gold rush | bangchan (m)
“I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch, everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.” Or, a lot of people love chan but he only loves you. He just wishes you could see that.
⇝ pairing: bangchan x f!reader ⇝ rating: 18+ (for the most part it’s pretty pg) ⇝ genre: childhood friends to lovers | angst | fluff | smut ⇝ word count: 10.6k :o ⇝ warnings: lots of pining, based off of gold rush by taylor swiftie, attempt to use metaphors, kinda angsty, also fluffy, chan is rlly popular, minor character death (not mentioned in detail), misunderstandings kinda? but they’re bearable, chan halfway confesses like three times, but you just don’t want to get your hopes up :(, changbin is kinda mean, self indulgent!!, romantic-ish smut (I tried), the smut is skippable it’s like a bonus part <3, blow jobs, pussy eating, kissing, unprotected sex (we know better), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, lovey dovey stuff, time jump, lmk if i’m missing anything
a/n: hi angels, <3 this is now my longest fic… I listened to evermore on wednesday and gold rush and tolerate it filled me with the most insane inspiration ever, so despite my four current wips i whipped this up and posted it in a day so if it shows… i’m so so sorry </3 I could’ve made this way better so let’s pretend I couldn’t have! I hope you like it! It’s way longer than I planned considering it was only supposed to be like 2k. I also added smut which I hadn’t planned on but I made it as soft as possible just to fit the overall vibe I was going for. I wrote this in like ??? 8 hours maybe?? and most of all this shit is self indulgent as fuck like… i’m so !???? i love chan
playlist: gold rush by taylor swift, tolerate it by taylor swift, sad beautiful tragic by taylor swift, she by harry styles (idk anywhere near enough good romantic songs to make a playlist and this is all i listened to as i wrote so… yea idk what’s up with me)
mlist | taglist | navi
When did you fall in love?
You think you could most likely tie it back to when Chan first came to town, brown curly hair falling over his eyes, a fuzzy orange sports headband on his head, and a permanent blush on his cheeks. Or, perhaps it was when he’d introduced himself to you, blond hair curling behind his ears as he stared you down, looking less youthful yet even more handsome. Or, maybe it was when he sat next to you in your freshman year of university, spreading his books along his desk, badgering you for one of your shiny pencils, and winking at you when class began.
Maybe it was after all of this. Maybe you still aren’t really in love, but the way your heart beats when he’s around, when he smooths his hands over your shoulders and tucks his head under your chin, makes you think that maybe you are.
It doesn’t matter though– and it never will. Everybody wants him. All you are is another face in the crowd, a friend to talk to when things get tough. You’re someone with whom his shoulder’s brush as he walks past– not someone who gets to feel the wonder of his embrace. The feel of his lips against your skin, the sweet words saved for his lover. That’s never been you.
The sun beams down on you, its rays glittering over the wooden benches of the park, reflecting off of streetlights and seeping in through the cracks of windows and doors. Your feet move leisurely along the street, and in your hand you cradle a warm latte. It’s the middle of September and occasionally sharp gusts of wind leave an air of frigidness over your skin. Your lashes flutter under the breeze, and despite the cold you’re content to saunter along campus. It’s still warm enough for you to leave your hands exposed without them falling victim to the biting chill of autumn, and it’s exactly what you need to distract your mind.
Each step you take allows the thoughts that have been plaguing you to fall away one by one until they are no more. You’re free to ignore them until you have to see Chan again in all his boyish charm and utter cluelessness. Your eyes shut momentarily as the image of him comes to the forefront of your mind, each crinkle in his eye as he smiles, his dimple, his laugh. It brings a familiar ache to your heart. One that can’t fall away with your steps nor with the frigid air. It is one that never leaves you no matter how much you beg or how much you wish. It's become a part of you, and of that you’re sure of.
What you’re not sure of is how to feel about all that your life has become. When you were younger you were no stranger to love– to watching the way your parents interacted as if their life was a simple romance film. You had never lived a loveless life, whether through platonic love or familial, you had felt it all your life. It was normal.
When you were younger you never thought you’d have the same type of love that your parents had. You’d witnessed all forms of love– the best kinds and the worst kinds– and didn’t think you’d get the chance to experience either one. You’d been on the receiving end of many emotions, the good and the bad, though your attraction to others since you knew what attraction was had always been shallow. A simple crush that made your heart flutter, but nothing that made you want to dance to an imaginary song in the dim glow of the kitchen at night. Nothing that made you think waking up to them everyday would be a blessing, and losing them would be a tragedy. For you, it was just like it was for everyone else. Nothing special like the love you’d always laid witness to. Nothing like the love people on your television would cry and cheer about, completely and irrevocably in love with whom they considered their other half.
When you were younger, you envied your parents. As wrong as it had always seemed, as horribly shallow as it had felt, their love constructed a jealousy in you, an insecurity, a flaw. For something you had been exposed to since being a mere infant, why was it so hard for you to feel? All you wanted back then was the love that made people stupidly happy. The feeling that made a comfortable ache form in their chests and an irreversible smile form on their cheeks.
Now, you think that you simply don’t deserve that love. You feel it, you understand it, yet it doesn’t feel as good as it should. It doesn't feel like theirs.
You’ve tried to reverse it, to become the shallow young girl you once were, but the ache in your chest remains through it all, and the complete devotion you feel towards your best friend is just agony every day it isn’t returned.
You’ve arrived at your dorm room, the grandiose building imposing as it towers over you, yet bringing with it a sense of comfort. You don’t miss out on any chance to revel in that feeling– constantly feeling as if a rug has been pulled from under you in every waking moment of the day. It’s tiring, and at any moment you feel like you’re ready to crumble under the weight of it all. Was love supposed to be so agonizing? So terribly heartbreaking? Was it right to tear you down this way?
Your keys jingle on the loop, and your Mary Janes click with every step along the lacquered wooden floors, the entire building spotless in its entirety and poshness oozing uncomfortably from its walls. Though with every step you took you became more and more at ease just happy that you’d be able to crash in your bed and pity yourself for the next few hours.
That was all your life consisted of now, after all.
You jogged up the stairs, your legs burning with effort and your movements restrained from your long pencil skirt. A blazer was buttoned deftly over your chest and black tights made it so that barely any skin was exposed. Not that it mattered, anyway. You’re a grown woman free to do whatever you please, and if that includes getting sick in the late autumn weather then so be it.
Upon arrival at your dorm room your shoulders sagged in visible relief. The door couldn’t unlock quick enough as you shuffled your way inside, dropping your purse to the side and setting your empty coffee cup on the kitchen island. You knocked your head back, looking up at the ceiling through bleary eyes and a tired frown. Your feet ached in your shoes and you wanted to spread your legs wide without feeling like you were wearing an exercise band.
You plopped down on your couch, unstrapping and kicking off your confining shoes and curling your feet into the couch. You relaxed into the chair, letting the misery and affliction of the day seep into the fabric. Your eyes closed of their own accord, and a content sigh left your lips in bliss. This was your comfort after a long day. Sitting alone to your own thoughts— or rather with no thoughts, allowing the silence to envelop you and comfort you with an imaginary hand on your back. It was this that made every day worth working through— the knowledge that you’d be able to curl up at the end of the day and relax your muscles just to do it all over again the next day.
Ever since you were a child being alone was a comfort you always sought out. Being left to your own devices was the best thing your parents could have ever done for you, and it was when you were able to fully relax. Reading, writing, drawing— the silence of your bedroom was a safe haven for your turbulent mind. Always running, never stopping to give you a break or catch your breath. Your thoughts ran rampant ever since you could remember, tormenting you and making your life an aching bout of anxiety. Silence was something that should’ve made it worse, but it was when you could fall into your daydreams and pretend your life wasn’t your own.
Sleep pulls you under, insistent as it forces your eyelids down.
Chan has always been a stranger to love, and that’s why he’s always done his best to give as much as he could. Since he was a young boy he had never known his father, had never known what it was like to play in the backyard with him or watch basketball games. He never knew what it would be like to hang out with his own dad, sharing secret handshakes and joking around with his mom. He didn’t know what it would be like to feel fatherly love, to feel the embrace of who should’ve been one of the most important people in his life.
Since he was a young boy it’s just been him and his mother, in their downtrodden family home, barely standing no matter how hard his mother worked to support them both. His mother had shared as much love as she could, fighting through the bitterness Chan’s father had left her with and pushing herself harder to provide for them both without any help. She had tried her hardest since Chan was a child until he was a senior in high school, constantly making sure he was provided for and well taken care of. This love should’ve been enough, but for a long time it wasn’t.
Chan had never known what it was like to love someone completely and irrevocably, wanting to shout from the rooftops his devotion to another. He had never seen his parents love each other, had never met either of his grandparents, and had no aunts or uncles or cousins in his life or who cared about him enough to even pretend they wanted something to do with him. In elementary school he was ridiculed, fatherless and pitiful. He didn’t live in a house as nice as the other kids, he didn’t have a complete and happy family like the other kids, or the same amount of money, or the same amount of privilege. To them, he was nothing.
In middle school it was much worse. By that time Chan had been no stranger to bullying. He had struggled through it during elementary school, had been tormented by his peers since before he was a teenager, and didn’t let the words affect him no matter how much harsher they became. To him, his oppressors were the pitiful ones. They were the ones who had not experienced enough love, and no matter how much he lacked he would always hold enough love in his heart for others— so that they didn’t have to feel as worthless as he did.
Chan knew from early how hard-working his mother had been. He knew she tried her best, that she worked herself to the bone just to make him happy. How much she wanted her love to be enough— and maybe it would’ve been had he not had to experience all that he did. He knew, and that’s why he had never voiced his feelings to her at all throughout elementary school and middle school, and why by the time high school came around he was an expert at masking the pain in his heart with a smile on his face.
When Chan’s mother told him they were moving it felt like a weight had been lifted. Leaving all the pain of his past felt like the beginning he needed, the start he wanted to finally be happy. To finally let his mother’s love be enough.
By the time Chan turned seventeen, his smile was the brightest it had ever been. He didn’t know how good it felt to be admired, to be held in high regard, to love and be loved back. It felt good. He never wanted to let that go, and if it was up to him he never would.
Before Chan made it to college his mother fell ill. Chan willed the love in his heart to be enough, hoped that his prayers and wishes would bring his mother back to him. That the love she had always given him would strengthen her and allow her to live as happily and carefree as she deserved. Chan had a plan, he would be the one to take care of her this time around. He was 18, had his own car and his own job. He was going to college to start his career so he could be there for her in return. So she could be taken care of like she deserved. He begged for his love to be enough, but sometimes it simply isn’t. And when the casket closed on the worst day of Chan’s life, he realized that to be true.
Chan rushes out the cafe, umbrella in hand, giggling to himself as he runs across campus— two coffee cups in hand as he goes. Bystanders watch him warily as he runs, wondering if he’ll drop one of the items he’s carrying or wondering if he’s alright, but Chan doesn’t notice and if he does, he doesn’t care enough to stop. His feet splash in puddles, carrying him to your dorm room as swiftly as possible. He’s careful not to slip on the wet pavement and tightens his grip on your drink to make sure it doesn’t spill.
The building is still the same imposing grandiose thing that it always has been, but to him it’s nothing but slabs of cement between piles of brick. He pays no mind to the water that drops down his umbrella over the once pristine wooden floor, simply running up the stairs and to your room. You should be awake by now, he decides, all too familiar with your daily naps after class and after work. His cap hangs low over his eyes so no one recognizes him as he shuffles through the halls.
He knocks rapidly on your door and only stops when he hears your groan through the drywall. His giggles float from his lips freely and unfiltered, and he’s filled with unadulterated joy just at the simple thought of seeing you. His heart thuds in his chest and he hopes he’s early enough to see your face puffy from sleep, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled as if he had finally gotten the chance to wake up next to you.
When the door opens he grins, dimple on full display as you sigh, grabbing a cup from his hands and moving to the side to let him in.
“How was your day?”
“Same as usual— hey!” You place the cup on the table next to your empty one from earlier and move his umbrella outside the door, sending him a glare as you shut it behind you. “Not on my floors,” you huff as he ruffles your hair in response.
“I missed you,” Chan hums, bringing his cup to his lips. “How was class?”
“I missed you too. Class was fine, just tiring Channie.”
A smile flits upon your lips as you cross your legs on the couch, turning towards your best friend’s form sprawled opposite you. “How was the interview?”
Chan smiles, rubbing at his neck in mock modesty. “It went great, honestly. They said they’d call me, tell me what the next steps are and all that shit.” He turns to you, smile blindingly bright. “Fuck, I’m so happy.”
The happiness on his face is palpable in the air between you as you lean forward and bring him into a hug. His cologne sticks to your skin and you bury your nose deeper into his jacket just to feel a little closer to him. “That’s great,” you beam, “If anyone could do it, it’s you.”
His arms encircle you and his lips brush against your cheek. His fuzzy sweater rubs along your bare skin, leaning a trail of warmth in its wake. Chan’s hands run up and down your back and he chuckles. “I know, I can always count on you.”
“Count on me?” you repeated, curling closer in Chan’s embrace as he grinned.
“To be there for me, to trust in me, to support me. You’re always there for me.”
“And you’ll be there for me too.”
“And I'll be here for you too,” Chan whispers, his voice much quieter than it had previously been. He noses into the top of your head, tickling his skin with your hair.
Your breath is silent to match the sudden silence in the room. Chan is still, his nose still pressed into your hair but his hand rests against your back and he leans into you, still holding his weight but allowing himself to relax a bit more in your embrace. You shuffle closer, digging your chin into his shoulder as lightly as possible so that it doesn’t hurt him, and squeeze at his sides.
You know how hard it is for him having lacked a stable support system in one of the most stressful times of his life, and you’re just glad you could be that for him. You allow his cologne to relax you as the silence becomes heavier, enveloping you in its embrace. You let yourself think about things you shouldn’t, allow yourself to wonder if you’d be able to leave a soft kiss against his skin. If he would leave a kiss against yours, trailing fingers across each other and whispering sweet words to one another, simply lounging in each other’s presence. You let yourself think about what would happen next. Would he hold you close? Pull you into his lap? Tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and lean in slowly to kiss you?
“I wish I could tell you what you are to me.”
Chan’s voice almost makes you jolt, so wrapped up in the previous silence that it takes you a moment to recognize he’s spoken. His words bring a frown to your face— one of confusion and one of false hope. You know that no matter how much you want to, you can’t wish for feelings. His hair is soft to the touch as you run your fingers through it, curling tendrils behind his ear and ghosting over his skin as if he was yours.
“I wish you could too.”
When did you fall in love?
Maybe it was when Chan would run his hands along your skin as if you belonged to him. Touching you with such a gentle caress that it was painful to your fragile heart, treating you with such tender care that it was almost unbearable. Yet like a drug you were addicted. To his attention, to his words, to his love. As platonic as it was, it still felt like something to treasure and hold close. It was all you could get and probably all you ever would. Or, perhaps it was when he would take your hand in his, dragging you to a new secret spot and setting up a picnic.
He’d lay out a large blanket, ground it with books and shoes, and then lay out all the food he cooked. Preserved in tupperware he’d make a show of having you try each one, watching with bated breath as you put a contemplative look on your face with every spoonful of food and only relaxing when you’d break character and assure him that his food was the best thing you’d ever tasted, and it was true. It was his and that’s what made it perfect to you.
Or, maybe it was when he’d come to your dorm room every night, right when you’d wake up from your nap, bringing a latte or a snack and lounging on your couch catching each other up on your days, on what’s been happening in the week, and later curling up and falling asleep to a movie. He’d grab ahold of your hand and thread your fingers together— never noticing the hitch in your breath but holding you close to him all the same.
He’d run a hand along your waist, let it slip under your shirt and ghost his fingers across your skin when you hugged. It was all earth-shattering, yet things that were so normal. You couldn’t allow yourself to think of it as anything more than it was.
“So I take it you’re never gonna confess.”
“Confess?” You question, bringing your croissant to your mouth and taking a bite.
Hyunjin sighs, bringing a hand to his hair in order to run through it. “Confess that you have feelings for Chan.” He grumbles, bringing his americano to his lips and looking at you through long eyelashes.
“Be serious, Hyunjin. Absolutely not.” You hiss, leaning forward against the table and settling him with a glare before returning to your croissant. “He practically has an entire entourage. The last person he wants is me when he can have literally anyone.”
“Y/n, are you an idiot? If you had even half the awareness the rest of us have you’d see the way he looks at you. The way he touches you? It’s practically like you two are dating already.”
“But we’re not.”
“But you could be.”
“Hyunjin—”
“I don’t get the big deal? I mean it’s just so obvious-”
“Hyunjin!? The big deal is that I could lose my best friend. It’s really not worth it.”
The eye roll Hyunjin sends your way is borderline petrifying, but you’re adamant in your refusal. You straighten up, swallowing the last bit of your croissant before staring at him with stubborn determination.
“Have you seen any romance movie ever? They always say that and then they end up together because, shocker, they both liked each other the entire time. Don’t be a typical mc.”
“Real life is not a movie,” you scoff, “You can’t possibly expect me to base my reasoning off that?”
“I do expect. You should listen to me. As someone with an outside view and who doesn’t have this fear of rejection I can observe you both very well and you obviously like each other. Just rip the bandaid off and move on.”
“Rip the bandaid off?? Really? Is that the best you’ve got? Not very comforting is it?”
Hyunjin sighs, grabbing your hand from across the table. His hand is large, warm, and you can’t help but be comforted when it envelops you.
“Just trust me.”
Against your wishes Hyunjin’s words stick with you for the rest of the day. It’s not the first time you’d considered confessing, finally letting the feelings that have been building up since high school free— wondering if getting all of it off your chest would make you feel better. But then again, you’d just be like everyone else who’s ever confessed to chan. Begging for him to love them back, face in a red flush, wondering what it would be like to love him.
Day by day the air gets colder, blowing against you so harshly it feels like needles prick your skin. The sky is a deep blue, only covered by a few wispy clouds. Around you couples and friends walk through town together, hand in hand, leaning on each other, hands running over each other’s waists. Happily in love.
You look down at the ground with a sad smile, quivering with each step you take, and this time the silence doesn’t allow your thoughts to disappear— it just lets them come knocking even harder. It happens sometimes, when no matter what you do you can’t escape them.
Against your better judgement you hope Chan is at your dorm. He slept over after a movie night, face pressed against the couch and bangs covering his eyes. you watched him for longer than you’d have liked, but you revel in any opportunity to imagine you both are more than you really are. You know it’s all in your head, you know you’ve got everything wrong, you know it’s just hurting yourself more— but when it comes to Chan you find that it doesn’t matter.
The walk to your dorm is slow, with you stopping to look at everything you could. Staring at worn down buildings, waving at cute dogs, and smiling at people as you walked past. Attempting to immerse yourself in the world around you and stop feeling like a passing viewer— to make it so that it felt like people saw you, and you weren’t just there.
You’d left your dorm room early this morning, meeting up with Hyunjin due to plans you’d both made the week prior. You always enjoyed talking to Hyunjin. He knew what was important in life, was strong-willed and attentive. He gave you the best advice, even if sometimes you didn’t follow it. Besides Chan he was probably one of your closest friends, as well as a boy named Lee Felix and your dorm mate. It’s been a while since you’ve seen them both, and it makes you a little sad. You feel like you lose grip over the people that’s important to you, and that after a while they’ll have no problem leaving you behind.
You heave a deep sigh to get the thoughts out your mind, wishing the September sun was a little brighter so it could lift your spirits. Your latte is still warm in your hand, and you tap your nails against it as you trudge up the road leading back to campus. Hyunjin had other business in the city so you two went your separate ways after breakfast. It was still early, unfortunately, and you had no idea how you’d spend the rest of your day. It was too cold to do anything really fun, and most of your friends had classes today anyway.
It was obvious when you’d arrived back on campus. If the intricate buildings weren’t enough, the perfectly paved pathways and neatly trimmed hedges were. People carried books with them as they walked, wearing big jackets and hats. It was really getting colder, and it almost saddened you. Another year coming to a close and you were still stuck with the same problems and the same feelings. You waved at people as you passed, recognizing a few familiar faces along the way. Attention fueled you, made you feel that maybe you were more in this world than you thought you were. That maybe things could be different, that you and Chan could walk side by side and all those people that usually follow behind him could follow behind you too.
Heat punches you in the face as soon as you step inside your housing, your feet clicking against the hardwood floors in something that’s become a comfortable routine. Your jacket now feels like it’s too warm, sticking to you and trapping heat inside. You rush up the stairs, by passing the elevator that’s been out of order for weeks now, and hurriedly shove your key in the lock on your door.
When you come in Chan isn’t there, but he could be in any of the other rooms of your dorm. You don’t call out for him, not sure if you want to hear the silence that might come as a reply. You kick your shoes off and hang your jacket on the door, unwrapping your scarf and tossing it on the couch on your way to your bedroom. The door is cracked open and the light is on, and the view brings a smile to your face without your control. You open the door wider and peek in. Chan is sitting on your bed, feet propped up in front of him, book in hand. Chan has always loved to read since the day you first met him in Junior year of high school. You thought that like a typical boy if he was reading at all it’d be a comic, or an action series, but it was a romance. At first it was anything he could get his hands on. He’d read pride and prejudice three times, and then decided to spend all his free time in the library. You always joined him, of course, happy to have a friend who liked the same things as you.
When you gifted him a large set of romance books for his birthday that year you were sure he’d kiss you. He stared at you like he would, before smiling and bringing you close into a hug. He still has every book, and it makes your heart flutter in silly ways. Right now, he’s holding a book out in front of him, reading glasses perched on his nose and a cup of tea on his nightstand. He’s really a sight for sore eyes, lips pursed in frustration or concentration you’re not sure. When reading it could be either. He flips the pages deftly, running over each line with the intention to devour every word, to soak it in with everything he could.
He’s so immersed you’re sure if you spoke he wouldn’t even hear, and if he did he’d only answer when he was done reading the page. You two were the same in that sense. You stepped into the room fully and closed the door behind you, dropping your latte and the coffee you got for Chan on the nightstand next to his tea and then laid flat on your bed with a sigh. Your arms sprawled out beside you, and your chest raised with every breath.
You turned your head to the side to look at Chan and couldn’t help the flush that warmed your cheeks when you met his eyes, him already staring down at you with a fond smile on his face.
“Hi.” You whispered, rolling onto your side to look at him more comfortably.
“Hi,” he murmured, closing his book and pushing it to the side. He rolled onto his side to look at you, moving himself even closer before running a hand down your hair and cradling your neck, running a slow finger across your skin.
“How was your day?”
“I read myself into oblivion while waiting here like a poor housewife for my dear best friend to come back.”
“House husband,” You correct, “And I went to the cafe with Hyun,” you whined, “don’t tease me.”
“I’m serious,” Chan laughed, moving his finger from your neck to slip it under the hem of your shirt and lightly tug it. “I was so lonely and I didn’t call ‘cus I know how much you like hanging out with him.”
You giggle, sitting up and facing him. “Oh yeah? I like hanging with you too, you know.”
“I know. I’d rather argue with you than laugh with anyone else.”
“So what does that say about you?” You scoff, laying back down beside him and trying to ignore the fact that you both have gotten even closer, and each breath that leaves his lips lingers against your skin. You see his lashes flutter under your gaze, yet he doesn’t stop staring intensely at your face.
“That I love you.”
It comes as a whisper, like a confession. But you can’t get your hopes up. You won’t. You pray for some miracle that Chan didn’t hear the hitch in your breath, or the fact that you noticeably flinched at his words, your lashes fluttering closed under his gaze. Your heart beats erratically, thumping against your chest and pounding harshly against your rib cage. If chan moved closer, if he pressed his body fully to yours, you wonder if his heartbeat would match your own.
“Yeah, I love you too.”
Chan holds his phone tightly, a frown etched onto his face. The group chat is blowing up and he can’t stop for a moment to read any of the messages. He weaves between groups of people, waving at most of them as he goes. A lot of people know him, a lot of people admire him. He helps out as many people as he can and makes friends with most, just trying to be a pillar for others— someone other people can look up to and lean on when they need to. That’s something that he’s always wanted to be, who he felt like he needed to be since a young age.
He remembered what you’d had to say about it during your second year and his third, your books spilled over the desk in your bedroom. You had dark circles under your eyes, and you were getting thinner, yet you still managed to smile at him so brightly. As if he was someone that deserved to see such beauty, such love in your gaze.
“So that's the face someone makes when they know everyone’s obsessed with them, huh?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Chan, it’s good, you deserve to be loved.”
Just not in the way he’d like, Chan guesses, frowning at the memory. He still remembers how much it bothered him that he couldn’t do anything more but bring you company during one of your hardest years in college, just having to watch as you worked yourself to the bone. He would’ve taken all your exams if he could, but you would’ve never let him, too content in neglecting yourself rather than letting your friends do the same.
The sun is practically nonexistent this afternoon, hiding behind heavy clouds. It's been raining for the last few days, coating the city in a bleak atmosphere that heavily resonates with him. It almost feels like the lower his mood becomes the dimmer everything around him does too. Sighing, Chan turns around to face the large, grandiose building that’s become the meetup spot for him and his friends.
He skips up the steps, and pushes open the door to the studio, feeling good at the wave of heat that brushes over him. He goes there enough to bypass having to sign in, simply sending a nod the receptionists way and walking to the elevator. Judging by the state of the group chat, Changbin and Jisung are already there. Jeongin might be too, but he knows the younger one is busy with his own workload. It sucks to never have time to see each other anymore, and even though the school year just started he’s hoping to see the end of it sooner rather than later.
When he pushes open the soundproof doors and ambles into the studio, Jisung is on his back in a matter of seconds. As jumpy as ever and unnaturally excitable, he latches on to Chan already asking a million questions. Changbin just laughs where he’s seated in front of the soundboard, messing with the dials and settings until they’re at a level he’s comfortable with.
Chan drops his bag down before plopping onto one of the padded seats in the studio and Jisung wastes no time sitting next to him. Though when he finally stops his chattering a frown etches into his face.
“What’s wrong?” Jisung asks, a hand coming to Chan’s shoulder and squeezing lightly, attempting to bring a warmth of comfort.
“Nothing,” Chan laughs, shaking his head.
Changbin has come closer now, either finished with the setup or wondering what’s going on.
“I swear! I’m just having a long day, that’s all.”
“Is it what I think it is?”
“Well what do you think it is?” Chan tenses, eyebrow raised at Changbin where the latter stares down at him.
“Is it this shit with Y/n again?”
“I’m sorry, what? It’s not anything, exactly like I said.”
“We already know when you come in here pouty and upset it’s because of her. Dude, I think you just need to let it go.”
Chan sputters, his eyebrows furrowing more in confusion than anger. “Let what go?”
“These feelings? It’s just hurting you more than helping and maybe you need to realize that this thing between you two isn’t meant to be.”
“Bin-”
“Please, Sung, you’ve said the same thing yourself.”
“What!? So you two have just been talking about me like-”
“No, that’s not it. We’re just worried and it’s translating poorly.”
“You don’t need to be worried, and like I said it’s nothing, so leave it alone.”
“Whatever, man.”
Chan grabs his bag where he's set it down and wraps his jacket around him once again. He hears Jisung call out to him but he can’t work there, not with the hostile energy that’s bouncing around in that studio. The door slams shut behind him and he doesn’t even bother looking back. He bypasses the elevator, instead running down the steps and rushing outside, welcoming the chill of the afternoon air. It cools his heated skin and his angered heart, and gives him the strength to leave the area and walk back where he came.
He sees people he knows on the way but he pretends he doesn’t, not in much of a mood to pretend to be happy to see everyone he meets. His mind is a tornado of thoughts, and his feet move quicker than his mind. When he sees your dorm up ahead he scoffs at himself, at his stupidity, at his dependence on you. He continues anyway, running up the stairs and turning his key into the lock. You’re breaking so many rules for him, allowing him so much freedom in your life, and it just makes the spot he’s carved in his heart for you to deepen.
His mind is frazzled as well as his hair. His chest heaves in frustration. At himself, at his choices, at everything. It seems so difficult for everything to go the way he wants, as if the world makes it so that everything he wants to go his way simply doesn’t. His key is still in the door. He hasn’t pushed it open. He wants to pretend this act he’s got going on isn’t hurting him, pretend that acting like you’re only a friend to him isn’t something that carves pieces in his heart at every moment. His hand trembles at his side, wishing he had yours to hold. Wishing he had your skin to run over and calm him.
He doesn’t know when you’ve become such a comfort to him. Maybe it was when you’d smiled at him for the first time. When you offered him a seat at your lunch table and shared what you didn’t want with him when he asked. Or, perhaps it was when you’d accompany him to the library everyday after school, sitting next to each other and reading whatever books you both could get your hands on. Or, maybe it was when you’d spent your savings from your summer job on a stack of books for his birthday, and it was the first time someone besides his mom had ever gotten him a birthday gift.
Or maybe it happened after all that. When he’d cried in front of you for the first time and you just held him tightly, refusing to let go. Or, perhaps it was when you’d come to his mothers funeral. A sad one, it was, with only four people in attendance. Chan couldn’t afford a casket, couldn’t afford to have a church with a pastor. He didn’t have anything, but he had you holding his hand, rubbing his back as he cried at the loss of all he had left.
Chan didn’t know back then that he’d gained something too.
Let it go? He can’t let it go, because you’re a part of him now too and losing you, losing his love for you, would be like losing a part of himself. Chan pushes the door open, content in how much he’s relaxed in the moments before the door. You’re standing in front of the door when he opens it, a mug in hand and a smile on your face.
“You look like you could use a hug.”
“Yeah,” Chan chokes, wrapping his arms around you and cradling your head close to his chest. You slide the mug onto the table beside you so you can pull him even closer, gripping his shirt tightly and positioning yourself so that Chan can lean his head into your neck. His body trembles with the tears that were begging to be let out as he asks in your warmth.
“You know I love you, right? I- I love you so much it hurts me.”
Your eyebrows furrow at his words, whimpered and muffled as they’re spoken against your skin. “What’s wrong, Channie? Talk to me.”
Chan shakes his head, knocking against your chin. “I can’t. I can't.”
“Yes you can. You can tell me anything.”
“I want a lot of things that I shouldn’t.” Chan whispers, bringing a palm to smooth over your hair. “I think about a lot of things I shouldn’t. Wondering if I could have it.”
“Chan…?”
“You are one of those things.”
You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until you let out a long exhale, your face screwing up with unshed tears as Chan starts to sway your body against his. His palm continues to run along your hair as if it’s anchoring him, giving him the courage to continue.
“For years, I’ve wondered what it would be like to hold you as more than a friend.”
Chan digs his face deeper in the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your skin, and letting his tears wet your sleeve. His eyes flutter shut and his grip on you tightens. He didn’t plan on confessing to you tonight. He didn’t plan on cradling you close to his chest, feeling your breath against his skin as he poured his heart out, letting you into the one part of his soul he’s shown no one. It’s fitting, he thinks, for you to be the first to know. He’s peeling himself bare, letting you see the pieces of him he’s worked so hard to hide. The parts of him that he’s held so close to his heart, unraveled with a few simple words.
“Everytime I said I love you, I meant it. I meant it with more of me than anyone has ever seen. I’ve meant it with every fiber of my being, and you have a place in my heart no one else could ever have.” Chan releases a shaky breath, chuckling lightly before he continues.
“You’re already the most important person in my life, and I can’t imagine life without you. I wish I could tell you what you are to me.”
Your vision is blurred by tears, and your hands tremble where they grip Chan's shirt. He's so broad, covering you with all of him. He’s all around you, suffocating you with his words and himself. Your lip wobbles, but you muster up all the courage you don’t have, the strength you wish you held, to open up your heart in return.
“I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch, everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you,” you start, your words muffled and your breath jagged.
Chan is quiet, his heart beating faster than what should be humanly possible.
“When I'm near you, in this space, the pause between this breath and the next, you’ve carved a piece of yourself in my heart.”
“…”
“And I’m not afraid to love you— only afraid that my love won’t be enough. If I know what love is, it’s because of you.”
Chan strokes a thumb against your cheek, moving from your neck to lean his forehead down against yours.
“So please love me. As more than a friend, because it’s unbearable to hold you and look at you without being able to call you mine.”
“I’m yours,” Chan murmurs, “for as long as you want me.”
“So forever?” You laugh, but it doesn’t sound much like a laugh, wet and nasally from your tears.
“I really want to kiss you,” Chan whispers, hooking a finger under your chin and pulling you close. His nose brushes against yours and your breaths intermingle, mending with each other.
“Please.”
Your breath is labored as Chan’s lips ghost over yours. His shirt is soft under your fingers and his hand is strong where he grips your waist. Your lips brush, and you realize that this is it, the moment you’ve been wishing for, begging for, since you met him. Since you realized you were in love with him. With his silliness, with his laugh, his smile, his care. Since you realized his genuinity, how determined he was and is to take care of the people around him.
It’s tentative— gentle and soft— but not hesitant. You’re sure of what you want, and what you want is Chan. Your best friend. Your lips move slowly at first, exploring each other, before they press closer, lapping over each other and locking you both against one another. Your body buzzes with warmth, and you wrap your arms around Chan's neck— pulling him impossibly closer as he smiles.
You feel so warm, so happy, the kiss becomes less of a kiss and more of your teeth hitting each other from the force of your smiles. Tears still drip steadily from your cheeks but this time from happiness.
“I like kissing you,” Chan giggles when you both break apart for air, sighing against your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake.
You leave a kiss full of relief on his lips, salty and wet, moving your mouth against his as he returns it. Slowly, your lips start to press against each other more eagerly, lapping over each other and filling you with warmth.
You find that you’ve fallen.
Truly, madly, and completely.
Fallen for a man that treats you like you’re his saving grace.
For a man who holds you like you’ll disappear without his hands on you.
For a man who’s simple confession made your heart stop momentarily.
You’re in love, and as much as it had been a part of you for all these years, you’re finally letting yourself admit it.
And he, you.
It’s been a few weeks since then, and you’ve been thinking. Every time his lips brush over your skin, when he pulls you up into his lap and kisses you breathless, when he digs his fingers into your hips content to leave marks that last for the next few days, you think about why he stops. You think about why he doesn’t touch you more. After all, now you both finally can.
Chan sits on the couch, your legs swung over his own, and a romance movie plays quietly in the background. You brush his hair from over his forehead, and your nails gently scrape along his skin. Chan hums, the vibrations traveling through your shirt and into your skin.
You feel the happiest you’ve ever been. You feel like maybe this could be what your parents have always had. A love that sticks forever. You want Chan to be your person. You’re so sure that he is.
“Are you tired?” You question, leaning down to get a look at his face. “We can sleep.”
“No, I’m not.” Chan smiles, grabbing your free hand and tugging it close to his face, leaving a kiss on each of your knuckles. His touch lingers against your skin and warmth blooms inside you. He leans forward, leaving a sweet peck on your lips but you lean in, pressing insistently against him. He lets you, opening his mouth and swiping his tongue across your lips.
He runs his thumb across your cheek, gently caressing your skin and everywhere he touches you, it feels like your body is in flames. This something has been building up inside you and now you're not sure how long you'll be able to control yourself. “I trust you, so please.” You plead, nosing against him. His lips feel so soft, so fitting on your mouth, you let out a whimper when he goes further than just a gentle kiss, taking your bottom lip between his properly.
Chan hadn’t even thought about properly responding to you before he was flipping you over, caging you under him and grinding his hips against yours. Your fingers trailed down his skin, running over the fabric of his clothes before tucking inside the waistband of his sweatpants and sliding them down his hips. Chan was gentle. Always gentle. He pulled your shorts down slowly and you sent a nod his way when he asked you if you were sure.
He nosed against your stomach, trailing his fingers against your bare legs and pulling your underwear down with his teeth. A shiver runs through you at the sight, and you grab at his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. “You’re so gorgeous.” He sighed, as if he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that you were his, that he was yours.
His mouth moves along the sensitive parts of your neck, down the line of your throat, while his other hand separates from your own to run down your waist and touch you where he knows you shiver with need.
He slips his leg between your parted ones, allowing you to settle down right on top of his muscular thigh. As the kiss grows deeper, your hips begin to move, gyrating and pressing down against him. As your bodies move with one another, your pleasure continues to rise, forming from your center and spreading over your body.
You desperately try to avoid bucking your hips upwards into him, but fail again and again. Eventually, Chan drags his mouth away, trailing it down your neck. You’re gasping against him, and you curl into his touch, whimpering when sharp teeth nip at you. There’s a tongue soothing the wound, sucking at the same spot, lapping over it. You can feel yourself starting to shake, whimpering more often than not, before you’re dragging Chan’s face back up into a kiss rt. You can feel Chan smiling into it, chuckling just the tiniest bit, but resume kissing him.
He holds his gaze on yours when you fall apart, relaxing your body while the pulsing of your orgasm courses through you. He leans down into your arms right after, pressing tightly against your chest, so tight that you could feel his heartbeat pacing fast against yours. The kisses he gives you are soft and gentle, your thighs still trembling when he pulls away, pulling his grey t-shirt over his head.
The unmistakable shape of his erection that you feel brushing against your stomach lets you know just how turned on he is, and you equally so. His lips return to yours only after he has stripped himself, and your hands move from his shoulders to his chest, trailing down his naked skin, where you slide your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.
You lean forward, taking him into your hand. He’s heavy, full of cum, and you slide your body down so that your mouth is right against his cock. You leave a kitten lick on the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins and the way Chan throbs. He’s a pleasant weight on your tongue and you swirl it around the tip before sucking him into your mouth.
Still with your eyes on his face, you lean closer, kissing his sensitive tip before fitting your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth again. You hear him gasp before it turns into a deep groan, sucking and licking as you take him deeper.
Chan sighs, every time you inch down onto him you can feel his skin against your nose and hear the spit fucking back in your throat. Your eyes lose focus as Chan continues to rut into you, and your body buzzes from the sensation. You feel hot all over, allowing him to use you the way he wants. His low growl vibrates down to your core and you resist the urge to reach down and stroke your fingers to search for your own pleasure, choosing to focus on pleasing him instead.
His lips fall open with a few deep grunts escaping his soft lips, his hips moving faster as he pumps himself into your mouth. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”
"You are so beautiful," he sighs, his thumb brushes back and forth over your cheek, relishing the way your body leans into his touch. "You have no idea how many times I wished I could take you like this."
He traces down your panties, soaked with your arousal, running over the lace and moaning at the feeling of it clinging into your clit. His thumb follows the wet trail on the flimsy fabric to find your opening, hardly shielding you from his touch. He twists his hand while he continues to press his thumb in circles over your covered entrance, his fingers find your clit, and then he pinches, hard, sending you over the edge a second time and into one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had.
You squirm at the feeling of your release, his fingers slowly peeling the scrap of black lace down your thighs, making a show out of it while he makes you wait. He continues to tease you, staring you down as you slip your feet from them and he pulls them off. His eyes roam over your body, inhaling deeply, breathing you in. His lashes flutter, and the view of him taking you in so shamelessly makes you shudder.
He drops the fabric in the next moment, looming over you with hooded eyes, and leans down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips. He continues to kiss you as he spreads your legs apart, holding them down with heavy hands. His lips find your hips, then he moves down, running his tongue down your legs, taking time to trail along your thighs, your calves, your ankles, and keeping his eyes on you the whole time.
You let out a gasp at the first stroke of his tongue over your clit. Your legs lift a little, but Chan presses them back down, keeping you in place— keeping you right where he wants you.
You run a shaky hand through his hair as you cry out at the feeling of his tongue resuming its ministrations on your throbbing core. You can’t do much but moan and sigh, an incoherent mess from Chan’s mouth. It’s funny to you, how you started this but he has you shaking from under him, building you up and then breaking you down with immense pleasure— a feeling that you can barely think around.
You hear his soft chuckle as he gives you a few more kisses with his tongue, tasting you, before he looks up again and whispers, “Does that feel good?” He teases, unrelenting in showing you just how determined he is to make good of his words. His grip tightens on your thighs, as the swipes of his tongue grow more intensely. He sucks at your clit, pressing his tongue against you to send you into your second orgasm.
Your hips move desperately against his face, hopeless in your need for more. Chasing pleasure with each roll of your hips and his head buried in your heat. You spasm, shaking in pleasure as you cum, soaking his tongue with your release and closing him in with your thighs. He doesn’t stop, sucking your clit in his mouth and using his tongue to lap up every bit of your orgasm. You cry out in protest, your body squirming away from his touch as instinct but the grip on your thighs doesn’t let up.
“Chan please, oh god.”
His chest shakes with a chuckle, rising up and slotting himself between your thighs. You want him, more than anything, no matter what. He kisses the corner of your lips, smiling against your mouth. “I love you,” he sighs, and a smile crosses your face.
“I love you too.”
As he continues to litter kisses against your skin, he presses his cock against your clit, rubbing his hard length against you, coating himself with your arousal. The next time he pulls himself back from you, he only does it briefly— and when he pushes himself back it’s with a thrust into you hard and fast, nearly bringing you to another orgasm despite you just coming down from your previous one.
Your thoughts leave you as he continues to move in and out of you, filling you up and satisfying you the way he always does, but you manage to speak without realizing. “You make me so happy,” You whimper, and your walls contract as he slams into you deeper, lifting your legs and situating them against his shoulders. He buries himself so deep inside it’s almost like he’s melded himself into you. He’s so big, you can barely breathe, allowing him to bring pleasure to you both as he moves.
“Shit, Y/n.”
Even this moment feels too good to be true. To have him rocking against you, pulling you closer than anyone ever has. It feels like a dream.
Your words become nothing but a moan when his thrusts don’t falter and instead pick up. You don’t know how he’s managing to keep going, how he’s managed to move even quicker.
"Come on, baby," he whispers, clenching his jaw, letting you know that he’s on the brink of orgasm. Chan bends down, taking your lip into his mouth, making you sigh in bliss. Then his fingers come down to find your clit, sending you erupting into another orgasm.
The next thing you know Chan is groaning above you, his body going lax against you and his cum shooting into you forcefully, making you clench harder around him. Chan whimpers as he continues to cum, again and again, releasing into you and painting your walls.
“Oh Channie,” you sigh, “does it feel good?”
Chan nods, his hair brushing against your naked skin, and he presses a soft kiss against your collarbone. His lips rest there as you both come down from your high, basking in the glow of your orgasms and relishing in the presence of each other.
He pulls out of you, dragging his tip against your skin before littering kisses against your face. Small pecks that tickle with the gentle force of them, and you giggle, running a hand through his soft locks.
Your chest heaves with the force of your breaths but otherwise your body feels light, airy, and any negative thought you’d entertained before is completely gone. You didn’t need this to prove that he’s yours, to feel comfortable, but he’s shown you that he wants every part of you, and it fills you with an undeniable warmth.
“How is it that you’re this cute even after all this?” Chan murmurs.
“Shut up.”
You trace your fingers against his skin, tracking his breathing and basking in his warmth. Your fingers slide through the grooves in his abs, tracing shapes over his collarbone, and tweaking his nipple just for Chan’s barking of a laugh when he shoves you away saying that it tickles. You lean your forehead down so that it’s resting just near Chan’s armpit, hairless like usual, and inhale— breathing in his scent, his proximity, him. He's perfect, and he’s yours, no matter what.
You’ve always wished for the closeness and transparency of a trusting relationship— have always wondered if you’d be able to get that, if you’d be able to keep it— and Chan is proof that you have. It feels good to know that there are no secrets, no doubts or worries, and that there can only be acceptance between the both of you. A secureness that would be hard to find anywhere else. It fills you with butterflies, as if you and Chan had just started dating, —and though you have, you’ve been best friends for years— but it makes you incredibly happy to know that those feelings will remain, and you can only hope it'll stay that way forever and always.
When Chan runs his hand down your back, reaching below the covers to squeeze your ass, you huff, poking him in the chest as a warning. Yet you know, and Chan knows, that it makes you happy that you have this. A home, a loving boyfriend who loves you just as much as you love him, and a trusting relationship.
Chan likes this familiarity. Laying down with you, bare emotionally and physically, and unworried about being judged or ridiculed. It feels good, it satisfies him more than he ever thought it could, and makes a comfortable, warm, feeling bloom in his chest. He’s happy, he’s loved, and he inhales— taking in the scent of you, your proximity, your love, and he smiles.
6 years later
Fire crackles in the fireplace of your childhood home, the smell of baked goods wafting through the air and filling your nose with delectable goodness. It’s warm, yet the sweater you adorn only feels even more comforting— though the hand around your waist feels even more so.
In the kitchen your parents chatter with your other family members and with your friends, and in the background a christmas movie plays. A christmas tree stands tall in the living room, ornaments dangle from the branches and twinkle with the small gusts of wind from the heater. Stockings line the fireplace and pictures of you and your family decorate every surface around the house. Pictures of chan, too. Him as a child, you both as teenagers, pictures of you on the first day of college, on the day you graduated, at your first job, a picture of you both carrying keys to your first apartment, and a picture of you both under the altar.
The warm, fuzzy feeling that you first had when you and Chan had started dating has yet to disappear even after all these years. It’s still there every time you look at him, every time you hold his hand, every time he kisses you. You nuzzle into his chest and sway. There’s no song playing, only the sounds of the tv and your loved ones, but still you sway together.
The picture of romance you thought you’d never achieve, yet it’s so much more than that. It’s a completeness that fills your heart, a happiness that doesn’t go away even on your worst days, and the comfort of knowing that someone will be there after a long day— there to hold you and whisper their love to you. You’ve been surrounded by love all your life, but this love is something you never thought you’d have. You’d envied your parents for the fact that they’d achieved it, but now that you know what it feels like you can only be happy at the fact that they’d been so lucky. That you’re so lucky.
So, when did you fall in love?
You think you could most likely tie it back to when Chan first laid a kiss on your skin, cheeks flushed and eyes red with tears. Or, perhaps it was when he’d confessed his love to you, waxing poetic about the feelings that you thought were only yours to hold. Or, maybe it was when he took you into his arms for the first time, holding you with care and treating you as if you were something to be treasured.
Maybe it was before all of this. Maybe you still aren’t really in love, but the way your heart beats when he’s around, when he smooths his hands over your shoulders and tucks his head under your chin, or the way unshed tears brim at your eyes when you look at the ring on your finger, makes you think that maybe you’re in something much deeper than that.
a/n: 😭😭 as always i hope you all enjoyed and tysmm for reading <33 ily
mini taglist: ily all sm <;33 @itsisa @myjisung @raspbinniecreme @ughbehavior & @svintsandghosts (i can’t remember if u asked or not <33)
