chan’s hips have been snapping against yours for the latter half of the hour tonight. really, you shouldn’t have done what you did. it was a quick, off handed, self deprecating remark about yourself, and just like that, chan had enough.
he was already feeling on edge from the studio. and now he felt like he failed you to not reassure you enough. that’s how you got yourself here.
you can’t apologize. not because you’re being a brat or doing anything on purpose, but rather because chan has you laid prone on your stomach as his hips feverishly snap against your ass. making it quite literally impossible to reply outside of breathy moans being punched from your lungs. repeated motions that have had you crying into the pillow your face is sunken into.
“c’mon baby, you can do it… say “i’m sorry channie”… f-fuckin’ hell!”
chan’s body slowly comes down onto yours, his chest flush against your back as his arms ensnare around your shoulder. his head drops to the back of yours, his voice a low rasp of heavy breathing. his hips slow to grind against the plush of your ass, rocking and rutting into the wetness of your arousal. his panting turns into a low growl at your refusal.
“pretty girl… sweet baby, say it. say it and i’ll make you cum so good.”
meanwhile, you’re just a mess under him. head turned slightly as his bicep wraps under your chin, hands clawing at his strong arms. eyes bleary and wet with tears from how good it feels every time he quickly bottoms out and fills you so right. the sounds are obscene, salacious squelches as he drags every drop out of you. and you’ll do just the same to him if you keep fluttering around him like that.
“‘m s-sorry, cha— haah— channie! it feels so good, so good, please don’t stop!”
chan smiles to himself as he drags out a moan from his chest, laughing in a way that pinches off at the end in a high whine. his brows furrow and eyes close, slowing his movement down to fuck himself deeper.
“that wasn’t so h-hard now, was it, pretty thing…?” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch himself from drooling down your back. his hands pin your lower back down to the bed, forcing a nasty arch that makes you sob in equal parts relief and overstimulation.
“who’s my good girl, yeah? is that you? am i fucking my good girl stupid right now? huh? m-my beautiful good girl…”
chan’s sentences are punctuated with deep strokes, feeling his pelvis thrust and rock against you in languid motions. his words are overwhelming but that’s what he wants. you were just being so mean to the woman he loves, which is you.
“are you going to keep fighting with yourself or let me fuck you good, gorgeous?” chan heaves out, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades as he kisses into your hair. he ducks his head to lick a stripe up your spine to your neck, and chuckles a moan when he feels how squirmy and whiny you get. your moans are almost sobs from how his plush mushroom tip is kissing against that sensitive spot inside.
“sweetheart,” he drawls out, almost in a singsong voice. “you’re so… very precious… perfect girl, yeah? thank you f-for— fuck— sharing this perfect body.”
those deep strokes are reciprocated with your pussy squeezing him so tight chan swears he might be able to taste the stars. and because chan knows how to elevate your orgasm…
“sh-shit baby, breathe… breathe, just breathe, let it happen babygirl—”
a few inhales and exhales, and chan is wrapping that bicep around to grab your face. he loves that teary look in your eyes, like it feels too good to do anything but cry. your pussy is clenching on him like a vice, the sweet slapping and mixing of fluids…
he can’t help it, chan brings his lips hovering over yours, whispering, “i love you, sweetheart… cum for me.”
there’s a ringing in your ears when it happens, the churning of the knot builds so quick, you don’t even have time to think. chan’s groan bleeds into a whimper the second he feels your tight cunt shudder with shocks, milking him and causing his own release. the hiccuped sobs of moans you release have him praying the walls are thick enough to hide from neighbors. chan wants them all to himself.
he presses as deep as he can to flood you with hot cum, kissing all over your face from tears. your skin is tacky with sweat and stunning in the afterglow. chan runs his hands over your sweat slicked forehead, pushing back anything still sticking to you.
“don’t ever say that stuff again, baby… yeah…? you did such a good job, sweetheart… such a perfect and sweet girl…”
chan smacks a kiss to your temple, laying his weight down on your back. your eyes are already drooping from contentedness while he traces patterns onto your hip. his initials. little hearts. swirls that never end.
“i’m here to protect you from all of that… always.”
—
author's note: well… this is unexpected! thank you for 900 followers i love you guys so much :’) final exams are biting my ass right now
୨୧ cw:
Mature 18+, established relationship fluff, heavy teasing, intense dirty talk (both ways), physical intimacy, shower proximity, mild alcohol consumption, smut, and highly suggestive behavior.
୨୧ synopsis:
After months of grueling schedules, Bang Chan finally gets forty-eight hours off to entirely lose himself in the domestic comfort and fiery passion of his three-year relationship. When a sudden rainstorm traps them inside, a fancy date night dissolves into kitchen counters, candlelit teasing, and an unforgettable night that leaves them more deeply in love than ever.
The front door of your apartment didn’t just open; it practically groaned under the weight of Christopher surrendering to gravity.
For three months, you had loved a ghost. You had loved a voice through FaceTime at 4:00 AM, a frantic text sent from a studio which was across the sea, a blurry selfie of a tired smile in a recording studio. But when the lock clicked and the heavy wooden door swung inward, the idol persona vanished. He dropped his duffel bag onto the hardwood with a dull thud, not even bothering to kick off his sneakers before his eyes found yours.
"Come here," he breathed. His voice was raw, a low gravelly thing scraped raw from flights and rehearsals.
You didn't even have time to cross the kitchen before he closed the distance. Chan didn’t just hug you; he consumed you. His large, calloused hands hooked under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off your feet until your legs automatically wrapped around his waist. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling so deeply against your skin it felt like he was trying to memorize your scent all over again. He smelled like airport air, expensive cologne, and the distinct, comforting warmth that was just him.
"Three years," he muttered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he swayed you slightly, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged sighs. "Three years of this, and I still feel like I’m dying every time I have to leave you.... God, you’re so warm." he snuggles closer
"You're late," you whispered, though your fingers were already tangled deep in his messy, unstyled curls, pressing him closer.
"Traffic was hell, baby," he mumbled, a soft laugh vibrating against your collarbone. He set you down slowly, though his hands stayed firmly anchored to your hips, his thumbs rubbing small, possessive circles through the fabric of your shirt. His dimples finally peeked out, shadowed by a faint, attractive hint of stubble. "But I am entirely yours for the next forty-eight hours. No phones. No managers. Just you."
Before you could answer, his eyes scanned the living room, noticing the baskets of laundry you’d piled up and the slight clutter on the coffee table. You’d been working overtime too, trying to clear your own schedule so you could match his.
"Tell you what," Chan said, a mischievous glint cutting through the exhaustion in his dark eyes. "We do a quick reset. We clear the space, clear our heads, and then..." He leaned down, his lips brushing yours so lightly it was agonizing. "...we don't leave the house until Monday..except the date tonight, i made reservations..." you nodded kissing his cheek a unsaid 'thenks baby' in return.
The next hour was a whirlwind of domestic chaos. Chan refused to let you be more than three feet away from him. When you went to fold the laundry, he took the other side of the sheets, turning it into a game of tug-of-war until you were both laughing so hard your chest ached. When you reached up to dust the top of the bookshelf, two large hands suddenly clamped around your waist, lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing.
"Chan! Put me down, I'm going to drop the cloth!" you gasped, your fingers gripping his broad shoulders for balance.
"Nah, you're doing great up there, sweetheart. Keep going," he teased, looking up at you with a cheeky, upturned grin, his bicep flexing hard against your thigh to keep you steady. He kissed your waist line through your sweatpants before finally sliding you back down his front, letting every inch of his body friction against yours on the way down.
By the time the apartment was spotless, a light sweat had broken out over your skin, your hair tied up in a messy, loose bun. Chan was leaning against the kitchen counter, his oversized black hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing the thick veins and pale skin of his forearms. He was watching you, his gaze heavy and unblinking.
"I need a shower," you muttered, wiping a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "I'm gross."
"Me too," Chan said instantly.
You rolled your eyes, turning toward the bathroom. "The shower is barely big enough for one person, Chris. Go use the guest one."
You walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and letting the steam slowly fill the small, tiled space. You peeled off your clothes, stepping into the spraying warmth, sighing as the tension of the last few weeks began to melt off your shoulders.
You’d barely finished rinsing your face when the bathroom door clicked open. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, you saw his tall, broad silhouette strip down without a shred of hesitation. The door slid open, a blast of cooler air hitting your skin before Chan stepped inside, immediately closing the space between you.
The shower was small. With Chan’s massive chest and broad shoulders inside, the world shrank until there was nothing but the sound of rushing water and his heat.
"I told you to use the other one," you complained weakly, though you didn't step back.
"Save water, love. It's the right thing to do," he murmured in that thick, sleepy Australian drawl he only used when he was completely relaxed. He took the bottle of shampoo from the ledge, pouring it into his palms before reaching out. His large hands slid into your wet hair, his thumbs massaging your scalp with an agonizingly perfect pressure.
You let your head drop back against his chest with a soft groan, your eyes fluttering shut. "Okay, fine. You can stay."
"Thought so," he whispered. His hands moved down from your hair, his soapy fingers tracing the column of your neck, sliding over your shoulders. But as his hands moved lower, the domestic sweetness in the air began to shift. The water slicked his dark hair back, exposing the sharp, lethal line of his jawline. His gaze darkened, dropping to your lips.
"You know," Chan murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming rougher, thicker. He stepped closer, his wet chest pressing firmly against your back, pinning you gently against the warm, tiled wall. His hands gripped your hips, his thumbs digging in just enough to make you gasp. "I spent three hours on the plane thinking about how good it was going to feel to have you against these tiles."
A shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the water. You turned around in his grip, your front now pressed against his, your eyes locking onto his. "Oh yeah? Is that all you thought about, Chris?"
Chan leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot against your mouth. "No. I thought about how loud you’re gonna be when I finally get inside you. I thought about how much I missed hearing my name slip out of your mouth when you can't take it anymore."
You let out a shaky breath, your hands sliding down his wet chest, your fingers intentionally grazing lower, mapping the hard lines of his abdomen until you felt him twitch against your thigh. He was already rock hard, his heat pressing insistently through the rushing water.
"You talk a big game for someone who looks like he’s about to pass out from exhaustion," you teased, your voice dropping into a low, challenging purr. You arched your hips slightly, deliberately rubbing against him, watching his pupils dilate instantly. "Are you sure you can handle me right now?"
A dark, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His grip on your hips tightened until it almost bruised, lifting you slightly so you had to look up at him. "Don't fucking test me, sweetheart. I might be tired, but I’ve got more than enough energy to ruin you for the rest of the weekend. You think you can handle me when I'm like this? When I’ve been starving for you for months?"
"Prove it then," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs, your teeth catching your lower lip as you looked at him through wet eyelashes. "Stop talking and do something about it."
Chan let out a low, guttural growl, his forehead leaning against yours as he ground his hips into yours, making you whimper. "Not yet," he growled, his voice pure sin. "I’m gonna make you wait. I’m gonna make you beg for it tonight until your voice is as raw as mine. Now, please help me wash my back, beautiful, before I lose my mind and break my promise."
--
The cool bedroom air hit your damp skin, a stark contrast to the thick, humid fog you’d left behind in the bathroom. True to his word, Chan had kept his hands to himself after that agonizing shower—mostly. He’d given your hips one last, heavy squeeze under the rushing water before turning you around so you coulf wash his back, his low, rumbling chuckles vibrating against your palms every time you intentionally slid your hands a little too low.
Now, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, lazy shadows across the bedroom floor. You stood in front of the vanity mirror, the soft fabric of your outfit draped over the bed behind you. “A proper night out, sweetheart,” he’d murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your wet shoulder before vanishing into his own closet. “Somewhere we can actually sit down, order a nice bottle of wine, and I can look at you without a clock ticking down.”
You chose a dress you knew he loved but rarely got to see you in. It was an elegant, emerald-green silk slip dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, stopping at your mid thighs. The back was entirely open, held together only by a delicate satin lace that required a frustrating amount of patience to tie by yourself.
As you stood there, trying to tie the strap behind, you caught sight of Chan’s reflection in the mirror.
He was leaning against the doorframe, already half-dressed in a pair of sharp, tailored black slacks. His satin ruby dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the thick veins of his forearms, a ring on his index finger, a silver watch on his wrist and glasses resting on his nose. He was holding a glass of water, but he hadn't taken a sip in minutes. He was just... staring.
His dark eyes traveled down the line of your spine, tracking the smooth expanse of your bare back where the green silk V-ed out. Chan swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He mentally scolded himself, clenching his jaw as his eyes wandered lower, lingering on the way the silk clung to the curve of your hips. Get a grip, Christopher, he told himself fiercely. You promised her a nice dinner. Don't ruin it before you even make it to the restaurent.
But God, he loved you. It hit him in waves sometimes—not just a flutter in his chest, but a heavy, grounding certainty that settled deep in his bones. Looking at you right now, framed by the warm bedroom light, he didn't see a girlfriend of three years. He saw his future. He saw the woman he wanted to come home to when the stadium lights finally went dark for good. He was absolutely, unconditionally sure he wanted to marry only you.
"Need some help, baby?" his voice broke the quiet, his Australian accent thick and lazy as he set his glass down.
"Please," you sighed, dropping your arms. "This is actively trying to kill me."
Chan walked over, his footsteps soft against the rug. He didn't immediately touch the string. Instead, he leaned down, his warm breath fanning across your shoulder blades just a second before his lips pressed a slow, lingering kiss right between your shoulder blades. A helpless shiver ran through you.
"You look beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his hands finally coming up to gather the delicate satin lace. His fingers were large and calloused, but he handled the thread with an incredible, practiced gentleness. He slowly tied the back of the dress, his knuckles occasionally brushing against your bare skin, sending tiny electric shocks straight down your spine. he dropped another soft kiss—one on your shoulder, one at the base of your neck, another right in the center of your back.
When he finished, he stepped around to face you. His eyes were dark, full of an intensity that made your breath hitch.
"Now for the hard part," you murmured, pointing toward the edge of the bed where your heels were sitting. They were a pair of black, strappy stilettos with long satin ribbons meant to wrap around your ankles.
Without a word, Chan smiled—that soft, dimpled expression that always melted you completely—and knelt down on one knee on the floor right in front of you.
"Chris, you don't have to do that," you protested softly, but he caught your ankle, his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin just above your heel.
"Shh. Let me," he whispered, looking up at you through his eyelashes.
You placed your hand on his broad shoulder for balance as he gently guided your foot into the shoe. He took his time, his large fingers carefully wrapping the thin ribbons around your ankle, crisscrossing them perfectly up your lower calf before tying them into a secure bow. He repeated the process with the other foot, his movements almost reverent. Before he stood up, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the top of your foot, his eyes locking onto yours with a look of pure devotion.
"There," he murmured, standing up and dusting off his slacks. He looked down at you, his hands instantly finding your waist, pulling you an inch closer. "Perfect."
You reached up, fixing the collar of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his jawline. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Bang."
He laughed, a rich, rumbling sound, and leaned down to press a deep, slow kiss to your lips—one that tasted like a promise.
But just as he pulled away, a sudden, blinding flash of light illuminated the bedroom window, followed less than two seconds later by a deafening clap of thunder that literally shook the floorboards. Within moments, the sky completely opened up, a torrential downpour slamming against the glass so loudly it sounded like pebbles thrown against the pane.
Chan blinked, turning his head toward the window, then looked back down at your stunning dress and your perfectly laced heels.
"Well," he muttered, a wry, amused smile spreading across his face as the wind howled outside. "I reckun our reservations and plans are officially ruined."
The howling wind outside slammed sheets of water against the glass, but inside the apartment, the atmosphere had shifted into something entirely separate from the storm.
Chan looked from the window back to you, a soft, helpless laugh huffing from his lips as he took in the sight of you. You were still standing there in your stunning emerald silk dress and wrapped stilettos, looking like an absolute goddess with nowhere to go.
"Well, sweetheart," he murmured, his hands sliding down to your hips, his thumbs catching the hem of your dress just enough to lift it an inch. "I'm not letting this outfit go to waste. Change of plans."
Before you could ask what he meant, Chan hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly off your feet. You let out a gasped laugh, your hands instantly flying to his broad shoulders for balance as he carried you out of the bedroom and straight into the kitchen. He didn't set you down on the floor; instead, he hoisted you right up onto the smooth, marble kitchen counter. Your heels clicked against the edge, your legs dangling as he stepped between your knees, effectively trapping you.
"Stay right here," he commanded softly, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register that always made your stomach do a flip.
You watched, completely mesmerized, as Chan went to work. He completely transformed the room. He turned off the harsh overhead kitchen lights, leaving only the soft under-cabinet lighting. Then, he wandered around the apartment, gathering every single scented candle you owned. He lined them up along the counter and the dining table, striking a match until the space was bathed in a flickering, amber glow. The shadows danced over the sharp lines of his jaw and his tailored black slacks.
"Since I can't take you to a restaurant, I guess I'll just have to be your personal chef," he teased, walking back over to you and leaning in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. He smelled like vanilla candles and pure sin.
He pulled ingredients out of the fridge, deciding on a quick pasta dish you both loved. As he chopped garlic and heated the pan, he refused to actually leave your side. Every single time he passed the counter, he stole a kiss. It started out playful, but it didn't stay that way. He’d lean in, his lips brushing yours, his tongue casually tracing your bottom lip just enough to make you whimper before he pulled back with a smirk.
"Chris, you're going to burn the food if you keep doing that," you breathlessy complained.
"Let it burn," he muttered, stepping right back into your space. He reached out, his large, warm hand sliding up your thigh, his calloused thumb smoothing over the skin right above your knee. "Besides, I'm just tasting the appetizer."
You flushed, a heavy heat pooling in your lower stomach at his subtle dirty talk. To distract yourself from the way his hand was slowly wandering higher up your leg, you slid off the counter for a moment. "If you're cooking, I'm making drinks. You're lucky you're dating a professional."
Chan chuckled, watching you walk over to the bar cart. Before you had met him —back during your university days—you had worked as a bartender to pay the rent. You grabbed the shaker, the alcohol, and the bitters, your hands moving with an effortless, practiced rhythm. You mixed up two custom cocktails, keeping the alcohol content perfectly manageable since you both wanted to actually remember the night.
When you handed him his glass, his eyes darkened with pure appreciation. He took a sip, humming in approval. "God, you're amazing. Seriously, what did I do to deserve you?"
He didn't let you go back to the counter. Instead, he pulled you against his chest, his back to the stove while he stirred the sauce with one hand and kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist. The warmth of the stove combined with the heat of his body was intoxicating.
As you stood there, the flickering candlelight caught the slight dip of your collarbone and the soft curve of your side. You subconsciously shifted, trying to pull the silk dress tighter. Like anyone, you had your little insecurities—things you picked apart when you looked in the mirror too long.
But Chan noticed everything. He always did.
Feeling you tense, he set the wooden spoon down. He turned you around completely, his hands mapping the exact spots you tried to hide. He bent down, pressing his warm lips to the soft curve of your hip, then up to the slight dip of your waist, kissing every single inch of your skin with a fierce, worshipful reverence.
"Stop hiding," he whispered against your skin, his voice rough and thick. "You are so beautiful. Every single part of you. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes just for one second."
He pulled you back up, his hands tangling in your hair as he kissed you deeply, a quiet sigh escaping him. He rested his forehead against yours, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence.
"It's crazy, isn't it?" Chan murmured softly, a sudden, gentle giggle bubbling up from his chest. He looked down at you, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. "How unexpected all of this was. If you told me four years ago that we'd be here..."
"What, you didn't think we'd make it?" you teased, tracing the collar of his shirt.
"No, I mean—we were such idiots," he laughed, shaking his head at the memory. "We were literally best friends since child hood who only spoke on calls scared to face each other. I was so completely gone for you, but I was too terrified to say anything......remember how we used to talk to each other? Trying so hard to sound 'just like friends' while my heart was practically beating out of my chest every time you looked at me."
He giggled again, the sound rich and warm. "Man, we were so stupid. All those wasted months because we were both too scared to confess."
His laughter faded, replaced by a gaze so intense it made your knees feel weak. The playful boy vanished, leaving only the man who loved you entirely. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours with a slow, heavy finality.
"But I’m glad we got here," Chan whispered, his thumbs wiping a stray tear of happiness from your cheek. "Because now that I have you... I want no one else. Forever. It's only ever gonna be you, sweetheart."
The sheer intensity of his words left you breathless. You reached up, cupping his jawline, and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like a silent promise. When you finally broke away, your cheeks were flushed against the warm candlelight.
"If you don't stop looking at me like that, we're never going to actually eat," you teased softly, playfully swatting his chest.
Chan let out a breathless laugh, stepping back just enough to let you move around the kitchen. The menu had completely evolved from just a simple pasta dish into an absolute feast. Together, you turned cooking into a coordinated dance. You rolled out dough to make a heart-shaped pizza—Chan insisting on crimping the edges perfectly—while a golden, seasoned chicken roasted in the oven alongside a crisp, fresh salad you tossed together.
By the time the food was ready, the apartment smelled incredible. You carried the plates over to the candlelit dining table, the heavy rain outside providing a soothing backdrop to your makeshift indoor date.
As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly, moving from lighthearted banter into the deep, heavy layers of life and the future. Chan reached across the table, his fingers tangling with yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.
"I want to grow old with you," he murmured, his dark eyes reflecting the tiny flames of the candles. "I want the quiet mornings, the wrinkly skin, all of it."
You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest. "I want that too. And... I want a kid. Eventually."
Chan’s face instantly softened, a massive, genuine smile breaking across his features, making his dimples dip incredibly deep.
"I’d love a daughter," you admitted softly, feeling a bit shy but completely safe sharing it with him. "But honestly, it doesn't matter to me. As long as the kid is healthy."
"A little girl who looks just like you?" Chan breathed, his gaze turning incredibly fond. "God, I'd be wrapped around her finger. But you're right. Just healthy." He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute certainty. "I want to marry you first. I want to roam the world with you, make a million memories, and establish our own rules. Like, if we ever have a huge fight—because we're human, we will—we promise to sort it out before we ever go to bed. No sleeping angry."
"Deal," you whispered, your heart swelling.
"And we need a bigger place," he continued excitedly, his inner producer and planner taking over. "We'll design it together. A massive bar for you, a studio space for me, and a huge backyard." He smiled, leaning over to lovingly serve another portion of pasta onto your plate.
As the dinner wound down and the plates were cleared, you still wanted something sweet. You walked over to the freezer and scooped a generous portion of vanilla ice cream into a small bowl. Instead of heading back to your own seat, you walked over to Chan, pulling him back into his chair by his shoulders.
Without asking, you turned and sank right onto his lap facing him, your emerald silk dress pooling over his tailored black slacks. Chan didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second; his large hands immediately found your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh gently as you settled against him.
"Sharing?" he grinned, his voice a low rumble against your lips.
"Maybe," you murmured, taking a bite of the cold ice cream before offering him some. As you pulled the spoon away, a tiny bit of ice cream lingered on your bottom lip. Chan leaned in instantly, his tongue darting out to lick the sweet cream right off your lips, his lips lingering for a soft, teasing pressure that made your stomach drop.
His hands wandered a little higher on your thighs, his grip firm and possessive, anchoring you tightly to his lap. You took another bite, but the combination of his warmth, the alcohol from the cocktails, and the sheer tension in the air made your hands a little unsteady. A drop of the rapidly melting ice cream escaped the spoon, trailing down your chin and slipping right down the column of your neck, disappearing beneath the neckline of your green dress.
You both knew how gravity worked. You both knew food didn't just magically spill like that unless a certain someone was plotting something entirely deliberate.
Chan caught it instantly. A dark, wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes darkening into pure, unadulterated hunger.
"Oh, you are a menace," he growled softly, the teasing Australian lilt completely vanishing into something raw and dominant.
He didn't grab a napkin. Instead, Chan leaned forward, his large hand gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head back. He pressed his lips to the base of your throat, his warm tongue sliding upward, licking the melted ice cream off your sensitive skin. A sharp, gasping whimper left your lips as he followed the path with a sequence of open-mouthed, bruising kisses, his teeth gently nipping at the junction where your neck met your shoulder.
The cold sweetness of the ice cream was completely eradicated by the scorching heat of his mouth.
Realizing you were entirely finished with desert, you blindly reached back and set the bowl away on the table behind you. You let your head fall back completely against his broad shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as his hands tightened on your thighs, his breath hot and demanding against your skin
Without a word, he hooked both hands under your knees, lifting you effortlessly along with himself off the dining chair, your legs wrapping around his waist. You gasped, both hands flying to his shoulders as he carried you through the candlelit living room toward the hallway.
"Chan—the ice cream—" you protested weakly, laughter bubbling in your throat... this was trouble, a likeable trouble.
"I'll get it later," he growled against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Right now, I'm starving for something else."
He pushed the bedroom door open, and the soft lamplight spilled across the rumpled sheets. He didn't put you down. Instead, he pressed you against the doorjamb, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss so deep and hungry that your toes curled inside your heels. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, then swept inside, tasting the lingering sweetness of vanilla and chocolate. You melted into him, your fingers threading into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.
He carried you to the bed, but before laying you down, he paused, letting you slide down his body until your feet touched the floor. His hands roamed your back, the bare skin of your backless dress heating under his palms. You tilted your head, meeting his gaze, and then leaned in to press your lips to the side of his neck.
Soft at first—a barely-there brush of your mouth. Then you parted your lips, grazing your teeth over his pulse point, and sucked gently. Chan's breath hitched, his fingers digging into your hips. You lingered there, tasting the salt of his skin, knowing you had to be careful. His fans would notice. They always noticed everything—a hickey on his neck during a live broadcast would send the internet into a frenzy. So you pulled back, leaving only a faint pink mark, barely visible unless you were looking for it.
He looked down at you, his eyes dark and knowing. "Tease," he murmured, but there was nothing but approval in his voice.
His hand found the thin satin lace-up at the back of your dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, the bow unraveled, and the fabric loosened around your chest. He didn't rush. He slid the straps down your shoulders, the emerald silk pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your strapless stick-on bra, black lace panties, and heels.
He stepped back just long enough to shrug off his black button-up, his fingers working the buttons with practiced ease. The shirt fell open, revealing the defined lines of his chest and his toned abs. You didn't wait. You stepped forward, your hands sliding up his abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle flex under your touch. You pressed your lips to his sternum, then lower, kissing a path down his stomach. Your tongue darted out, licking a stripe across his abs, tasting the faint salt and heat of his skin. You sucked gently at the hollow beside his navel, and he groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head.
"Fuck, baby," he breathed, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're gonna make me lose it."
You looked up at him, a wicked smile on your lips, and continued your journey lower, your mouth trailing over the waistband of his slacks. But he stopped you, gripping your chin and tilting your face up.
"Not yet," he said, his voice roughened with want. "I want to taste you first."
His gaze dropped to your chest, where the stick-on bra held your breasts in place. A knowing grin spread across his face. "No straps," he observed, his thumb brushing the edge of the adhesive cup. "Clever."
He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours—a silent question that he never needed to ask out loud. You nodded, a soft "yes" escaping your lips.
He pulled the bra away in one smooth motion, the adhesive releasing with a quiet peel. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already peaked from the cool air and the heat of his stare. He didn't look away. He leaned in, his tongue flicking over one nipple, then drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently. You gasped, your back arching, and your hands flew to his shoulders for balance.
His other hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your panties, and between your legs. He groaned against your skin as his fingers found you—soaked, slick, ready.
"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already dripping. Is that all for me?"
You bit your lip, nodding, your breath coming in shallow pants.
"Good girl." He pressed a finger inside you, slow, then a second, curling them just right. At the same time, his mouth returned to your nipple, sucking and teasing with his tongue. The dual sensation sent a shock through your body. Your hands fisted in his hair, your hips grinding against his hand, moaning his name like a prayer.
"Chan—please—"
"Please what, baby?" He pumped his fingers faster, his thumb circling your clit with expert pressure. "You feel so fucking good wrapped around my fingers. Tell me what you need."
You couldn't form words. The pleasure was building too fast, a coil tightening low in your belly. Your thighs trembled, your moans turning into broken cries.
"That's it," he praised, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Let go. Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart on my hand."
And you did. Without warning, the orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing as you cried out his name. He didn't stop moving his fingers, guiding you through every wave, drinking in the sight of you undone.
When the last tremor faded, he pulled his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "Delicious."
Then he gently pushed you fully onto the bed, spreading your legs open, and buried his face between them. His tongue swept through your folds, lapping up your release, his nose pressing against your clit. A strangled moan tore from your throat as he devoured you, his tongue dipping inside you, then dragging back up to suck gently on your clit. He worked you with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, prolonging the aftershocks until you were a panting, writhing mess.
Only when your hips stopped bucking did he lift his head. He reached over to the bedside table, pulling open the drawer, and retrieved a foil packet. With a grin, he tore the wrapper open with his teeth, spat it aside, and rolled the condom down his length. Even after all these months, the sight of him—thick, veined, impossibly hard—made your breath catch. He was huge, and no matter how many times you'd had him, it always surprised you. The way he filled you, stretched you, like he was made to fit inside you.
He hauled your legs onto his shoulders, leaning forward until the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. He didn't push in—not yet. He held still, teasing, letting you feel the pressure, the promise.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft but dominant.
You nodded, and he thrust forward.
Slow. Deep. Inch by inch he sank into you, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the grip of your walls. You felt the familiar stretch, the slight burn that melted into pure pleasure. He paused when he was fully seated, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered. "Every single time."
He began to move—long, languid strokes that hit so deep you could feel him in your throat. One hand held your calf, his lips pressing kisses to your shin, then your ankle, reverent and tender even as he fucked you. His other hand roamed your body, fingers tracing your waist, then sliding up to tease your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
A glance down and you saw it—a faint bulge in your lower belly, where his dick pressed against your insides from the inside. The sight sent a rush of heat through you. You arched your back, a moan spilling from your lips.
"Look at that," he breathed, his thumb pressing lightly on the bulge. "Look how deep I am inside you. You take me so fucking well, baby."
His pace quickened, but still controlled, each thrust deliberate. Your hands clawed at the sheets, your moans growing louder, more desperate.
"Faster," you begged, your voice cracking. "Please, Chan—faster—"
He obeyed. He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips into the air before slamming back into you. The new angle was brutal—deeper, harder, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. His hand gripped your hip, the other pressed flat on the small of your back, forcing you to arch impossibly deeper.
"This what you wanted?" he growled, his voice low and filthy. "You wanted me to fuck you like this? To take you apart until you can't think, can't breathe?"
"Yes—angh..yes—fuck—chrisss"
He leaned over your back, his mouth at your ear, his thrusts pounding into you. "I can feel you clenching around me. You're close, aren't you? I want you to come. Come on my dick."
You were already there. The rough pace, his dirty talk, the overwhelming fullness—it sent you spiraling. You screamed his name as your orgasm crashed, your body trembling violently around him.
He didn't stop. He rode you through it, his own breathing ragged, until he pulled out with a shudder. He yanked the condom off, stroked himself twice, and came with a guttural groan, spilling into the latex. Then he collapsed beside you, chest heaving.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing. Your body ached in the best way. Chan pushed himself up first, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
"Stay there. I'll be right back."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and you heard the water run. He returned with a warm, damp cloth and gently cleaned between your legs, his touch tender. Then he wiped himself down, disposed of the condom, and slid back into bed.
He pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hand found the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles where you'd arched hardest.
"Your back's gonna be sore tomorrow," he murmured into your hair.
You hummed, nuzzling into his neck. Your lips found his, a soft, lazy kiss.
He smiled against your mouth. "I love you so much."
You kissed the tip of his nose. "I love you too."
The marks on your neck were dark now, blooming like violets under your skin. He traced one with his fingertip, a soft chuckle vibrating through his chest.
"Sorry about those."
"I'm not," you whispered, your eyes already heavy.
He pulled the blanket over both of you, his hand never stopping its soothing massage on your back. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek—it pulled you under.
Within minutes, you were both asleep, tangled together in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
--
You woke up slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the cracks of the blinds. As you shifted beneath the heavy duvet, a dull, deep ache resonated through your lower back and thighs—a sweet, lingering reminder of exactly how Chan had kept his promise to ruin you. You sat up slowly, clutching the soft blanket tightly against your chest to keep yourself covered.
A soft chuckle sounded from the side of the bed, and you turned your head to see Chan walking into the room. He had already showered, his messy curls damp, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. In his hands, he carried a tray loaded with a fresh breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and a mug of coffee made exactly the way you liked it.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmured, his voice incredibly deep and raspy from sleep. He set the tray down carefully across your lap, then climbed onto the mattress behind you.
As you reached for the coffee, taking a grateful sip, Chan shifted closer. His large, warm hands slid beneath the blanket, finding the bare skin of your lower back. His calloused thumbs began to work in slow, firm circles, expertly massaging the tight, sore muscles of your spine. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh, leaning back into his solid chest.
"Sore?" he whispered, a hint of a smug, satisfied grin in his voice.
"Shut up," you muttered playfully, though you didn't pull away from his touch.
Chan just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right against your back. He leaned over your shoulder, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head before gently reaching up to brush a few stray tangled hairs away from your face. He watched you eat with a quiet, peaceful intensity, as if he still couldn't quite believe he had you all to himself for a little while longer.
You turned your head slightly, catching his eye, and leaned in to press a sweet, lingering kiss right against his dimpled cheek.
Chan’s smile broke wide and brilliant, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with pure, unadulterated affection. He wrapped his arms securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest as the quiet morning carried on, the rest of the world completely forgotten.
⋆୨୧˚ gentle but dominant (and gentleman-ly) chris who, without possessiveness or jealousy, establishes himself whenever and wherever he’s with you.
at the grocery store, letting you check off things from the list while he takes to goods from the top shelf without needing a thank you.
always walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. one hand on your back at an event, a dinner. cooking dinner when you’ve had a long day, fixing your shoes at the doorway so it’s easier in the morning.
tracking your period and cooking meals accordingly. more fiber during certain phases, more iron intake or meats.
introducing him to family or friends, his hand extending where he stood by your side, one hand loosely resting on your hip. no pressure, just a reminder that he’s there, present, a grounding touch.
bringing hair pins in his pockets or an extra lip gloss he saw you eyeing before leaving. just in case.
holding your heels—holding you—when your feet hurt too bad while dancing. and if he’s not dancing with you? he’s leaning against the bar, both admiring you and guarding your drink.
a steady anchor when you need it. never too much, never too little.
『 ↳✧･ﾟ CW: Fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, friends to lovers, comfort, etc. Bang Chan referred to as Chan, Channie, Chris, and every sweet name you can imagine.
『 ↳✧･ﾟ A/N: WELCOME BACK SCENARIOS!!!! This time, they are in chronological order. This a special edition!!! A timeline of how a relationship with Chan would sort of be. Late post, sososos sorry! Hope u enjoyyy.
(pictures are not mine. Credits to their respective owners!)
PRE-RELATIONSHIP
07:06 p.m. ; Chan's bedroom 📍
Chan wanted to get married young, have kids. He was way too much of a family man. That much was obvious. But, of course, things turned out different since he chose to follow his dreams instead. Being an idol was hard; relationships even harder. And when he found a girl he wanted to marry, she had broken up with him.
“Ugh,” he huffs. “When am I going to get married?”
He was complaining, very bitterly, after seeing the wedding pictures of some old classmate on social media. It made him feel a little hopeless. He'd like to think he was a good man. Respectful, kind; a gentleman...
He was thirty now, he wasn't as young as he'd imagined he'd be when married. Marriage felt approachable when he had a girlfriend, but now, he had to start all over again.
Tonight though, he was supposed to be working on a new song, yet he had taken a break. And doom-scrolling with his—not so jolly—mood these days didn't pair up well.
You were here just to spend some time together, even if that came at the expense of sitting around while he sat in headphones in front of his computer. A weird way of quality time with your best friend, but quality time nonetheless.
“I volunteer,” you joke half-heartedly, you too scrolling on your phone.
Chan and you had been friends for quite a while now, and you’d seen how much of a loving partner he could be. You saw the way he treated his past girlfriends, the way he was around the kids. You knew him, and he was a good man despite his small flaws. You fell somewhere along the way, especially when he started working on his self-esteem issues.
He doesn't reply at first, maybe sour about the situation, maybe thinking you were making fun of him somehow. His voice is still gentle when he responds, "don't... joke with that." he muses; chair swiveling just enough for him to face you.
"Not joking," you offer him your left hand, wiggling your empty ring finger. "You've taken way too long. Can't believe you're so oblivious."
It wasn't exactly a secret that you liked him. But you had never officially confessed either. And Chan, outside of music, was a little dorky and shy. He took your obvious flirting as just your friendly way of being. Friends joked like that, he thought.
Chan stares at you for a second. "...Obli—Wait, are you being serious?"
"I mean," you shrug. "I wouldn't marry you right away. I wanna be your girlfriend for a while."
His gaze fleets, finding a spot somewhere on the floor. The tips of his ears have gotten a little red. "Y/N... what are you even talking about?"
"Just saying out loud what we've always known." You say softer now. "No pressure, though."
DATING : FOUR MONTHS
10:52 p.m. ; Chan's bedroom 📍
Chan is in bed playing on his phone, waiting for to finish your night routine. You now came over to spend his few days off with him. Try and find some quality time in between both of your hectic schedules. So, most of the times, you'd see each other just to have dinner, and sleep together.
You climb onto your side of his bed, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from the game. “Channie?”
He continues to focus on the game on his phone. He replies to your question with a simple hum, signaling that he's listening even though he doesn't look up from the screen.
“I have a crush on you…” You say with a big smile. Chan freezes for a second, registering the words you have said and letting his phone drop. He turns to you with a grin, amused and endeared. He was your boyfriend now.
"You have a crush on me?" he asks, feigning cluelessness.
“A biiig, fat crush.” You nod. It’s implied you do—or did, considering you two have been dating for a few months now.
He laughs wholeheartedly as he realizes what you’re doing. He scoots a little closer to you, clearly enjoying this little joke. “Oh really? A big, fat crush, hm?” he teases. “And how long have you had this crush on me?”
Your smile grows wider when he plays along. “Oh, for such a long time.” You reply with feigned nonchalance. “But I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”
He pretends to be deep in thought for a moment, before looking at you with a slow nod. “Hmm, I see. And you waited this long to tell me? You must really have it bad for me.”
His unexpected response wipes the smile off your face, only to create another one. “Idiot…” You mumble, rolling your eyes.
He laughs at your response. “Hey! I thought you had a crush on me. Don’t be mean to your crush.” He playfully pokes your side, still grinning. He knew was lucky you even looked in his direction.
“Do you have a crush on meee?” You whine with impatience. You wanted to hear it back.
Chan’s smile softens at your question, and he looks at you with utter affection. Heart eyes, you like to call them. “Of course I do. I mean, how could I not?” He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I have a big, fat crush on you too, baby.”
DATING : EIGHT MONTHS
03:17 a.m. ; Y/N's apartment 📍
It was no secret Chan snored. His members even teased him for it. While the snoring wasn't ideal, you had learned to ignore it as your years together went on. Your dad used to snore too, so in a way, you had grown a little inmune to it.
But sometimes it got bad. Like bad enough to be scary.
Chan’s breathing would just collapse, and he’d wake up in shock, with a big gasp and body stiff. His lung and heart area ached right after too. It burned from the lack of air and created a chest pain he had, unfortunately, become familiar with.
It happened tonight again, no different than any other time. Though it had been a while since it last happened.
It usually awakens you too. “Chris? Baby?” You rub his back gently. Your sleep seems to have vanished from the scare.
Chan was sitting upright, trying to calm his racing heart and the pain he felt. He was still breathing heavily, the pain in his chest slowly dulling. He didn't turn to look at you. "Hey... sorry. I’m okay." he said.
Your eyes are trained on him with so much concern. “you sure?” Your hand rubs up and down his back, inching a little closer to him.
Chan nods, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had another one of those... episodes."
“C’mere,” you ask softly. “Lie on your side.”
Chan hated it. His shoulders were too broad, and it ached being in this position for long, but these things never happened when he laid like this, so he entertains your idea.
“Stay like this, okay?”
"Okay." he said softly, watching you as you got up.
You make a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water and painkillers, just in case. You really only take a minute or so, and he’s endeared by your efforts to care for him. Chan really needed someone to take care of him sometimes, and he was lucky to have you do it so selflessly.
“I got some painkillers too,” you take a seat by his side bed, watching him barely sit up to drink the water. “Not sure if you want them.”
Chan downs the water greedily, his throat dry from the snoring. He let out a small sigh of relief as he set the glass back down. However, when you mentioned the painkillers, his expression soured a bit. “I don’t like taking them. They make me feel all groggy.” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s okay,” you reply gently. “You don’t have to take them." Chan nods. He appreciated that you understood his preference.
He laid back down, wincing slightly as his shoulders ached from the odd position. He reached out for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You smile, eyes still glimmering with a little concern. “I'm sorry, I know you don’t like sleeping this way.”
Chan smiles a little tired. He did hate sleeping on his side, but he knew it was a necessary measure if he wanted to avoid it. "Yeah...” he said, shifting slightly to try and find a comfortable position. “But I guess it’s better than waking up gasping for air.”
“You need to stop giving me these scares.” you say quietly, nagging in a way, but always loving. “Maybe look into that surgery we’ve talked about.”
Chan’s expression sours a bit at the mention of the surgery. He knows it’s been a topic of discussion between the two of you for a while now, but he’s always been hesitant about the idea.
“I don’t know…” he said, still holding your hand. “It’s a pretty big surgery, and recovery time seems intense.”
You nod. “I know. But everything else can wait when it comes to your health.”
Everything meant his job, and he knew it. But he was too hard-headed.
Chan sighed heavily, knowing you had a point. His health should be his top priority, and yet he couldn’t help but worry about the impact it would have on his career.
“I know, but…” he said, his expression conflicted. “I'm so busy right now…it’s all so packed. I can’t just…disappear for a while.”
“I know, my love.” You gently pet his head, thumb running over his temple. “Just promise me you’ll listen to your body.”
Chan closed his eyes at your touch, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He knew you were right, that he needed to listen to his body and take care of himself.
DATING : ONE YEAR, SIX MONTHS
02:38 p.m. ; hotel room 📍
With time, naturally, your relationship had grown more serious. Sometimes you still wondered how you went from friends to this. Because this time you two were meeting in Milan for a few days. An impromptu vacation since Chris would be attending a Fendi show.
You had flown in separately, met him at the hotel, since your relationship was still secret. And you two had been talking about tonight. How he would attend the show, maybe a party afterwards. Whatever he needed to do as part of his job of being one of Fendi's ambassadors.
But even then, he still worried about you. Tried to care for you, leave things for when he wouldn't be around; a protector after all.
So he sat at the edge of the bed, holding you, standing in between his legs. “Promise me you’ll eat, okay?” He urges, bringing your hand up to brush a kiss on your knuckles. “Eat well,” he clarifies. For you had a sneaky way of turning that sentence and manage to skip your meals.
“You worry too much,” you say trying to pull away from his hold.
Chan's grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, holding onto you. This could be your only flaw, how much you tried to get out of eating enough. It worried him every time. “Promise me you’ll eat well,” he insists, his expression serious.
“Yeah…” you say halfheartedly.
Chan sighs at your response, able to tell you’re not taking this seriously. “Y/N,” he warns.
“Not my name!” You whine.
Chan can’t help but huff out a small chuckle at your reaction. Despite the seriousness of the situation, your playful whine brings a soft smile to his lips. He only called you sweet names, so you knew it was serious when he called you by your name.
He tugs on your hand, wanting your full attention. “Not your name?” he echoes. “Well then, listen to me, baby girl.” His eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of worry and affection. “I want you to eat well, okay? No skipping meals.”
Something about the way he asks, or the way he looks at you makes you giddy. “Okay... I will.” You relent.
Chan’s expression softens as you agree, his worry visibly easing. He knows he can’t control everything, but he’s relieved you’re listening.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely, his grip on your hand relaxing.
DATING : ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS
08:21 p.m. ; shared apartment 📍
"Woah, woah, what are you doing?" He practically goes pale the moment you're grabbing your blanket and a pillow.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" You bite back.
Chan and you had never argued this bad. You had small stupid fights, like every couple did every once in a while. You two got along pretty well, so even those were rare.
"You're not sleeping on the couch." He states.
"Watch me," you say, mostly to push his buttons more.
And before you know it, he's in your way, towering above you, hand gently holding your arms. "Hold on!" He pleads, whiny. "I'm trying to understand why we can't communicate right now."
"Because you're not listening to me! Why do I always have to yell at you?" You exasperate. "It's like you want me to."
"I-I don't... honey," he stammers.
"No. Just let me be." You plead.
"No, no, no, hold on. Wait, baby." He pleads. "I'm... Just sit down and let's talk this through."
NEWLY ENGAGED : TWO YEARS TWO MONTHS
12:25 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍
"What are you doing, my love?" A warm voice rouses you awake. Chan had spent a late night in the studio, and was now just coming home.
You were dozing off in bed, phone propped up playing whatever video for some background noise. "hm... Chris?"
"I'm home, sweetheart." He says softly, his hands finding your left one; lips press to the ring on your finger.
It never got old. The rush he got from knowing you were engaged now, and bound to marry soon. It made him happy. Euphoric.
His nimble fingers gently find the accessory and pry it off with care. "You can't sleep with jewelry on, baby girl."
"It's my engagement ring." You coo, watching as he places it on your bedside table.
He smiles proud, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead. "Even so."
ENGAGED : TWO YEARS FIVE MONTHS
01:40 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍
"Why are you still up?" You murmur with voice rough, scaring him in the quiet room.
His head whips towards the door, surprised. His hair is messy from bed, headphones halfway on. "I'm..." He hesitates when he sees the look on your face. He knows you wouldn't be too happy to find out he was working late into the night. Especially when you had been working to fix his night-owl schedule into something a little more reasonable.
"Come back to bed." You mean to ask, but it's more of a gentle order.
He doesn't get up right away, computer still frozen on the newest project he was working on. He felt like a deer in headlights, though he was just a man being reprimanded by his soon-to-be wife.
"Please," you say a little annoyed.
Chan chews on his bottom lip as he saves and exits without any sort of retort. He never argued back, and he certainly wouldn't start now.
He quietly tucks the metallic device onto his work bag and turns off the lights as he exits the room. He then follows the hallway to your shared bedroom, where you had already gotten back into bed.
He climbs beside you, staring at your back for a moment before he dares approach you. His arm weighs on your waist, and a soft kiss is pressed to your shoulder. "Are you mad?" He whispers in the dark.
You take a moment to reply. "...no."
His hand apologetically rubs up and down your arm. "I'm sorry," he says despite your answer. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought—"
"You can't sleep because you constantly think of work." You say in a way that seems almost nagging.
Chan doesn't take it personally. He knows well the kind of man he is. "I know, I'm sorry, baby."
MARRIED : YEAR #1
06:22 p.m. ; living room 📍
"I want a baby." Chan says with a smile.
He had just gotten home a few minutes ago. Today he had a shoot with the kids for their new SKZ's code episode. One that involved babies.
You chuckle,"You want a baby." You say incredulous.
He smiles even wider. "C'mon, it'll be so cute."
"You have baby fever."
"Y/N.." he drawls out the last syllable. "You don't wanna have a baby with me?" He pouts.
"I do! But not right now." You respond.
"Let's have a baby," he coos, arms wrapping around you. "Imagine a mini us running around."
"Can I think about it?" You offer, but it's practically like you've said yes already. Smile wide, eyes closing. Chris is already excited about the idea.
synopsis: after watching chan’s sit down with john park, you make it your personal mission your boyfriend gets to see the stars he misses so much. it may not be in the way he suspects, but it’s heartwarming nonetheless.
pairing: bangchan x f!reader
genre: fluff
contains: reader calls chan “chris”, kissing, chan being loved and cared for and sweet :3
word count: 1.8k
now playing: i wish i was the moon - neko case
[a/n]: did i write this during my break at work? yes. did i reread literally any of it? HAHAHAH hell no :3 enjoy !!
“uh, random question.” the pause that follows isn’t long, but it stretches just long enough that it weighs heavy on your shoulders.
“do you sometimes miss seeing the star?”
chan’s voice is soft as it seeps from your computer speakers, but it still manages to punch into you like a truck.
you’d barely been holding in tears in the first place, this whole episode being too damn tragic for how calming it is to listen to, but now? after that single, simple question, you can’t quite hold it in anymore.
there had been talk of childhood, how chan and the kids haven’t gotten a break in god knows how long, how your boyfriend had been a trainee for eight years before debuting. hell, you’d gotten through him calling himself a horrible person for making the kids cry during their survival show- but this?? this hits a spot in your soul far deeper than anything has in a long time.
it takes you a minute to pull yourself together, to wipe away the tears and get your breathing to even out, but even once they’re gone the sadness still lingers.
after the video comes to a close—after your ribcage squeezes harsh around your heart at chan’s sweet laugh after muttering a small when will i get married?—you have to take a minute or two to just sit with yourself.
the thing at the top of your mind is how badly you want to hug chan when he comes home.
over the next week or so you find yourself looking outside at night more than you normally would—or really just for a different reason than before.
you used to look out to admire the city life—the cars crawling along the streets, the neon lights that flicker every now and then, the buildings that reach into the sky—but now you look for something else: the stars.
at first you think maybe chan had just be exaggerating a little bit in the video, that there were some littered across the sky, just not as much as there were back at his home in sydney.
four days in you realize he was being truthful. there’s nothing.
correction: they are definitely there, but they just aren’t visible. light pollution. cloudy skies. it all shrouds them from the human eye.
it’s disheartening, to say the least.
you’ll make do, though. you always do. and if you can’t force away light pollution to dissipate enough to see the night sky in all it’s glory, you best believe you’ll take it into your hands.
the next evening you go to three separate stores in hopes of getting your hands on what would serve to be your saving grace: glow in the dark stars.
you found a few packs at the previous stores, but they were all stupidly small and too pricy for said size. who knew that plastic stars were such a commodity these days?
it’s at the third store—a little shop tucked into a side street—that you find exactly what you need. the pack is modest, a little worn on the edges but otherwise fine. when you flip it over and see the little picture demonstrating how you could arrange them, you know its perfect.
you walk out with five packs. a little overboard? sure. do you care? absolutely not.
chan doesn't get home until late that night, long after you've already arranged the stars across your apartments ceiling in scattered constellations—some real, some completely made up.
you’ve never been super grateful for chan’s tendencies to overwork himself by staying late at the studio, but tonight you can’t help but thank him for it. the stars took a little longer to hang up than originally anticipated, and you would’ve been crushed (and just a tad bit embarrassed) if he’d walked in on you balancing haphazardly on a barstool, plastic stars in hand as you decorated rhe ceiling.
the trail starts right above the apartment's front door, a sparse scatter of luminous stars that dot the ceiling in ones and twos. as the path winds further down the hallway in intentional spirals, the stars began to multiply—three here, five there—growing denser with each step toward the bedroom. by the time the trial reaches the living room, small clusters had formed, like little galaxies emerging from the darkness.
the closer it got to the bedroom door, the thicker the constellations became, stars overlapping and crowding together until they formed an almost continuous river of light that pooled above the bed in a breathtaking canopy.
some of them even spilled from the ceiling down the corners of the walls, filling the room with the softest glow.
it’s ridiculous. childish, even. but you can’t find it in you to care, not when pride grows warm in your chest at how pretty the sight of them is.
you’re making yourself at home in bed when you hear the familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by the soft thud of chan's bag hitting the floor.
"baby?" his voice carries down the hallway, tired but warm. "you still up?"
you prop yourself up on your elbows as you call back a soft “in here.”
you hear his footsteps padding down the hallway, only making it a few feet before he stops. there's a pause, one long enough that you know he's finally noticed.
"what the..." his voice trails off, confusion laced in each syllable.
you can't help but grin as you listen to him move slowly through the apartment, following the trail you’d spent so long layong out. his footsteps are slower now, more deliberate, like he's trying to piece together a puzzle.
when he finally appears in the doorway of the bedroom, his expression is priceless.
his eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted as he takes in the layout of glowing stars above the bed.
you cant help but think he looks like a kid who's just walked into a surprise birthday party.
"did you- did you put stars on our ceiling?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
you sit up fully now, tucking your knees to your chest. a laugh pushes its way from your lips, finding the question obvious but also endearing. "sure did."
"but… why?" he steps further into the room, craning his neck to look up at the constellations you've created. the soft green glow catches in his dark eyes, making them shimmer.
you can’t decide what’s prettier, him or the stars.
you take a breath, suddenly feeling a little shy about the whole thing. "uh, remember that episode you did with john park? when you asked if he ever missed seeing the stars?"
chan's expression shifts immediately. recognition, then something softer. he nods slowly.
"i started looking for them after i watched that," you continue, fidgeting with the hem of chan’s your shirt. "every night for like- a week. but there's nothing out there, chris. the light pollution, the clouds... you can't see anything-"
his eyes haven't left your face, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows.
"i just- i guess i couldn't stop thinking about it. about how you've been working so hard for so long, how you barely get breaks, and how even something as simple as seeing stars got taken away from you. so..." you gesture weakly at the ceiling, cheeks feeling warm. "i thought maybe i could bring them to you instead."
the statement came out more as a question then… well, a statement.
the silence that follows feels impossibly heavy. chan just stands there, staring at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a horrifying moment you think maybe you've overstepped somehow.
but then his face crumples into something that can only be labeled as completely and utter admiration.
"channie-" you start, pushing yourself up and off the bed with the smallest laugh, taking a step forward to wrap him in your arms.
he beats you to it.
chan crosses the room in three strides and pulls you into his arms so tightly you almost lose your breath. his face buries into your neck almost immediately, and you can feel him shaking slightly.
"you're ridiculous," he mumbles against your skin, voice thick. "you're so fucking ridiculous and i love you so much."
your hands come up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "i love you too, baby."
he pulls back just enough to look at you, and god, the way he's looking at you—like you've hung the moon instead of some cheap plastic stars—makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.
"i can't believe you did this," he says, letting out a watery laugh. "i can't believe you listened to that stupid video and remembered and went out and bought- how many stores did you even go to?"
"three," you admit, just a tad bit sheepish.
"three," he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs stroking gently across your cheekbones. "you went to three stores to buy glow in the dark stars because i said i missed seeing the sky."
"well, when you put it like that—"
he kisses you before you can finish, soft and sweet and so full of emotion that it makes your chest ache for the nth time.
when he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. "thank you," he whispers. "seriously. thank you."
you manage to grt in a "you're welcome," before he kisses you again, then once more for good measure.
finally, chan releases you in favor of looking back up at the stars—his stars.
he lies down on the bed, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side, both of you staring up at the glowing ceiling.
"they're beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. "you're beautiful. this is-" his voice catches slightly. "i think this is the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me."
you burrow closer into his chest, letting your eyes trace the patterns above you. "you deserve nice things, chris. you deserve to see the stars."
his arm tightens around you, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. you just lie there together in the soft green glow, wrapped up in each other while the weight of the day finally melts away.
"i don't think i'm ever going to be able to sleep without these now," chan admits quietly, a hint of humor creeping back into his voice.
you smile against his shoulder. "good thing i bought five packs then."
his laugh rumbles through his chest, warm and genuine and so utterly him that you can't help but smile wider.
"i really, really love you," he says again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
summary: when you and your fiancé get into a fight, his sister takes your side
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
genre: fluff, humor
word count: 972 words
a/n: as promised here's some fluff after all the angsts, based on this request ♡
Masterlist
~°~
You were visiting Chan’s childhood home in Australia, just a little trip to celebrate your engagement. His parents had gone out for dinner. His younger brother was in his room gaming. Hannah was half-asleep on the couch while scrolling through her phone, and Berry was padding around the house.
You and Chan were elbow-to-elbow in the kitchen, washing the dishes together. The atmosphere was serene with the warm water flowing, plates softly clinking while some soft music played in the background and it was almost cute—until he opened his damn mouth.
“I mean, it’s not that deep,” he said, rinsing a plate. “You’re just too sensitive sometimes.”
You froze, the dish soap slid off your hands then slowly you turned to look at him.
“Excuse me?”
Chan didn’t catch the red alert in your tone. “Like, not in a bad way…just that you take things too personally. It’s not always about you, y’know?”
You set the plate down a little too hard and cross your arms.
“Christopher Bahng,” you said calmly, “if you value your ability to sleep tonight, you might want to rethink what you just said.”
“I’m just saying,” Chan continued, not reading the room at all, “you overthink stuff and make drama out of nothing.”
Hannah paused her scrolling and looked toward the kitchen, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. The tension between you and Chan was so thick, she could feel it from the couch.
You narrowed your eyes. “So, let me get this straight. I voice a concern, and your first instinct is to call me sensitive?”
“I’m just saying it’s not always that serious.”
“Shut up, Chan!”
Silence. Like you could hear the silence. Even Berry stopped padding around.
Chan’s mouth opened, offended. “What—?”
“Shut. Up.” you repeated, tone sharp as a knife. “You do this every time. You brush me off and act like I’m the one being dramatic when you can’t communicate like a grown adult”
Hannah perked up from the couch, eyes sparkling. She threw her phone down and yelled, “You go, girl! Yeah, tell him to shut up!”
Berry barked excitedly, tail wagging as if she’s saying she’s also in your team.
Chan’s eyes widened as he turned to his sister.
“Stay out of it!” Chan glared at her.
“NO,” she shouted back. “She’s making valid points.”
You smiled at Hannah. “See? Even your sister agrees with me.”
“You’re my sister! Why are you cheering for her?!” he whined at Hannah.
“Because this is a historic moment,” Hannah grinned. “Like bro, you never let anyone talk to you like that. Finally someone’s calling you out, and it’s my future sister-in-law? I’m THRIVING.”
Chan gestured at her wildly. “You’re supposed to be on my side! I’m your brother!”
“Exactly,” she said. “And I’ve wanted to say this to you for years. Let her finish.”
You tried not to laugh as you watched the siblings bicker.
Chan’s expression softened as he turned to you, voice low and sincere. “Baby, I’m sorry. I genuinely didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Before you could answer, Hannah threw up her hands, dramatically gasping. “She’s not falling for this! Nope. You get away every time, Channie oppa.”
She stood up suddenly and approached you. “Y/N, c’mon you’re sleeping with me tonight.”
You blinked in surprise, then grinned. “I’d love that, Hannah!”
Chan’s jaw dropped like Hannah just committed a federal crime. “Why are you being a homewrecker right now?!”
Hannah squinted her eyes at him and said, “Because you don’t deserve her and her cuddles tonight. This is your punishment, now go sleep alone.”
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “My own blood turned on me.”
You threw the dish towel at his chest. “Think before you speak next time, fiancé.”
“Babe—”
“Nope,” Hannah cut in. “Don’t ‘babe’ your way out of this.”
She looped her arm through yours and started guiding you away, “Come on, Y/N. We’re having a girls’ night. I’m talking facemasks, hot gossip from work, and stuffing our faces with snacks. Oooh snacks— wait let me grab some.”
She let go of you and started rummaging aggressively through the kitchen cabinets. You couldn’t help but smile at her determination, your heart softening a little. When you glanced back, you saw Chan leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at you sadly.
You stepped closer to him, “You want to marry me, right?”
“Of course,” he answered immediately.
“Then you don’t get to dismiss me like I’m overreacting. We solve problems together. No gaslighting. No brushing off. If I tell you something bothers me, it means I trust you enough to be vulnerable about it.”
“Yes baby… you’re right. I’m sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.” He wiped his hands and stepped toward you. “Really. I didn’t mean to make you feel invalidated.”
You just looked down.
Chan pulled you into a warm hug. “I’ll do better. Promise.”
You let him hold you for a second, then whispered in his ear, “Damn right you will.”
“You’re not sensitive. You just feel things deeply, and that’s one of the things I love about you,” he said before pressing a kiss on your forehead gently.
Hannah raised her head from the pantry. “But you’re still sleeping alone tonight.”
Chan threw a kitchen towel at her without looking.
You just chuckled, “You’re lucky you’re cute. And that your sister’s on my side.”
Hannah yelled from the pantry, “I found the Cheetos! Let's go!”
Chan threw his head back with a groan. “She’s mine, Hannah!”
Hannah popped her head out, balancing bags of popcorn and chips in one hand and cookies and drinks in the other. “Not tonight, she’s not. You had your chance, Mr. Big Mouth.”
You gave Chan a wink and followed her, and Berry followed right behind you, making it clear whose side she was on.
in which… chan has always wanted to be a dad, and it was finally his turn to experience the pure joy of parenthood.
warnings: mentions of failed pregnancies, pregnancy of course, tears from stress and joy, a lot of time skips (soz), chan doubts himself as a father at one point.
authors note: give this man a family jyp🙏 i also haven’t edited this so ignore any errors
when you first met chan seven years ago, both in your early twenties, you immediately bonded over the want for a family.
it was a common topic that the pair of you loved the fantasise and dream about. one where chan finally had more time away from the company and had time to be at home with you and the potential baby.
you both never thought that would happen, but over the years, the work began to spread out a bit more, due to chan back dating loads of songs, which were then ready for years to come.
it made life a whole life easier for him, and the relationship.
which is why he decided it was a perfect time for this family he so desperately wanted.
you and chan had tried for years, and it just seemed like it was never your time. failed test after test. tears after tears, with the whispered promise from chan, ‘it’ll happen soon’.
but how long was soon?
until that one cold day in november when the test sat on the bathroom counter felt different. you for once were hopeful.
you pulled chan into the bathroom as you both sat on the edge of the bathtub.
“hey,” he muttered, as he took ahold of you hand and rubbed the back of it, “whatever it says, we’re okay. there’ll be another time for us,” he promised.
you nodded through watery eyes, and a breath that shook. you let go off his hand and slowly reached for the test.
you took a second to yourself before flipping it over and staring at the answer.
| |
two lines.
you gasped out a broken sob, full of emotion, as chan grabbed a hold of you and pulled you closely in. chan’s shoulders shook as he cried with you.
“we’re having a baby,” he muttered into your hair, holding you tightly, “you’re gonna be a mom, and i’m gonna be a dad!” he whispered, as if saying it too loud would take it all back.
a few months later…
lucky for you, you were one of the lucky ones who didn’t show much during their pregnancy.
this was great, especially in yours and chan’s situation, with the boys and the world, who knew about you, as you were allowed to be open with the relationship.
however, once it came around to the second trimester and it was definitely confirmed that your baby was healthy, you both agreed this was the time to share the news with the boys.
you invited all the boys over to your home the following night, wanting this announcement to be small and private with those you both loved dearly.
“so… what is this?” seungmin started, eyeing you and chan suspiciously.
“you’re not like getting divorced are you? please don’t tell me your getting divorced!” han rambled quickly.
“no! no! god no,” you laughed, responding to han, who calmed down.
“we wanted to actually tell you, that, we’re pregnant,” chan told the group.
they blinked at him for a moment, glancing over at you, who already had tears in your eyes.
“wait what?!” changbin asked.
“your pregnant?” felix looked at you, to which you nodded.
han was the first to react, jumping up and screaming practically.
the other boys shortly followed as you and chan stood up, recovering various words of excitement and congratulations, while also receiving hugs from each member.
during your pregnancy, chan hated working. he hated missing moments of this; of the family that was soon to happen, even if the baby wasn’t here yet.
you insisted he went to the studio though. the boys still needed him after all, and the baby wasn’t here just yet.
but moments when chan would walk through the front door late at night, ways past the time he said he’d be.
to find you snuggled on the couch, phone open on yours and his chat, clearly to ask him how much longer. all the while you had a hand placed gently on your ground bump.
chan sighed at moments like this. he hated not being here for you, and he sometimes felt like he was already failing. but he tried; and you knew that.
july
come july, it was finally coming up closer to the due date of the baby. chan had managed to push the work off for a couple of weeks, while the two of you prepared for the baby.
the boys were absolutely ecstatic to meet the baby. anytime they saw you, they would immediately pile over on you like puppies to their mother, in desperate need of any updates about the baby.
so that one final night, when you woke up and seven hours later gave birth, you’d finally met your baby girl.
chan was there the whole time. from the moment you stirred in your sleep, groaning with pain, to when you stepped into the hospital.
even when you lay on the bed, crying your eyes out from the pain, chan stood by your side, holding tightly onto your hand.
chan cried the moment she was born, (he actually cried the whole birth, but you didn’t need to know that). but seeing you and his baby girl together for the first time was an experience he could never describe.
his two girls right in front of him. it was everything he ever wanted in life, and here it was.
a few months later
chan couldn’t love life any more than what he had right now. you were healthy, his baby girl was healthy, and he finally had the family he always wanted.
the first few months were different. a good different. a lack of sleep due to her crying throughout the night and not being the best sleeper.
but luckily, chan was use to the lack of sleep, spent in the studio, so he found solace in these moments.
the months were spent learning. learning about how to be a parent, while raising a literal baby.
there were tears. good and bad.
you’d have a few moments where you believed you weren’t a good mother. that maybe this wasn’t right for you. but chan was always there for you.
you and chan rarely co-slept with her, due to the risk. but day time naps, you sometimes like to join her.
moments like these were chan’s favourites.
where he could just watch you sleeping next to him, his baby girl in between the two of you, as you both leaned into his side. this was all he ever wanted.
the boys loved her.
jeongin was no longer the baby of the group, she was. and they all loved having her around.
it gave the other boys something to look forward to for the next few years with their own partners.
they saw the way chan and yourself were with your baby girl, and the love you had for one another, her birth bringing the pair of you even closer. and they all longed for a family like yours.
more months later
stray kids had gone on tour a month or so ago. touring the world and making many memories that chan loved sharing with you.
you’d both agreed it was too soon for her to attend, due to how young she was. so you both watched her daddy through the tv or on the phone, as she would squeal ‘dada!’ anytime chan became the main focus of a livestream or interview.
but chan. he secretly hated it. he missed so much while he was gone.
the time you were recording yourself and her, and she finally took her first few steps towards you.
chan had to watch it through a phone.
he missed those real important milestones; the ones that really mattered. and that’s what hurt him the most.
but you were always there to reassure him, “she’ll walk again soon,” you promised.
but despite your promises, he still doubted himself.
he lay awake at night in the various hotels, clutching his phone to his chest, as he replayed the videos of you and his baby over and over again, his chest wracking with sobs.
chan sometimes use to feel like he failed as a leader, but feeling like he failed as a dad, hit him a lot more than anything.
a few years later
as she reached a more appropriate age, which perfectly lined up with the next stray kids world tour, the pair of you agreed this was a perfect opportunity.
as the tour hit off its leg in australia, you and your girl moved into chan’s parents home for a while.
this was great.
they loved you and their grandchild, and you loved being around them. you were also immensely close to hannah, chan’s sister.
so on the day where his family had planned to attend, he also reserved two tickets for his family.
it was secured off in the pit. far enough but not too far; close enough so that she could see her dad.
you held her on her hip so that she had a clear view of the stage, dressed in her wolf-chan outfit; light-grey dungarees, with some ears on her head.
she looked adorable.
and she loved it.
chan even made it his mission to spend as much time during the concert waving over to his daughter and wife, ensuring they both felt very special. she’d giggle into your neck every time it happened.
when the concert was over, you were all led backstage. at this point she could walk really well; too well actually. she was now able to run off, without falling over.
which she insisted on doing in attempt to find her daddy.
as she rounded the corner, into one of the main dressing rooms, she saw her dad stood in the middle, talking to seungmin.
she squealed out in excitement, causing chan to turn around and open his arms wide. “hi baby,” he responded back, just as excited.
he placed her on his hip, as she rambled on about the show, asking silly questions about everything.
eventually, you’d managed to wrestled her off of chan, so that he could go see his family after the show, leaving you and her with the other boys.
as annoying as she could be, the boys still loved her.
she loved lee know, mainly because of soonie, doongie and dori, as she loved cats. but despite his sometimes hard exterior, it immediately melted when she was around.
changbin was probably her favourite. he was the biggest girls girl to ever exist, which you already knew, but he continued the prove it as she grew older. ‘changbin’s salon’ became something even more common everytime you brought her around or showed up at the studio.
hyunjin helped her draw and create. she liked her crafts, especially paint, which you and chan cringed anytime she got her hands on it, due to how messy she was. but hyunjin didn’t mind the mess, he encouraged her to, especially in his art studio in his apartment back in seoul.
han was probably the second favourite uncle of her. she loved his silliness, as she was also a very silly child. they bounced off of one another easily, especially because of han’s childlike personality at times.
felix was her kindest uncle; the one she turned to when she began to cry if her mommy or daddy weren’t around. he always held her with the upmost care, constantly carrying her anywhere, as he always managed to fall for her dramatics. he just couldn’t say no.
despite seungmin’s ‘mean’ exterior, and banter with his members, it was clear how good of a dad he would be. he taught her a lot of things, including baseball, which he loved being able to share with someone, who was so excited for the world. he always offered to help the two of you. you and chan knew how badly seungmin wanted a kid of his own one day.
ayen loved not being the youngest anymore. he loved not being the ‘maknae’ of the family. that he finally had someone to take care of, just how the members had with him. he was similar to seungmin. ayen always volunteered to babysit, but only if he could have assistance from one of the other boys. so typically seungmin and ayen were the babysitters.
chan finally had the family he wanted, the one he always dreamt about and told STAYS about on bubble. it was finally his, and she truly was a bundle of joy.
Warnings: p in v, creampie, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, light possessiveness, mild overstimulation, mild breeding kink
A/N: just a quick something before doing the requests i got lately
The gravel crunched under the tires as the rental SUV finally rolled to a stop in front of the cottage. Chan killed the engine and for a long moment neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty, it was full: of pine sap, distant woodpeckers, the faint metallic tick of the cooling motor and the sudden, almost embarrassing awareness that this was real. You were here. Married. Alone. For ten whole days.
Chan turned to you first. His left hand still rested on the wheel; the new platinum band on his fourth finger caught a stray shaft of late-afternoon sun and threw a tiny prism across the dashboard. He noticed you looking at it the same second you did.
"Still feels weird" he murmured, flexing his fingers once like he was testing whether the ring would stay put.
You reached over and covered his hand with yours. Your own ring, thinner, more delicate, but matching, clicked softly against his.
"Good weird?" you asked.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound half-laugh, half-sigh. "The best kind."
Then he was out of the car before you could answer, rounding the hood with that quick, purposeful stride he always used when he was trying not to look nervous. He opened your door like it was ceremony. Offered his hand. You took it and let him help you down even though the drop was barely 10 cm.
The air smelled sharply of resin and damp earth. Somewhere a stream flows. The cottage sat maybe twenty meters ahead, dark cedar siding, wide windows framed in forest green, a generous wraparound porch already dusted with fallen needles. Smoke was supposed to curl from the stone chimney later; right now the sky was still too bright for that kind of coziness.
Chan didn’t let go of your hand. Instead he tugged you gently toward the front door, then stopped short on the bottom porch step. You felt the shift in him before he even spoke, the way his shoulders squared, the sudden sheepish tilt of his head.
"What?" you asked, already smiling.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Ears going faintly pink. "I, uh… I know no one’s watching. But I still want to do it right."
You blinked. "Do what right?"
He didn’t answer with words. In one smooth motion he bent, hooked an arm under your knees and the other behind your back and lifted. You yelped, more surprise than anything, then dissolved into helpless laughter as he carried you up the three steps. Your arms automatically wound around his neck; his hoodie smelled like the airport, your perfume, and him.
"Chan-"
"Tradition" he said solemnly, though the corners of his mouth were fighting a grin. "Can’t skip tradition on day eleven."
"Day eleven of forever" you corrected and felt the way his chest stuttered under your palms at the reminder.
He paused at the threshold long enough to nudge the door open with his foot. The hinges gave a soft, almost polite creak. Then he stepped inside, careful not to knock your head against the frame, and only set you down once he was fully over the line.
The moment your feet touched the wide-plank floorboards he kissed you. Not the quick, giddy ones from the past few days. This was slower. Deeper. His hands framed your face like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. When he finally pulled back his forehead rested against yours.
"Hi, wife" he whispered.
Your heart did something ridiculous: tripped, then soared.
"Hi, husband."
He smiled against your mouth, small and private, then kissed you again. Shorter this time. A punctuation mark rather than a paragraph.
Only then did he step back and actually look around. The cottage was exactly as the photos had promised, only better in person. Open-plan living area with a vaulted ceiling crossed by exposed beams. A stone fireplace that took up most of one wall. A kitchen island made from a single thick slab of walnut, still showing faint saw marks. Windows everywhere, floor-to-ceiling on the back wall looking straight into dense evergreens. The light inside was green-gold, filtered through needles.
Chan let out a low whistle. "This is… wow."
You wandered toward the windows while he went back outside to grab the suitcases. By the time he returned, two trips, stubbornly refusing your help, you had already kicked off your sneakers and were padding barefoot across the cool floorboards.
He dropped the bags near the couch, then came up behind you. Arms sliding around your waist. Chin hooking over your shoulder.
"Smell that?" he murmured.
You inhaled. Cedar. Woodsmoke from the last guests. Something faintly sweet, maybe wax polish. Underneath it all, him. Warm skin, faint traces of cologne that had survived twelve hours of travel.
"Yeah" you said softly.
He pressed his lips to the side of your neck. Just once. Lingering. "We’re really here."
You turned in his arms, hands sliding up to rest against his chest. His heart was beating a little fast. "We are."
For a few minutes you just stood like that, swaying slightly, not quite dancing, just breathing each other in. Eventually hunger won out. You hadn’t eaten since the airport breakfast sandwiches.
Chan insisted on making dinner. You perched on one of the bar stools at the island and watched him move around the tiny kitchen like he’d lived there for years. He’d packed half the suitcase with groceries from a market stop an hour back: fresh vegetables, thick slices of hanwoo beef, garlic, gochujang, sesame oil, a bottle of soju wrapped in a towel so it wouldn’t clink.
He hummed under his breath while he worked. Some melody you didn’t recognize, probably something he was still tinkering with in his head. Every so often he’d glance over at you and smile. Small. Secret. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were sitting there in his hoodie (the black one with the frayed drawstrings you’d stolen three years ago) watching your brand-new husband cook.
When the beef hit the hot pan the kitchen filled with sharp, caramelizing sizzle. You inhaled so deeply your eyes watered a little.
He laughed. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
He plated everything family-style: thin slices of perfectly seared meat, blistered shishito peppers, quick-pickled radish, steamed rice still sticking slightly to the sides of the pot. You ate at the little dining table near the windows as the sun dropped behind the ridge and turned the forest into velvet black.
After dinner you didn’t bother clearing the table right away. Instead Chan pulled you onto his lap on the wide leather couch. The fire he’d started earlier was crackling now, throwing shifting shadows across the walls. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and felt him exhale, long and slow, like he was finally letting the last of the city tension bleed out of him.
"Tell me something" he said quietly.
"Hm?"
"Anything. Just… talk to me."
So you did. You told him about the way your mom had sobbed when she saw you in the wedding dress for the first time. How your little cousin had tried to sneak an entire tray of macarons under the table. How you’d caught Chan’s youngest sister filming you both during the first dance and making kissy faces behind the camera.
He laughed, soft, rumbling, every time you got to a funny part. His fingers kept tracing absent circles on your lower back.
Eventually you ran out of stories and just listened to his heartbeat instead. After a while he spoke again, voice so low you felt it more than heard it.
"I keep thinking about the vows."
You lifted your head. "Yeah?"
He nodded. Eyes on the fire. "When I said ‘in all the chaos and all the quiet’… I didn’t know what the quiet would actually feel like. Not really. Not until right now."
You cupped his cheek. Thumb brushing the faint freckle under his eye.
"It’s nice, isn’t it?"
"More than nice."
He turned his head to kiss your palm. "I could get used to this."
You smiled. "We’ve got nine more days to practice."
His grin turned a little wicked. "Nine days" he echoed. "And nights."
You laughed and swatted his chest. He caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it, then tugged you closer until you were straddling him properly. The hoodie rode up your thighs; his hands found skin immediately: warm, possessive, but still careful.
"Not tonight" you murmured against his mouth. "Tonight I just want… this."
He searched your face for a second, then nodded. "Okay."
So you stayed like that, kissing slow and lazy, hands wandering without urgency, the fire popping every so often like it was keeping time. Eventually you migrated to the bedroom upstairs. It had a king bed made up with cream linens, a thick wool throw at the foot, and another wall of windows that looked out over nothing but treetops.
You changed into sleep clothes while Chan brushed his teeth. When he came back he was shirtless, sweatpants slung low. The new tattoo on his ribs: the tiny crescent moon you’d drawn on a napkin three years ago and begged him to keep forever, was stark against his skin in the low lamplight.
He caught you staring. "Like what you see, Mrs. Bahng?"
The name hit like a soft punch every time.
You crossed the room and slid your arms around his waist. "Very much, Mr. Bahng."
He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your mouth, gentle, lingering. When you finally crawled under the covers he followed, pulling you back against his chest the way he always did. One arm under your pillow. The other wrapped around your middle. His breath warm against your nape.
"Love you" he whispered into your hair.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Not even close. But tonight it felt different. Permanent. Etched.
You turned your head just enough to find his lips in the dark. "Love you too."
Sleep came slow and sweet, wrapped in laundry scented sheets and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The next morning you woke to birds and the smell of coffee.
Chan was already up, barefoot, hair a disaster, wearing the soft gray hoodie you’d abandoned last night. He’d opened every window on the ground floor; cool morning air moved through the house like a sigh.
He handed you a mug without a word. Black. Two sugars. Exactly how you liked it.
You sat together on the porch steps while the mist still clung to the pines. Neither of you spoke for almost twenty minutes. Just sipped. Watched. Breathed.
Eventually he bumped your shoulder with his. "Walk?"
You nodded. So you walked. Hand in hand down the narrow dirt path that curved behind the cottage and disappeared into the trees. The forest smelled like wet bark and green life. Ferns brushed your calves. Chan didn’t talk much. Just pointed out little things: a woodpecker flashing red against a trunk, mushrooms the color of apricots growing in a fallen log, the way sunlight shattered through the canopy and landed in bright coins on the path.
At one point he stopped, crouched, and picked up a perfect pinecone. Turned it over in his fingers like it was treasure.
"Souvenir?" you teased.
He looked up at you, eyes soft. "For the studio. Put it on the desk. Every time I look at it I’ll remember this."
Your throat tightened. He stood, slipped the pinecone into his hoodie pocket, then pulled you close and kissed you right there in the middle of the path. Slow. Thorough. Like he had all the time in the world. Because for once, he did.
The rest of the day passed in that same gentle rhythm. Coffee. Breakfast (pancakes he insisted on flipping dramatically, nearly catching the ceiling fan). A long nap on the couch with your head in his lap while he scrolled through photos from the wedding on his phone, showing you his favorites and pretending he wasn’t tearing up at the candid of you laughing during your vows.
Late lunch turned into early dinner because neither of you wanted to stop touching long enough to cook properly. You ended up eating cheese and crackers and fruit on the rug in front of the fire, feeding each other bites and laughing when strawberry juice dripped on his chin.
Night fell soft and cool. You took a bath together in the deep clawfoot tub, bubbles up to your chin, his long legs folded awkwardly around yours, both of you giggling like teenagers when water sloshed over the side.
Afterward he wrapped you in the biggest towel like you were something precious, carried you to bed, and spent twenty minutes just kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Not trying to start anything. Just… worshipping.
When he finally settled behind you again, spooning close, his voice was rough with sleep and something deeper.
"Best decision I ever made" he mumbled into your shoulder.
You laced your fingers with his. Felt the rings click together. "Second best" you whispered back. "First was letting me steal your hoodie three years ago."
He huffed a laugh against your neck. "Fair."
And then you both drifted off to the sound of wind moving through the pines and the soft crackle of embers dying in the hearth downstairs.
The golden hour had stretched longer than usual that afternoon, painting the entire cottage in honey and amber through the tall windows. You’d spent most of the day barefoot, wearing nothing but Chan’s oversized black hoodie, the one with the faded logo across the chest and sleeves so long they swallowed your hands. It hit you mid-thigh when you stood still, shorter when you reached or bent. You hadn’t bothered with anything underneath. Not today.
Chan had noticed. He’d noticed the first time you stretched up to grab a mug from the high shelf and the hem rode up just enough to show the soft curve where thigh met hip. He’d noticed again when you leaned across the kitchen island to steal a slice of apple from the cutting board he was using, the fabric shifting, exposing skin that made his knife pause mid-chop. He’d noticed every single time you walked past him, slow, deliberate, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of his gaze dragging down your legs like a physical touch.
By four, the air inside felt thicker than the pine-scented breeze drifting through the open windows. The fire he’d built earlier had died down to glowing coals; neither of you had bothered to add more wood. You were both too distracted.
You were rinsing a glass at the sink when you felt him move behind you. Not sudden. Not rushed. Just… inevitable. His chest pressed lightly to your back first. Then his hands, those beautiful, veined, calloused hands, slid over your hips, thumbs brushing the bare skin just under the hoodie’s hem. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, breathing you in, letting you feel how hard he already was through the soft fabric of his sweatpants.
You tilted your head back against his shoulder. "You’ve been staring all day."
His laugh was low. Rough. "Can you blame me?"
One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until his palm flattened against your stomach under the hoodie. The other stayed low, fingers splaying across the top of your thigh, not quite touching where you wanted him most. Teasing.
"You look…" He swallowed. Voice dropped even lower. "…like mine."
The words landed heavy in your belly. You turned in his arms. The glass clinked forgotten against the sink edge.
Chan’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, that familiar flush creeping up his neck and into his ears. He looked wrecked already and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.
You reached up, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, tugging just enough to make him exhale sharply through his nose. "Then take what’s yours, husband."
The word snapped something in him. He kissed you like he was starving, open-mouthed, hungry, tongue sliding against yours with none of the careful sweetness from the night before. His hands shoved under the hoodie immediately, rough palms skating up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arched into him; he groaned into your mouth at the feel of bare skin, no bra, no barriers.
"Fuck" he breathed against your lips. "No underwear?"
"Thought you might like the surprise."
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Then he was lifting you, effortless, like you weighed nothing, until your thighs wrapped around his waist. The hoodie rucked up completely now, bunched around your ribs. Cool air hit overheated skin; you shivered.
Chan carried you the few steps to the sturdy oak kitchen table. He didn’t bother clearing the cutting board or the half-chopped vegetables. Just shoved them aside with one forearm, carrots rolling, knife clattering and set you down on the edge.
He stepped between your legs, hands immediately pushing the hoodie higher until it bunched under your arms, exposing you completely to him. His gaze raked down your body like he was trying to memorize every inch all over again.
"God…" His voice cracked. "Look at you."
You leaned back on your palms, thighs parting wider in invitation. "Like what you see?"
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he dropped to his knees, right there on the worn rug in front of the table and hooked your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You gasped when his mouth found the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing just enough to sting. He worked his way up slowly, deliberately, kissing and licking and sucking marks into skin that would bloom purple by morning.
When he finally reached where you were already slick and aching, he paused, just long enough to meet your eyes.
"Been thinking about this since the second we walked through the door yesterday" he murmured, breath hot against you. "About spreading you out. Tasting my wife on my tongue. Making you come so hard you forget your own name."
Then he licked a slow, broad stripe up your center. Your head fell back on a broken moan.
Chan didn’t tease after that. He devoured. Tongue flat and firm, then pointed and quick, circling your clit with devastating precision. Two fingers slid inside you without warning, thick, curled just right and you clenched around them immediately. He groaned at the feel of it, the sound vibrating through you.
"Fuck, you’re so wet" he rasped between licks. "So fucking perfect."
You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss. He only doubled down, sucking your clit into his mouth, fingers pumping steadily, thumb brushing the sensitive spot just above where his tongue worked.
The table creaked under your shifting weight. Your heels dug into his back. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly until it snapped, sudden, blinding. You came with a cry that echoed off the high ceiling, thighs trembling around his head, fingers yanking at his hair so hard it had to hurt.
He didn’t stop. Kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, until the aftershocks faded and you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did he pull back.
His lips were swollen, chin glistening. Eyes wild. He rose slowly, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave prints. When he kissed you again you tasted yourself on his tongue, salty, intimate. You moaned into his mouth.
"Need you" you whispered against his lips. "Now."
Chan didn’t make you ask twice. He shoved his sweatpants down just enough, cock springing free, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. He fisted himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours. "Condom?" he asked, voice gravel.
You shook your head. "I’m still on the pill. And we’re married now." You smiled, small and wicked. "I want to feel you. All of you."
Something feral flickered across his face. He lined himself up, notched the head against your entrance and pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch, every ridge, until he was buried to the hilt. Both of you froze.
He dropped his forehead to yours. Breathing ragged. "Fuck…" The word was punched out of him. "You feel, shit, baby, you feel like heaven."
You clenched around him on purpose. He jerked. Swore under his breath in Korean, low, filthy things you only half-understood but felt everywhere. Then he started moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. Letting you adjust. Letting you feel him stretch you, fill you, claim you in a way that felt brand new even after years together. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your hip bones.
"Look at me" he breathed.
You did. His eyes were liquid dark, pupils swallowing the brown. Sweat already beading at his temples. That stupidly beautiful face flushed and focused entirely on you.
"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered, testing the words again like they were still new magic. "My wife."
He thrust harder on the next stroke. Deeper. You gasped. He smiled, slow, dangerous.
"That’s it. Let me hear you."
The pace built steadily. The table rocked beneath you now, wood groaning in protest. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents across ink and skin. He fucked you like he was trying to imprint himself inside you: long, punishing strokes that hit exactly where you needed, grinding his pelvis against your clit on every deep thrust.
"God, you’re so tight" he groaned. "So fucking wet for me. Always so ready."
You wrapped your legs higher around his waist, changing the angle. He swore again, loud this time, head dropping to your shoulder as he drove in harder.
"Chan-"
"Say it again" he demanded against your neck. Teeth grazing your pulse. "Say my name."
"Chan" you gasped. "Husband, fuck, please-"
He lifted his head. Kissed you messy and desperate. One hand slid between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his hips.
"Come for me again" he growled against your mouth. "Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Wanna feel my wife fall apart."
The words, combined with the relentless pressure, the stretch, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe, sent you over the edge for the second time.
You shattered. Loud. Unrestrained. Back arching off the table, thighs shaking, walls pulsing around him so hard he nearly lost rhythm.
He fucked you through it, harder, faster, chasing his own release now. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping, breath coming in sharp pants against your throat.
"Where?" he managed, voice wrecked. "Tell me where-"
"Inside" you breathed without hesitation. "Want it inside. Want all of you."
That did it. He slammed in one last time, deep, grinding and came with a guttural moan that vibrated through both of you. You felt him pulse, felt the hot rush of him filling you, felt the way his whole body shuddered as he emptied inside.
He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed buried deep, arms wrapping around you, pulling you up until you were sitting pressed chest-to-chest. His forehead rested against yours again. Both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
For long minutes there was only the sound of your breathing, the faint crackle of dying coals in the fireplace, and the occasional drip of water from the sink you’d never turned off.
Chan kissed your temple. Soft. Reverent.
"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered again, like he couldn’t stop tasting it.
You smiled against his cheek. "Mr. Bahng."
He huffed a laugh, still breathless, then kissed you properly. Slow. Lazy. Full of all the things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.
Eventually he softened enough to slip out. You both winced at the loss. He glanced down between you, watched the slow trickle of his come leak out and made a low, appreciative sound in his throat.
"Fuck. That’s hot."
You laughed, swatting his chest weakly. "Perv."
"Your perv." He grinned. Kissed the tip of your nose. "Forever."
He helped you down from the table, legs shaky, thighs sticky then scooped you up bridal-style like he had on the threshold yesterday. You looped your arms around his neck.
"Bed?" you asked.
"Shower first" he decided. "Then bed. Then maybe round two."
You raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
He carried you toward the stairs anyway. "I’ve got eight more days to make sure you can still feel me when we get home" he murmured against your ear. "Gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be mine."
You shivered. Pressed closer.
"Good" you whispered back. "Because I don’t ever want to forget."
He kissed you again, right there on the stairs, slow and deep and full of promise.
Then he carried you the rest of the way upstairs, into the bathroom, under the warm spray of the shower where he washed you carefully, reverently, like you were something sacred.
And when you finally collapsed into the big bed afterward, clean, boneless, tangled together under the thick quilts, he pulled you close, lips brushing your shoulder.
"Love you" he murmured into your skin.
You turned just enough to find his mouth in the dark. "Love you too."
The forest outside was quiet except for the wind in the pines.
Inside, it was only the sound of two hearts beating in time. And the soft click of wedding rings brushing together under the covers.
