to his chest, laughing in disbelief at the floor.
From where you stand, you see him say something quickly into his in-ear monitor, as if he needed confirmation that he isn't hallucinating. He licks his lips, looks out at the crowd… and looks right back at you, just for a second, as if to make sure you haven't disappeared.
You haven't.
You're still there.
So is he.
And, for the first time in many months, you have each other right there. In the flesh. In the middle of a packed concert, with thousands of eyes watching, but with a silent current that belongs only to the two of you, pulsing between the stage and the front row.
There, in that locked gaze, you know that the entire journey, all the flight hours, all the nerves, have been completely worth it.
For a brief moment, the stadium ceases to exist.
There is only his eyes and yours, connected by an invisible line cutting through spotlights, smoke, and noise.
But he is who he is. And he's right where he's supposed to be.
As soon as the song transitions to another member, you see Chan blink rapidly, take a deep breath, and pull himself back together, almost as if he were splashing cold water over his face.
He looks back out at the rest of the crowd, opens his arms, and encourages everyone to sing along to the chorus. The professional leader takes the reins again.
From the outside, to anyone who isn't you, it was just another moment in the show.
To you, it wasn't.
From that point on, you notice everything shifts.
Now that he knows you are there, every time he approaches the center of the stage, you feel his attention like a silent spotlight aimed in your direction… but with extreme caution.
He can’t look at you too much.
He can’t just stop right in front of you for no reason.
He can’t give you anything he wouldn't give to any other person in that front row.
So, he plays right on the edge.
He moves from one side of the stage to the other, handing out smiles, waves, and winks. When he passes through your section, he raises his hand toward the crowd around you, as if cheering on that whole area in general. But you see—because you know him—the millimeter of difference: the way his eyes brush against yours a second longer than everyone else's, the way his smile subtly softens when he is standing right across from you.
During one of the high-energy songs, he crouches at the edge of the stage to hype up the crowd, pointing to different spots on the floor. At one point, he gestures vaguely toward the center, toward your group, with that "I see you, thanks for coming" expression. The people around you scream and respond. You do too.
Only you notice that, right before standing back up, his eyes catch yours again and soften—quick, fleeting. A blink, nothing more.
Halfway through the concert, during the member introductions and their crowd interactions, Chan does his part just like always: jokes, thank-yous, words in the local language. At one point, he places his hand over his heart and says something like:
"Honestly, I was feeling a bit tired these past few days… but seeing you all here today has given me so much strength."
The stadium roars.
You do too.
He smiles. And even though he directs it at everyone, you know that, deep down, he is sending it to you too.
There are small, almost imperceptible gestures that only you can decipher: the way he bites the corner of his lip right before coming back over to your side of the stage; the way, during a choreography, as he turns to face the front, his eyes search for that exact spot on the barricade where you are standing.
But he never stays too long.
He never does anything that could arouse clear suspicion.
It’s a constant balance between "I’ve seen you" and "I can't look at you too much."
During a slower song, he walks relatively close, and the crowd in your section raises their hands to form small hearts. You do the same, just to blend in. His eyes scan all those hands, laughing, returning a few hearts to different spots.
When his gaze passes over you, for a fleeting instant, he lowers his chin slightly, as if the heart you’re making with your hands held a different kind of weight for him. He doesn't return the gesture directly—it would be too obvious—but he brings his hand to his chest for a second just as he passes by, as if keeping the beat… or as if he needed to hold something in.
No one else seems to notice.
You do.
And so, song after song, you keep weaving that second layer of the concert: the show everyone else sees, and the invisible thread that only the two of you are following.
Time flies, and yet, it feels heavy. When they announce the final song, the entire stadium erupts. The boys line up, waving, giving their thanks a thousand times over.
Chan speaks at the end, as always, with that mix of a professional leader and a guy who gets emotional easily. He talks about the tour, about how grateful he is, about how hard it’s been, and how much strength it gave him to see people filling every single venue.
And at one point, he adds, looking straight ahead without locking eyes on any specific spot:
"There are things… that you sometimes miss so much when you’re far from home. People, moments…" He laughs, downplaying it. "But today, I feel a little bit closer to everything I love."
The crowd screams, completely unaware of what he actually means.
You feel those words pierce right through you.
The final song ends. There is confetti, jumping, goodbyes. They walk across the stage, waving to every section, bowing, blowing kisses. When Chan passes through the center, near you, he raises both arms in the air, spinning around to take in the whole crowd.
During that turn, as he passes right in front of you, his lips move in a "thank you" that seems general… but his eyes, once again, lock onto yours for a second longer.
And then he’s gone, running with the others toward the backstage area, behind the curtain of lights.
The concert is over.
The crowd around you keeps screaming, talking, taking photos of the empty stage, and recording the final seconds. You stand still, hands resting on the barricade, feeling the echo of the music still vibrating in your chest.
He didn't come any closer. He didn't do anything that could jeopardize either of you. But he saw you. You know it. And he knows you’re here.
Now comes the second part.
The part where there will be no spotlights, no cameras, no thousands of eyes.
Just him and you.
You force yourself to take a deep breath, clear your throat, and move. The crowd is beginning to disperse. A staff member approaches from the inner side of the barricade, searching for you with his eyes. Upon recognizing you, he gives an almost imperceptible nod.
"This way," he murmurs, making a discreet gesture for you to follow.
You exit through the side, blending in just enough with the crowd as you slip through a small, discreet doorway. No one pays much attention; everyone is too busy checking videos, talking, trying to prolong the moment.
The moment you cross the threshold, the noise muffles. You leave the roar of the stadium behind and step into a concrete hallway with white fluorescent lights, stacked cases, and staff members bustling back and forth.
The same staff member guides you without saying much, just ensuring you keep up. Your heart, however, knows nothing of discretion: it’s beating so hard it’s difficult to swallow.
You reach a door where other staff members stand with headsets and clipboards. One of them looks at you, checks your pass, and nods, cracking the door open just a bit.
"Wait here a second," the one who accompanied you says. "I’m going to let the manager know."
You nod, even though your legs feel like jelly.
The door closes in front of you. You are left in a small hallway, alone, listening to the muffled sounds from the other side: voices, footsteps, something metallic clanging against the floor.
A few seconds pass, or maybe minutes—you can no longer measure time—until the door opens again.
The manager appears, a bit flushed, carrying that post-concert mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. He smiles upon seeing you.
"You made it here safely," he says, almost as if it were a given.
You nod, gripping the strap of your backpack tighter than necessary.
"Yes… It was incredible," you manage to say.
He looks at you, reading something on your face, and his smile softens.
"He’s in the dressing room, changing," he explains. "He already knows there is 'someone' special waiting for him, but we didn’t tell him who. Just told him not to run."
That coaxes a nervous laugh out of you.
"Ready?" he asks.
You aren’t. But you nod.
"Yes."
The manager steps back, opens the door all the way, and holds it, clearing the path for you.
"It’s the third door on the left," he indicates. "I’ll hang around here. Take your time."
Your throat goes dry.
You take the first step.
The hallway smells of deodorant, damp fabric, cologne, and something sweet you can’t quite identify. There are doors with makeshift signs, muffled laughter trailing from behind some of them. You pass a couple of staff members carrying clothes, boxes, and towels. None of them pay you much attention; they seem to know exactly who you are and what you’re doing there.
You reach the third door. The sign bears the boys' names, not just his. You knock with your knuckles, once, softly.
Silence.
You knock again.
You hear a slight noise inside, a movement. Then, a voice.
"Yes?"
It’s him.
Without a microphone, without an echo, without anything.
Your chest tightens.
"It's me…" you say, noticing your voice break just a little on the last syllable.
There is a second of absolute silence.
Then, quick footsteps toward the door, the sound of the handle turning.
The door swings open.
The first thing you see is his face. Messy hair, his skin still slightly flushed from the exertion, his neck damp as if he’d taken a quick shower, wearing a clean change of t-shirt. His eyes are wide open.
For half a second, it feels like time goes blank.
He looks at you as if he can’t quite believe it. As if he were still on stage, dreaming that dream he told you about in the audio. His lips move, but nothing comes out.
And then, all at once, he reacts.
"Is it really you…?" he whispers, his voice almost gone.
You don’t even get to answer.
In two strides he is all over you, his hands finding your shoulders, your waist, as if he physically needed to confirm you aren't an illusion before holding you. And he does.
He wraps his entire body around you. It’s not a pretty embrace for a photo; it’s clumsy, desperate, tight. He presses you against him as if the space between you were something he had to eliminate completely, right here, right now.
He buries his face in your neck. Your nose is nestled into his shoulder, smelling of soap, recent sweat, and just him.
You feel him take a deep breath, as if wanting to fill his lungs with you. You feel a slight tremor in his hands, in his chest.
"You're here…" he murmurs against your skin, his voice broken. "You're really here."
You let it all go. Your arms, your knees, your throat—everything goes weak. You return the hug with the same intensity, digging your fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to him as if you also needed to prove he is real.
"I’m here," you answer in a whisper. "Chan, I’m here."
You don’t know how long you stay like that. It could be seconds or minutes. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of letting go, and neither do you.
At some point, he pulls his face back just enough to look at you. His hands remain on your waist, his eyes scanning your face as if he were looking at something he’s been remembering by heart for months, yet still feared he might have forgotten a single detail.
"When…? How…?" he asks, between a nervous laugh and a suppressed sob. "How long have you been here?"
Your eyes well up with tears seeing him like this, so completely defenseless.
"I just got here yesterday," you reply. "I spoke with Felix… and the manager. We organized everything so it would be a surprise."
He shakes his head, almost in disbelief, a shaky smile curving his lips.
"Felix…" he murmurs, as if promising to lovingly get his revenge later. "I can’t believe it."
His hands move up to your face, framing it gently, as if you were something fragile. With his thumbs, he wipes away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.
"I saw you in the crowd…" he confesses, his voice low, still raspy from the concert. "I thought I was hallucinating. I kept saying, 'it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be.' And then you were still there and… I almost forgot the lyrics."
You laugh through your tears.
"You did so well," you say. "I tried not to draw attention to myself."
He laughs too, his laugh cracking.
"Do you know what it was like to sing knowing you were out there?" He shakes his head, clenching his jaw for a second. "I had so many things to tell you, such a strong urge to climb down from the stage and…"
He cuts himself off, as if the emotion were rising too fast.
You take a breath.
"I know," you whisper. "That’s why I wanted to come."
He looks at you intently, as if every word you speak is something he is going to keep forever.
"I read your messages, Chan," you continue. "The ones from that night. About how you were scared I’d get tired… that this would cool things down between us."
He lowers his gaze a bit, embarrassed, as if he’d just been caught in a moment of weakness.
"I’m sorry…" he begins.
You touch his chin with your fingers, forcing him to look at you again.
"Don’t be sorry," you say firmly. "You had every right to feel that way. And I had every right to show you that I’m not going anywhere."
He swallows hard, his eyes glistening.
"So that’s why you’re here…" he murmurs. "You made this whole trip, all alone, for…"
"For us," you correct him gently. "For you. I didn’t want you to keep believing for a single second that I was getting tired. I wanted you to see it."
He closes his eyes for a moment, as if your words hurt because of how good they felt.
When he opens them, there is a look of determination in his eyes. He leans in and rests his forehead against yours, very close, breathing your same air.
"I love you so much…" he whispers, almost without a voice. "You don’t know how much I’ve thought about you on this tour. How many times I wanted to do just this—hold you like this—and couldn't."
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
"Well, do it now," you reply. "We have time."
He laughs softly, a wet sound that is almost a sob.
"Don’t let go of me yet," he asks, childish and sincere.
"I wasn’t planning to," you say.
He stays there for a second simply absorbing you: the touch, the scent, the warmth. Then, all at once, he remembers the real world outside.
"I have to…" He looks to the side, as if he could see through the walls. "I have to wrap some things up with the manager, the usual post-concert stuff. But after that… after that, I don’t plan on leaving your side."
You see him struggle for a moment between duty and desire. Between the leader and the boy who just wants to stay wrapped up in here with you.
"Go," you encourage him gently. "I’ll be here. Or outside, wherever you say. I’m not going anywhere."
He nods, swallowing hard.
"I’m going to ask you one thing," he says with a half-smile. "Don’t disappear, okay? Don’t make me go through another concert thinking I dreamed you up."
You laugh and nod.
"I promise I won't."
He leans in and, this time, he kisses you.
It’s a kiss that tastes like everything you’ve put on hold: calls cut short by sleep, text messages that fell short, and "I miss yous" that couldn’t fit into words. It’s gentle at first, careful, as if he were afraid of breaking you, and then a bit firmer, more urgent, as if he wanted to reclaim months of distance in just a matter of seconds.
You hold onto his t-shirt, the back of his neck, the entirety of him, and for those moments the whole world shrinks down to this small dressing room, this closed door, and two people who finally have each other face-to-face.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours again, his breathing heavy.
"Okay…" he says, almost to himself. "Okay. I’m going to go with the manager, do everything I need to do, and then I’m coming back for you. Don’t move too far away."
"I’ll be wherever you tell me," you reply.
He gives you one last look—long and deep—one of those looks that seem to want to memorize you. Then he forces himself to take a step back, lets out his breath, and puts the professional mask back on… though he can't quite erase that shaky smile from his lips.
Before leaving, he turns around one more time.
"Thank you for coming," he says with a simplicity that almost breaks you. "You have no idea what this means to me."
"I think I do know," you reply. "Because it means the exact same thing to me."
He nods, as if surrendering to that shared truth, and walks out the door.
You stay in the dressing room, alone for a moment, surrounded by hanging clothes, water bottles, towels, and the leftover chaos of the concert. You sit on a couch, bury your face in your hands, and finally let everything wash over you: the trip, the concert, his gaze in the front row, his embrace, his voice so close, his "I love you" without any interference.
Outside, the backstage noise continues: footsteps, orders, muffled laughter. Inside, you can only think of one thing:
You crossed half the world to show him you weren't getting tired.
And, seeing his reaction, you know you couldn't have made a better choice.
As soon as he finishes with everything out there, time will start again.
But this time, together, in the same place.
You don’t know how much time passes before he comes back.
You stay in the dressing room, sitting on the edge of the couch, your skin still imprinted with the concert and with him. Every now and then, you hear footsteps in the hallway, familiar voices filtering through the door, tired laughter. The world goes on, but you are in a sort of bubble.
Your phone vibrates.
It’s a text from him.
The manager has kidnapped me for five minutes 😭
But don’t move, okay? I’m heading your way the second he lets me go.
You smile to yourself.
I’m in your dressing room. I’m not going anywhere.
It doesn’t take long before you hear those rushed footsteps in the hallway again. The door opens with much less caution this time. Chan walks in, his hair a bit drier, a clean t-shirt on, and a light jacket draped over his shoulders. The adrenaline from the concert is still lingering in his eyes, but now it's mixed with something else.
"I'm sorry," he says, nearly breathless. "I've been signing papers as if I were leaving the country."
He walks up to you and kisses your forehead, as if needing to make up for every single minute he hasn't been by your side.
"Do you know what I’ve been thinking?" he adds, looking at you from up close.
"What?" you ask, not pulling away.
"That I’m not letting you sleep in a different hotel," he says simply, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "Call the front desk and cancel yours. You’re coming with us."
Your eyes widen slightly.
"And… how are you going to explain a girl walking down to the same hotel with you?" you ask, half-joking, half-serious.
He has already thought it through.
"The manager already knows," he replies. "They’re going to give you a cap, a tour t-shirt, and a mask. Tonight, you’re part of the staff. No one is going to ask questions."
Your heart skips a beat.
"Are you sure?" you insist. "I don’t want to get anyone into trouble."
"I’m sure," he states without hesitation. "No one is going to suspect one extra person walking down with the whole crew. And I prefer that a thousand times over knowing you’re alone in another hotel when I could have you with me."
You don’t need much convincing.
You call your hotel, canceling the reservation with a quick excuse. After a little while, the manager appears at the door holding a bag.
"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "If anyone asks, you’re part of the international support crew."
He gives Chan a knowing nudge on the arm.
"Don’t oversleep tomorrow, we’ve got another long day ahead," he teases before leaving.
Chan helps you slip the t-shirt over yours and adjust the cap. When you put on the mask, you look at yourself in the dressing room mirror and barely recognize yourself: you could easily be any of the staff members you’ve seen running back and forth for hours.
"It looks good on you," he says proudly. "You’re officially hired."
"I don’t plan on working for free," you reply, crossing your arms theatrically.
He laughs, steps up behind you, and wraps his arms around your waist.
"Your salary will be paid in hugs," he whispers against your ear. "And kisses. Lots of them."
You don’t complain about the deal.
Leaving the stadium with them is a surreal experience.
You are right in the middle of the group: members, staff, a few security guards. Everyone is exhausted, laughing, and talking about the show. You keep your cap low, your mask securely on, and your eyes down.
Felix winks at you from a few paces ahead. One of the guys makes a comment about "the new staff member" without looking too closely at you. The manager smooths it over with a simple excuse that no one questions. They are all far too drained to notice.
You get into the vans. You end up in Chan’s, but in a seat a bit further back. He doesn’t turn around much; he doesn’t look at you more than necessary. He knows how to play this game. Every now and then, however, you catch the reflection of his smile in the window, and you know that, at some point, it’s because of you.
When you arrive at the hotel, the entrance is heavily controlled. A few fans are waiting in the distance, trying to snap blurry photos of silhouettes in hoodies and caps. The hotel staff rushes the process along. You enter almost in a single file line, with the crew leading the way.
No one pays any mind to one more person in a tour t-shirt and a mask.
You split up to go up in the elevators. You end up in one with several members and the manager. No one says anything out of the ordinary. Every so often, you catch Chan’s gaze reflected in the metal of the door, but he doesn’t allow himself anything more.
In the hallway outside the rooms, the group disperses. Everyone heads to their own space; some say goodbye with a tired "good job today," while others don’t even speak, just dragging their feet.
You stay to the side for a moment, not moving, waiting for the signal.
The manager walks right past you, completely casual, and mutters under his breath:
"His is 608."
You nod.
You wait for the hallway to clear, until the only sound left is the muffled noise behind the closed doors. When everything settles down, you walk down the hall and knock softly on room 608.
Not even a second passes before the door swings open.
He is standing there, his hair still damp, wearing a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. More him than ever. Not the leader, not the idol. Just Chan.
He closes the door behind you before even saying hello. The moment the lock clicks shut, he turns around and looks at you as if he’d been waiting years for this exact moment.
"Now we're good," he says, letting out a breath. "Now you’re finally with me."
You take off the mask, the cap, and the tour t-shirt, leaving them on a chair. The room is huge—a large bed, a table, a small couch, open suitcases, a couple of water bottles, vitamins, and papers with schedules printed on them.
Chan opens his arms without another word. You walk into them almost by instinct. This time, the embrace is different: less desperate urgency, more of a calm weight loaded with everything you still want to say to each other.
At the same time, you both feel the exhaustion hit you… and yet, somehow, it lifts.
He buries his face in your hair.
"You have no idea how good this feels," he murmurs. "It’s like…" He searches for the right word. "Like I can finally breathe properly."
You pull back just enough to look at him.
"Do you really feel less stressed?" you ask.
He nods without hesitation.
"So much less," he replies. "Before the show, I was a total mess inside. I missed you, I was questioning a thousand things… From the second I saw you in the front row, everything fell back into place. And now, here…" He lets out an incredulous laugh. "I can’t believe how lucky I am."
You both sit on the bed, side by side, facing each other. He takes off his concert wristband and sets it on the nightstand, like a symbol that "stage mode" has been left outside.
"Tell me everything," he says, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. "How you put this all together, from the very beginning. I want every single detail."
So, you tell him.
From that morning reading his texts to the sudden idea of looking up flights. You tell him about your conversation with Felix, the manager, the screenshots, the airport, and the audio he sent you about the dream where you were at his concert.
He listens with absolute attention, barely interrupting, wearing that specific expression he gets when something truly matters to him.
"I didn’t know you were staying until the end of the tour," he says when you explain your vacation time.
You smile.
"You didn’t think I’d show up in the front row either," you reply.
"Fair point," he admits, laughing.
You sit up a bit, leaning back against the headboard.
"I had vacation days saved up," you explain. "A ton of them. I can stay for the two weeks left on the tour. And fly back to Korea with you."
You watch his eyes widen, like someone receiving a gift they didn’t even dare to ask for.
"You’re staying until the end?" he asks slowly, as if needing to make sure he heard correctly. "Flying back with me on the same flight?"
"That’s the plan," you nod. "I already cleared everything with work. While you’re finishing the tour, I can just live normal life during the day, do my own thing, and at night..." You shrug. "At night, I’ll be your undercover number one fan."
He buries his face in his hands for a second, as if it’s all too much to take in.
"You have no idea how much you just put my mind at ease," he murmurs, uncovering his eyes afterward. "I thought I’d only have you for today. Or, if I was lucky, tomorrow morning…"
"Well, you’re going to have me for a lot longer," you say.
He leans in and kisses you—gentle, filled with gratitude. There’s something new in this kiss: the silent promise of days, not just hours.
When you pull apart, his expression turns a bit more serious, though it doesn’t lose any of its warmth.
"I want to talk again about what I wrote to you," he says. "About my fears."
You nod. You knew this was bound to come up.
"My life… you already know how it is," he begins. "Absurd schedules, cameras, rules. I’ve seen colleagues try it with someone and end up breaking up because one of them just couldn’t take it. Or because someone caught them, news articles came out, and everything turned into a living hell. The company, the fans, the rumors… They have to deny things that are actually true just to protect everyone's jobs."
He sighs, toy with the edge of the sheet between his fingers.
"And sometimes I think…" he continues, "what if you wake up one day and say, 'I don’t want this for myself'? What if it’s just too unfair to you? What if we get caught? What if they hurt you? I don’t want to put you through that."
He isn’t telling you anything new. You’ve talked about this before. From the very beginning.
"I know," you respond. "And I’ll tell you again today: I knew all of that before I started dating you. I knew how everything works—in Korea, in the industry, at your agency. And still…" You look at him, steadfast. "I chose to be with you."
He clenches his jaw, as if fighting back his emotions.
"We’ve been together for a long time now, Chan," you remind him. "We’ve been through tours, comebacks, hiatuses, crises, good nights, and bad ones. If something were going to make me doubt that I wanted this, it would have happened by now. And yet, here I am. I crossed half the world just to hear you sing, to hug you in a dressing room, to watch you sleep without a screen in between us."
A smile slips through—sad and happy all at once.
"I don’t want you living with that fear every day," you add. "I’m not saying there aren’t risks; I’m not stupid. But I want you to trust us. Trust yourself, trust me, and trust what we have. Not what happened to other people."
He closes his eyes for a second, letting your words sink deep into his chest.
"I want us to go the distance," he whispers, opening them again. "Not just be together 'while it lasts,' but… for real. All the way to the end."
You laugh softly, trying to lighten the weight of the conversation a bit.
"Well, you better get used to it," you reply. "Because I plan on putting up with all your tours, all your schedules, all your dark circles…"
He laughs too, his gaze softening even more.
"All of them?" he asks.
"All of them," you confirm. "I’m going to endure this and a thousand other things for you: tours, masks, hotels, hiding spots…" You look at him with a playful glint in your eyes. "Until one day I finally end up becoming Mrs. Bang."
You say it in a teasing tone, but without breaking eye contact. He freezes, as if every word had landed with far more weight than you expected. You see his pupils dilate slightly, a different kind of spark igniting his gaze.
"Mrs. Bang, huh…?" he repeats, almost in a whisper, as if testing the sound of it.
You swallow hard. You didn’t mean to get so serious, but the way he looks at you completely disarms you.
"It was just a figure of speech," you try to downplay it, laughing. "Well… a figure of speech that isn’t too crazy, I guess."
Chan leans in a bit closer to you, more attentive than ever.
"Seriously…" he says slowly, "would you really be my wife?" He doesn't say it mockingly, or with a laugh. He says it like someone asking a question that has been spinning around in his head for a very long time.
Your heart races.
"I…" You clear your throat. "If we stay together for many years, if everything keeps going well… I guess at some point we’d get married, wouldn't we?" You shrug, but your eyes never wander from his.
He doesn't hesitate for a single second.
"For me, it’s an 'of course,'" he replies. "If I could, I’d ask you right now. Right here. Just like this."
"And if you did?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "What do you think I’d say?"
It doesn't even take him half a second.
"Yes," he says. "Always yes. That’s what I believe."
You hold his gaze.
"Well, you’re right," you admit. "Now, and whenever it happens. In whatever way it has to be, when the time comes… with you, it would always be a yes."
He reaches out, intertwining his fingers with yours.
"I want us to get there," he confesses softly. "I don’t know when, or how exactly, or what I’ll have to negotiate with the universe to make it happen without destroying anything. But I want it. And what scares me most… is that you’ll get tired before we can."
You squeeze his hand.
"And what I want most is for you to stop living your life waiting for me to get tired," you respond. "Because I’m not going to. I’ll get tired of many things in this life, but never of you."
He chuckles—that specific laugh of his that comes more through his nose when he gets emotional. His eyes glisten. He looks at you as if you had just set the world a little straighter for him.
"I’m going to endure this and a thousand other things for you," you add, your tone lighter now, trying to ease the mood. "Tours, schedules, masks, hotels, hiding under caps… until one day, in the end, I finally end up becoming Mrs. Bang."
This time you say it with a smile, without hiding behind it.
He stays perfectly still, as if every word were a gentle strike to his chest. His eyes fill with tears, though he fights to keep a single one from falling.
"You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that," he finally says. "Not just the 'Mrs. Bang' part. All of it."
He leans down and kisses your knuckles, one by one, as if he were sealing a pact.
"So…" he adds with a calmer, subtle smile, "let’s make sure this tour isn't something that breaks us, but something we remember as 'the one where you showed up in the front row and put my mind at ease.'"
"Deal," you reply.
You both stretch out on the bed, side by side, turned toward each other, face-to-face. You talk. A lot. About things big and small.
He tells you backstage anecdotes from the tour that couldn’t fit into voice notes: a technical glitch that almost left them without an intro, a terrible meal in a city they’ve all sworn never to visit again, and a moment on the plane when he thought about texting you a single word—"come"—without any explanation.
You tell him about your job, about the people who know nothing and just suspect you’ve been "very busy" lately, and about those sleepless nights when you’d stare at the ceiling mapping out his schedule in your head.
The more you talk, the easier he breathes. You can tell. His shoulders lose their tension, his voice softens, and his laughter comes without that shadow of exhaustion you had noticed in his recent messages.
At some point, the conversation fades into comfortable silences. You look at him and notice his eyes starting to drift shut, his body finally demanding rest.
"Sleep," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "Tomorrow I have to watch another concert from the front row. I need you in top shape."
He chuckles, half-asleep.
"I’m going to be better than ever," he promises. "Now I have my motivation… in the crowd and at the hotel."
He curls up closer, resting his forehead against your collarbone, one of his arms wrapping around your waist.
"Thank you for not getting tired," he murmurs, already slipping into dreams.
You kiss the crown of his head.
"Thank you for letting me stay," you respond.
Slowly, his breathing becomes deep and steady. The leader, the producer, the guy with a thousand responsibilities melts away against your chest until only the simplest part remains: Chan, sleeping, finally, without the distance in between.
You close your eyes too.
You know that tomorrow the spotlights will return, along with the noise and the role he has to play every single day. You know the risks, the secrets, and the precautions will still be there. You don’t live in a fantasy.
But you also know this:
You crossed half the world to prove to him that you won't get tired.
And he, with every look, every word, and every plan for the future, proves to you that he won't give up.
Meanwhile, in the quiet darkness of an anonymous hotel room, with his warm breath brushing against your skin, you think that maybe, someday, when everything falls into place, a door will open not to a dressing room on tour, but to a home shared together.
Maybe, someday, someone will call you "Mrs. Bang" and it won’t be a joke.
𓂃⋆.˚ perv!chan who's also your neighbour headcanons
neighbour!chan who keeps his curtains half-open on purpose just so he can watch you walk around your apartment in those tiny shorts and tank tops after you get home from work. he tells himself he’s just “checking if you’re safe,” but his hand is already slipping into his sweatpants the second you bend over to grab something off the floor
neighbour!chan who times his evening runs so he “accidentally” bumps into you when you’re coming back from the gym, all sweaty and flushed. he loves the way your sports bra clings to your chest and how your breath hitches when he leans in a little too close to apologize, inhaling the scent of your skin
neighbour!chan who installed a ring camera on his balcony that just so happens to have the perfect angle into your living room. he jerks off to the footage later, moaning your name under his breath while rewatching the part where you stretch on the couch and your shirt rides up, showing your inner wear
neighbour!chan who “borrows” your packages from the lobby so he has an excuse to knock on your door. he always stays a little longer than necessary, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body while he asks you innocent questions about your day but iff you’re wearing anything thin, he’s hard before he even gets back to his apartment
neighbour!chan who jerks off with your stolen panties pressed against his face. he took them from your laundry basket when you left it in the hallway for a second. he cums so hard he sees stars, then carefully washes and returns them like the perfect neighbour
neighbour!chan who listens to you through the thin walls when you touch yourself at night. he matches your rhythm, biting his lip bloody to stay quiet, imagining it’s his fingers, his tongue, his cock making you moan like that instead :(
neighbour!chan who offers to help you “fix” things in your apartment just so he can stand behind you while you’re reaching for something, pressing his hard-on against your ass “accidentally”
neighbour!chan who has an entire private folder labeled “gym” that’s actually just pictures and videos of you. the way your tits bounce when you run on the treadmill, the sweat sliding down your neck, the little sounds you make when you’re tired… poor baby watches them on loop while fucking into his fist
neighbour!chan who leaves anonymous notes in your mailbox telling you how fucking hot you looked last night, how he wants to bury his face between your thighs and make you scream his name, just to see you look flushed. then he acts completely normal and sweet the next time he sees you, he can't get caught ofcourse
neighbour!chan who is one “come over for a drink” away from losing all control and bending you over his kitchen counter the second you step inside — especially after you’ve been dropping those little hints lately, like biting your lip while staring at his arms, wearing the shortest shorts when you know he’s around, and casually mentioning how you’ve been thinking about him at night in that breathy tone that makes his cock twitch instantly
Making black people feel like we don’t belong in the KPop community is insane. KPop has taken everything it possibly could from black culture and black artists. It wouldn’t exist in the form that it does today if it weren’t built on the back of the black community.
You’ll listen to Agust D but if he were a black man you’d hate him. You’ll listen to Cortis but if it were a group of black boys you wouldn’t even turn it on. Aespa can do streetwear and it’s cute but black girls do it and it’s hood.
It makes no sense. You make no sense. Just tell the truth. You hate black people but love the things we make as long as the face on it isn’t ours.
But, you know, whatever. Go blast “Outside” by Enhypen while calling black Engenes slurs on Twitter and we can pretend that makes sense.
