Starring: Bang Chan
Featuring: all of SKZ
Summary: you get a short haircut and for one terrifying moment, you worry your boyfriend will hate it.
Warnings: some language; unhinged stans assuming things
Rating: mild
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You almost chicken out in the salon chair. Your stylist has the scissors open, the first long wavy chunk of light blond hair already gathered in her fist, and you catch your own eyes in the mirror looking a little panicked. It's been down to your waist since you were nineteen. It's the hair Chan has wrapped around his hand more times than either of you could count.
"You sure?" the stylist asks, German efficient, scissors steady.
You think about the months of wanting this. The Pinterest board you never showed anyone. You nod before you can talk yourself out of it again.
The first cut sounds louder than it should.
An hour later you're staring at someone who looks like you but lighter, somehow, your jaw and cheekbones suddenly the main event instead of something hair used to soften. A pixie cut, short at the sides, a little messy on top. You touch the back of your neck where there used to be nothing to touch.
You don't immediately know how you feel about it. You know exactly how you think Chan will feel about it, though, because you've absorbed sixty thousand comment sections' worth of men online mourning their girlfriends' long hair like it died. You spend the drive home rehearsing how you'll explain it if he's disappointed, how you'll tell him it grows back.
He's in the kitchen of the dorm when you walk in, hood half-up like he forgot he put it there, and he turns around with a piece of toast still in his hand. The toast does not make it to his mouth.
"Oh," he says. Just that. He sets it down without looking at it.
"It's a lot, I know," you start, already bracing. "I can show you photos of how it looked before if you need a minute to grieve the loss of the long hair experience, I have read the comment sections, I know how this normally goes for guys—"
"Can I touch it." Not really a question by the time it leaves him.
You tip your head a little, giving him permission you didn't realize he was waiting for, and his hand comes up slow, like he's not sure it's real. His fingers slide through what's left of your hair and his whole face changes, something private and a little wrecked moving across it.
"It's so soft," he says, sounding almost offended by how good it feels. "Why is it so soft. You cut all the weight out and now it's just-"
"Just?"
"Soft." He says it again like the word is doing something to him. His hand drifts to the back of your head, fingers curling against your scalp, and he presses lightly there in a slow circle and your knees decide to withdraw their support for a beat. “Fuck me, I’m gone.” This comes out as a whisper, over an exhale.
"You like it," you say, because you need to hear him confirm what his face is already confirming.
"I like it so much I'm a little embarrassed," he admits, laughing under his breath, still petting you like you're something he's allowed to keep. "You look like you could fight someone and also like I want to put my hands on your head for the rest of the night, both things, at the same time. And, uh… other things too."
"That's emotionally complicated of you."
"I'm a complicated man." He tugs you in by the back of the neck, mouth against your temple, and you feel him breathe out slow, like something in him finally snapped into place. "I get to mess this up now and it'll just look good with a new geometry. I don't have to think about three hours of styling before I touch you. I can just-" He drags his palm over the short hair again, scratching gently behind your ear like you're something small and contented. "Do this. Whenever I want. I can have my hands on you an amount closer to what I want."
"You sound like you've been waiting for this specifically."
"I didn't know I was waiting for it until your hair was suddenly an inch long," he says, completely unbothered by how that sounds. "I'm not going to apologize for it."
You end up on the couch later, his fingers still finding their way back to your scalp every few minutes like he can't quite believe he's allowed, and you ask if he wants to try your hair wax sometime since the texture is apparently similar enough now.
He looks delighted in a way that's slightly unsettling. "We can share everything. Get ready together in the morning."
"That's the bar for you? Shared skincare and now shared hair wax?"
"I'm a simple man with a small number of dreams and you're fulfilling several of them in one haircut." He pulls his own beanie off and puts it on your head instead, tugging it down, grinning at the fact that it actually fits the way it's supposed to now. "Look. We match."
"This is deeply unserious behavior from you."
"I contain multitudes," he says, and goes back to petting your head like it's the only thing on his agenda for the evening.
The fan reaction, when it comes, comes fast and ugly in the replies under a blurry fan-taken photo of you both leaving a cafe. You only look good with short hair because you basically have a man's face now. Bet Chan's actually into men, this confirms it, look how comfortable he is, no straight man pets his girlfriend's head like that in public. You read three of them before you put your phone down on the table, face carefully blank, the kind of blank you've gotten good at.
Chan, who has clearly already seen them, doesn't say anything performative about it. He just reaches over and laces his fingers through yours on the table, thumb moving slow over your knuckles.
"They've decided I'm gay because I like touching my girlfriend's head," he says eventually, dry. "I've been called worse for less interesting reasons."
"Does it bother you?"
"That strangers online have a theory about my sexuality based on a haircut? No." He shrugs, easy. "What would bother me is you thinking for one second that any of that is true. So. Is it working?"
"No," you say, and mean it, even though some small stubborn part of you had been quietly absorbing it anyway, the way you always do. “I mean… fellas, is it gay to be affectionate to your girl? Andrew Tate thinks so.”
Chan makes a retching sound. He seems to hear the small stubborn part anyway, because that night at the dorm he doesn't let it go.
Felix is the one who actually brings it up properly, flopping onto the couch beside you with his own hair freshly redone, peering at your pixie cut with open delight.
"I love it. You look like you could be in the group," he says, completely serious, already reaching out to mess with it like it's communal property now.
"He's not wrong," Seungmin says from the kitchen, not even looking up from his phone. "Short hair widely improves a person. This is just fact."
It's Hyunjin who says the thing that actually gets you, later, when it's quieter and it's just the two of you and Changbin in the practice room while the others run lines. He studies you for a second, head tilted the exact way he does when he's looking at choreography, and says, "It suits your face. Genuinely. You have the bone structure for it, which a lot of people don't." He says it the way he'd say something about technique, no flattery in it, just an assessment, which somehow makes it land harder than if he'd been gentle about it.
"Length doesn't change anything," Changbin adds, not looking up from the lyrics he's scribbling. "You'd still be terrifying to us with a buzz cut. It's not about the hair." He glances up then, briefly, something steady and certain in it. "We didn't start liking you because of long hair. We're not going to stop liking you because it's gone."
You don't expect that to be the thing that gets you, out of everything, but it is, a little.
Chan has been quiet through most of this, sitting on the floor with his back against the mirror, but when you glance over he's watching you with that same private, wrecked expression from the kitchen, like the conversation has just been an excuse for him to look at you for an extended period.
"What," you say.
"Nothing." He gets up, crosses the room, and settles himself behind you on the bench, knees bracketing your hips, chin dropping to rest against the top of your head like he's checking it's still there. His hands find their way into your hair again, slow, methodical, scratching gently at your scalp in a way that makes you go a little soft against him despite the audience.
"You're doing the head thing again," you say.
"I'm always going to be doing the head thing now," he says, completely unrepentant, voice low against your ear. "You ruined me. I hope you're satisfied."
"I am, actually."
"Good," he murmurs, knuckles dragging gently over the back of your neck where there's nothing left to catch or tangle or worry about ruining, just you, easy to reach now in a way you weren't before. "Me too."
You had a date with Chan tonight. A totally uninterrupted night for only you and him. Or so you thought.
The date should’ve started an hour ago. At Chan’s. You were there, with the now cold meal you picked up from his favorite restaurant. Chan? Well, you didn’t exactly know where he was. He wasn’t answering your calls or texts.
After a good five minute cry you allowed yourself, you packed up the food and put it in the fridge. After sending yet another text to Chan and not receiving anything you pulled up Felix’s number.
“Hey y/n!” Felix beamed once he picked up the call.
“Hey Felix….um, is Chan with you by any chance?” You asked, picking at your lip.
“Chan? Ah, no. He’s not with me, sorry hon.” Felix replied.
Your heart sank even further than you thought it could.
“Okay. If you see him or hear from him. Can you have him call me?” You asked, sniffling.
Felix furrowed his brow, “everything okay?” He asked.
“Yeah. Just- just miss him is all.” You said quietly. “Good night Felix.” You murmured before ending the call.
You took a deep breath, turning the kitchen lights off, leaving only the hall light on for Chan. If he ever decided to come home. Walking down the hall you made the decision to sleep in the guest room instead of Chan’s room. Once you were in the guest room, you tried to ease your thoughts of what Chan could be doing.
After another cry you managed to fall asleep. You stirred awhile later hearing the door to the apartment open and close. Listening, you could hear Chan quietly rummaging about in the apartment. You curled further under the covers, watching the door.
Chan walked down the hall, rubbing his face as he walked into his room. When he didn’t see you sleeping in bed he stopped in his tracks. You normally stayed the night when he was home.
That’s when he checked his phone. Saw the countless text messages and calls from you. About a dozen from Felix, worried about you. You sounded off on the phone Felix texted Chan.
“Shit.” Chan sighed, closing his eyes.
He called your phone. Pausing when he could hear the ringtone. He walked back down the hall, stopping in front of the guest room door.
“Baby?” Chan murmured, opening the door slowly.
You swallowed, pushing yourself back further in bed. You shook your head, tears already threatening to spill over.
“Fuck. No don’t cry. I- fuck, I am so sorry. I didn’t have my phone on. After practice I- fuck” Chan knelt next to the bed, reaching for you.
“Don’t. Please don’t.” You whispered, wiping your tears. “I- you knew about the date. I told you I was getting your favorite take out. I waited for over an hour for you to come home.”
Chan’s shoulders slumped, listening. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Let’s go heat up for food, have our date now. Please?”
You looked at Chan, eyes roaming over his face. He did seem genuinely sorry for what happened.
“Y/n, please. I’ll order your favorite dessert in. I’ll- I’ll do whatever.” Chan begged.
You thought about it. Really thought about it. Making Chan wait it out. You sat up slowly, “you have to dye your hair rainbow colors. Bright….. no. Pastel…..and your eyebrows.” You murmured.
“Okay. I’ll order everything while the food warms up. You can color it tomorrow.”
“You’d seriously do that?” You asked, blinking.
“Yes. Because I’m an idiot and forgot our date. I- I fell asleep after practice in my car. I’m so exhausted…but that’s not an excuse.”
You moved towards him, pulling him into your arms. “I’m sorry” you whispered, still upset but not as much as before. “I know you’re tired. Let’s just go to bed, yeah? We can talk more in the morning.”
Chan wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tight. You could almost feel the exhaustion. He stood, carrying you in his arms. Once you both hit his mattress, he was out within a few minutes. You watched him, rubbing his back and side while he slept.
Tomorrow you’d talk. But right now, you wanted Chan to sleep.
And, if he showed up to rehearsals with pastel rainbow hair, Felix had an inkling on who made him do it.
Summary [Countless meetings with goodbye, both saying no, you - to the growing feelings, him - to the deepening obsession of you until one night under the influence you stop saying no.]
Warnings [obsession, smut (aphrodisiac influenced, unprotected sex, semi-public (in elevator)]
Rating [+18]
Word Count [3,6k]
[A/N] - It's a story that has been in my drafts for a while now and I decided this is the best it can get. If you feel like it's a bit incomplete, then it's because I lost where I was going with this, but still, I thought it would be better to see the day of light rather than just delete it. So I still hope you will like this incomplete version, my dear readers.
As always, sorry for the typos!
SKZ Masterlist ///
Everyone has their own types of fantasies. Chan has one; you also have one.
In every sharp-cut gaze, there's a hidden thought vineing itself around his mind, creating intricate mazes and the deeper he gets into it, the more lost he gets without a clear way out. His eyes capture you in their reflection, hiding you away in a philosophical transparent glass cage; if you enter a room, his eyes always follow. It's a fact, like you need air to breathe.
Chan lost count of how many times he watched you type on your computer across from his cubicle and play with the image of your manicured fingers touching his skin instead. Wonder if your hand would be shaky like his from nerves, or if you would be confident in lacing your fingers together if you dated. If you would place a finger under his chin to make him look at you and smile. Chan knows that his fantasies are beyond healthy.
If he were normal, he wouldn't feel a sharp pain in his chest every time you smile at someone else. Even the most innocent accidents, like your shoulder brushing against someone else's as you pass by, would set his emotions on fire. Each time someone so much as lightly touches you, his jaw tightens and his fist clenches under the desk. An unhealthy amount of jealousy floods his veins, like cold water is dumped over him, as impulses to whisk you away get unbearably strong. The demons that whisper in his head that tell him he should take you away and lock you up so no one can take you away from him are getting bolder each day.
If you knew what passes through his mind whenever you thank him for bringing you coffee, you would certainly feel disgusted by him and that scares him more than anything else. The sole reason he can hold on and not act on his desires.
Every workday in the office, Chan battles with his inner shadow, who would with pleasure bury its claws into you, and as long as he comes out a winner at the end of the day, you don't notice any of it.
Unaware, you peacefully sip your coffee, double-shot espresso with milk, no sugar. Excitely chat with your co-workers about your day or what movies you want to watch next, and sometimes- the topic of conversation leans toward your manager.
The way everyone describes him in the office is distantly polite, professional and demanding respect in the way he carries himself. Even when they all agree that there's something sinister hiding in his character, you make sure to defend his case. Under his mask of indifference, he doesn't strike fear in you when making eye contact like in the others. You firmly believe he's misunderstood to a degree, yet it's unmistakable that you receive different treatment than your colleagues. Not in terms of work-related stuff, but you're the only one he brings coffee for, asks about your day or offers to take you home even if you politely decline every time.
Whenever you're alone together in the elevator after work hours, there's this tension you feel. A line between professional and personal feelings which you are afraid to cross.
Chan's handsome. Unquestionable. You have two perfectly working eyes to admire his mid-long messy hair, a few strands curled behind his ear, not to think about his ass in that formal wear and strong biceps under his white shirt.
Chan is unaware that you notice him in many ways as well, but he sure knows that even if you do, it can't be to the extent he pays attention to every little thing about you.
Like now, as you sit at your desk, your lips are pursed as you concentrate on the data analysis for today's meeting. When you're deeply focused, you tend to chew your lower lip or mess up your hair by going through it with your fingers too many times to count. Tuned to your every little quirk and habit, he places your coffee on the table as his eyes scan through your document.
Your shoulders stiffen as you feel his hand reach over your shoulder to grab the mouse and click a few times on the screen to clear up your data. His hand is warm over yours, and the way he leans over you is followed by the scent of his cologne.
"If you divide this, the data becomes clearer to see." You nod your head along, dizzy from his proximity. His eyes skim over your features. It's not every day he can watch you from up close, and he uses this opportunity to inhale your scent and feel your warmth seep into his skin without acting like a total creep. Your faces are close enough that you see your blushing self reflected in his eyes.
"Thank you." Conscious of your position, you gently push him away, feeling the eyes of several of your co-workers on you. If Chan weren't so unapproachable, there would have been rumours about your relationship long ago. There's no official ban on dating, but he's still considered your superior.
Chan hopes that you don't feel his body tremble just from a single touch from you. Caught himself in time before he could show too much too soon. He steps back with his usual politeness.
He wants to tell you that if you need anything, you can find him, but decides against it. The moment you meet his eyes as he tries to speak to you, his words become tangled, and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. Outsiders see him as a man with few words, but in reality, he's just afraid to mess up in front of you.
You get this feeling when he walks away that he resembles a sad puppy. It's just an inkling you get as cracks on his mask shine through, and you're the only one noticing.
You don't think much of it. The meeting goes smoothly, and you type away on your computer for the rest of your remaining shift. You used to brush a lot of things off as coincidences, but after you talked with your friend over the weekend and the topic of your hot boss came up, you couldn't help but see more in the little things, like how Chan always clocks out the same time as you. The coffee, the way he always finds you when you need help. Even the obvious signs that you ignored before give you the impression now that Chan might romantically like you.
Do you have the guts to ask him directly? God, no.
However, now the thought took root in your brain, and you can't get it out of your head.
Stressed from the tight schedule of the current project you take part in, and your newfound consciousness about Chan, put a strain on your mood for the next few weeks. So when your friend asked you to go out drinking on Friday, you couldn't say no.
Dolled up, but with a more conservative look, you arrive at the bar your friend mentioned in a small, not too overpopulated area; even so, the inside is packed as you navigate through the crowd. Once you find her, you start ordering drinks. Some of your other friends join in, and as the drinks flow and empty shot glasses pile up on the table, your mood brightens as you chat and laugh with them. It's easy to relax as it reminds you of college days.
You have a couple of drinks in you when you see him step inside. There's a rowdy crowd at the next table, full of handsome men, some of your girlfriends even get entangled, and it blurs the lines between the two tables, naturally mixing. You didn't pay them any mind and didn't really engage in conversation with them except for the introduction.
Chan wasn't originally planning to show up, but because of his friends' repeated calls and urging, which annoyed him enough that he eventually agreed. Annoyance turned into gratitude when he saw you.
Seeing him in casual clothes only made him hotter, and with alcohol in your veins, your eyes didn't avert like usual as he approached. Ignoring his friends, he stalled in front of you. Your friends and his are watching your intense staring with curiosity. You don't know who spoke first; it doesn't even matter, but even under the slight nervousness and shaky smiles, you inhaled sharply and called him, "Manager."
Your best friend's eyes widen in realisation. Giving you and Chan room to talk, she slips away with a smirk, and Chan takes the open seat beside you without question.
"We're not in the office, Ms y/n." His frown is endearing. Slightly buzzed from the shots, your mouth opens without a second thought.
"Yet you're also calling me politely." Brushing your hair out of your face, your eyes sparkle as you look at him. You're already irresistible in his eyes, and now, as you slightly lean closer to him on your own accord, it's even harder for him to keep himself in check. The smell of your perfume is dizzying; he can get drunk on your expressions and closeness without a single sip of alcohol.
"Do you enjoy your night so far, y/n?" The way your name rolls off his lips at the end of his question makes you feel very dangerous emotions.
"Yes, it's fun." You shake your head when your friend offers you another shot. Now that Chan is here, you don't want to get hammered and make a fool of yourself, so it's best if you stop drinking from now on.
You turn back to him, curiosity getting the better of you. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"Unlike in the office rumours, I do have friends." Chan smiles when you blush, knowing exactly what you meant.
"I don't believe in rumours." Feeling bold, you place your hand on his arm. Trying to make a point here.
Chan freezes up, your fingers weighing heavily on his skin, hyperaware of it. The sheen of sparkle from your eyes and your slightly warmer body are clear signs that you're already tipsy. Your actions are moving on instinct rather than thoughtful gestures.
Before he can answer, his friends try to whisk him away for a drink. You motion for him to go, as he has already ignored them; you don't want to keep him too much.
Your friend catches you the moment you're alone, dragging you to the bathroom to interrogate you about what just happened. You spray some cold water on your face, sobering up a bit before you join the others again.
It clicks only when you see him laugh with his friends, his carefully crafted mask falls away piece by piece as the alcohol loosens him up, that you realise you want to kiss him. His entire face lights up, and the smile gives him a boyish charm.
After two bottles of water, you become the most sober person in your circle of friends. Two of your girlfriends are deep in the mouths of Changbin and Hyunjin, and the rest continue to drink and chat. The mood is great and the night is young.
It's not the first time a girl has approached Chan, and while he politely declines to give them his number or get a free drink, you can't help but get jealous.
He's not yours, but with each passing minute, your wish that he would be is getting stronger.
He treats you with careful consideration. Barely touches you, even if his eyes always linger. It feels like he's holding back. It's obvious in the way his body leans towards you, and even if someone talks to him, he keeps glancing back at what you're doing.
The night is about to end, and he still hasn't made a move on you.
You bite your lip deciding on silence as you get into the taxi and Chan's figure gets smaller and smaller as the night fades away and you pull the covers over you at home in the comfort of your bed.
You blush when you remember how you touched his chest and arm carelessly throughout the night, yelling into your pillow like a shy teenage girl.
Can you even be professional with him at this point? You certainly doubt that.
Chan looks at the picture his friend took of the two of you, talking and smiling. He keeps staring at it like it would suddenly disappear if he locks his screen.
The night he was dragged out is about to become one of his favourite memories with you. If only he could hold you. Your hand, your face. If you could only smile at him like that. He's too afraid, though, and the weekend ended on a sombre note for both of you. Scared and excited for Monday.
The only sign of your growing impatience is subtle in the way your fingers touch when he hands you coffee. Furthermore, when you ask him to help, you touch his arm or shoulder to grab his attention. Not that his attention is anywhere else. With small gestures, you're driving him insane, and one of those days, he feels his self-control slipping away.
It makes Chan panic how easily he adapts and how much he craves your accidental touches, hoping that your attention will remain only on him. If you'd let him, he would worship the ground you walk on. So he starts to avoid you. It's painful and hard to walk the other way, but it's necessary; he couldn't take a gamble on you finding out his twisted mind.
Dellusion or reality. His mind circles back to the thought that you like him. It's getting dangerous. His hands shake from control when you're near, taking everything in him to not pull you closer the moment your touch finds him.
You don't see any of this turmoil, only notice his presence that becomes less and where before there was closeness, it becomes distance.
It's only a matter of time before one of you will break and end this futile chase.
As you pay more attention to Chan you begin to see behind the shadows of his expression. The slight tremble of control and his possesive eyes.
----
His pupils are dilated, red and dangerous. Breathing shallow and rapid, a sheen of sweat is visible on his temple and neck. His composure is hanging by a thread. His body is pressed against the cold steel wall of the elevator, creating distance from you. His nails are leaving crescent moons on his palm until it bleeds. The drug in his system should be fully potent by now. The fact that he could hold back shows great restraint.
His eyes snap open as you reach for him, his hand firmly grasps your wrist mid-air hovering over his face. The longer strands of his hair obscure his vision darkened by sweat.
"Stop. I can barely control myself." Already out of breath as he speaks.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. If you were not ready to help him you wouldn't say that you would take him home.
"Fine. Just breathe." Your fingers press on his chest. It heaves up and down uneasily but he listens as he takes in a huge breath. His eyes close on their own, out of it that he probably doesn't realise he presses your wrist against his mouth. His eyes roll to the back of his skull, taking in your scent. Chan's grip ia firm enough to make the blood rush out of your fingers.
He's clearly losing his grip on self-control.
For a moment you look at the numbers growing as you wait for it to get to floor 9.
Taking advantage of his distraction you pull him in. His hot body crashes against you, your hands steady him pulling him entirely into your embrace. His face rests in the crook of your neck. His shallow breathing intensifies as he takes long sniffs. Smelling your shampoo.
His fingers shake on your back yet his arms wrap around you like a snake finally coiling over its next meal.
"You should've kept your distance." Chan's dark lower-toned voice is making you break out in goosebumps. It's a warning that lacks the previous desperation.
His hands start to wander, lower and lower until it reaches the edge of your t-shirt. His fingertips are hot on your bare back. His lips press on the shell of your ears, his warm breath hits you directly, amplifying the sound of his erratic breathing.
"Last chance to push me away." You can feel it in his tone that this will be the last warning he gives you before the last shreds of his patience wear away. Pushing his luck with wandering hands but never going over the line. Yet.
"Chan, I want you to." You cup his face in both hands. Firm and welcoming that much he can see through his already half-lidded eyes dancing at the edge of insanity from deep desire.
Desire to possess you. Kiss your lips and every inch. He imagines how he would tear your panties in the middle of this elevator and pull you up until your legs are wrapped around his waist and his cock is buried deep in you but he uses the last bits of his discipline he built over the years that he could stop the thought before it can become an action.
It doesn't mean he won't take what he can get. Deciding he waited long enough he pushes you against the cold wall, his lips cover yours, kissing you like his life depends on it.
You can barely catch your breath between his attacks. His fingers cup your face turning your head to a deeper angle, tongue forcefully claiming the inside of your mouth. You didn't think his first kiss would be so aggressive. He treated you so gently before, you need to realise that his carefully crafted persona hides a possesive man.
His kiss is everything. Unrestrained. Hurried. Deep. Passionate.
His kiss doesn't wait for you to keep up, he keeps taking and taking until you're becoming light headed.
It takes a lot of effort to pull away, you almost miss the floor you should get off on.
Chan picks you up effortlessly with one hand under your knees his other looking for his keys in his pockets.
Once he finds it he gives them to you but it's hard to find the lock when he takes the liberty to kiss down your throat, making you miss the lock several times.
Reason is leaving his shining eyes the more he touches your skin. Through your shirt, caressing your back, and under your skirt grabbing a handful of your bottom. You thank god that no one sees this unholy sight that you two make in front of his apartment door.
Your sigh of relief is heard at the same time you can hear the lock finally turning showing a slightly messy living room.
Chan pushes you against the nearest wall, your face squished between the cold concrete and his face marking every visible spot on your neck.
"Let's go to bed." Carding your fingers through his hair you try to calm him down enough to guide him into his bedroom but he has different ideas. Lifting you up with ease not waiting for you to secure your position so you make desperate attempt to keep balanced, your legs around his waist and your hands holding on for dear life around his neck.
"Too far." You shake your head in disbelief, landing on the couch with a huff. His body is crawling over you in pure impatience.
"Need you now." It's not a question anymore, it's a statement.
You can pinpoint the desperation in the way he tries to take your clothes off with trembling fingers. Chan feels like he's going feral when he sees you finally naked under him, enough foreplay with the kisses and teeth that you're already wet when he parts your folds with his fingers. Pushing two in with controlled waves his lips muting your moans with kisses.
He keeps pleasuring you for a few more minutes, his movements growing erratic, speeding up.
Only lets you go till he takes off his own clothes in record speed, but he doesn't let you admire his figure for long before he pushes your hands above your head, holding you down with one over your wrists.
The two of you continue to kiss, naked, on his couch. The temperature is rising, and each touch is hot on your skin. Chan holds onto the plush of your inner thigh, pulling it over his waist. His cock slides between your legs, ready, dripping so much precum. He positions himself with his shaky hand, acting like he will die if he's not inside you in less than a minute.
Knowing that the drug must be in full effect, that might not be so far from the truth. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he opens you up; it's not rushed like you expected.
Inch by inch, it's a steady descent. Once he's fully in, his hips start their rolls. His hands grip the armrest tightly, wanting to give you a slow and sensual feeling, but he's failing to deliver anything other than his desperate thrusts.
There's nothing slow or sweet about how he takes you over, and you're perfectly fine with that. Even if you will be sore tomorrow, or get shy if you remember how the furniture rocked underneath you, your moans too loud to be contained between the four walls of his apartment, all you can focus on right now is the mind-shattering feelings of pleasure. Your body is entirely under his control.
-------
The morning after is not like you expected.
In the morning you fearfully open your eyes, half expecting Chan to be gone and be left alone in your cold bed but once you get over the fear and roll over you feel warmth. His arm wrapped around you. It's a sight for sore eyes, messy hair and relaxed features he looks peaceful and domestic. You can picture every morning like this.
Her golden eyes shimmered with tears. The wolf in him leaned forward, restless, demanding he claim what was his. But Chan only bent his forehead to hers, tender, trembling.
“I won’t let anyone take this from us,” he whispered. “Not the curse. Not the world. Not even the moon.”
excerpt from Monsters in the Moonlight starring Chan.
Content: Idol au, mature context, shy reader, kiss marks, more of a dom chan then shy chan.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
It was supposed to be just a photoshoot. Just another concept for the brand Chan was helping promote—something edgy, something bold. And you, his best friend, had somehow ended up roped into being part of it.
The photographer’s vision? Something intimate. Something raw.
Something like kiss marks all over Bang Chan’s chest, neck, and stomach.
You’d laughed when they explained it, thinking it was a joke. But Chan had agreed almost instantly, flashing his dimple and saying, “Yeah, Y/N’s perfect for it. She’s comfortable with me. We’ll make it look natural.”
Comfortable. Right.
Now here you were, backstage in the dimly lit studio, your lips stained red from the makeup artist’s touch-up, and Chan standing in front of you with his shirt already off—tan skin, defined abs, and that confident smirk faltering just a little when your eyes met.
“Ready?” he asked, voice lower than usual.
You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Totally.”
The first kiss was awkward. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his collarbone, and both of you laughed nervously.
“Sorry,” you muttered against his skin. “This is just…”
“Weird?” he offered, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Yeah.”
But the camera clicked. The photographer gave you encouragement. And you did it again.
And again.
You trailed marks down his chest. Light pressure. Lingering lips. His skin was warm under your mouth, and you could feel every breath he took—shallow, restrained.
At one point, your hand landed on his waist to steady yourself, and he flinched—just barely.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
He didn’t say anything, but his fingers brushed your arm in response. Gentle. Anchoring.
By the time you got to his stomach, the tension was unbearable. You could feel it humming in the air—unsaid things and stolen glances. Your lips pressed lower, just above his waistband, and his hand gripped the edge of the table behind him.
The photographer’s voice was distant. Something about how good the shots were turning out. You barely heard it.
Finally, someone called a break. You turned away, heart pounding, heading toward the dressing room to wipe the lipstick off.
You didn’t expect Chan to follow.
He closed the door behind him, locked it, and stood there, eyes dark and unreadable.
“Chan—”
“What are we doing?” he asked, voice rough. “Because that didn’t feel like just a shoot.”
Your back hit the counter. He moved closer.
“You think I didn’t notice how your hands were shaking?” he said, his fingers brushing your hip. “How you hesitated every time your lips got too low?”
You exhaled, trying to stay composed. “We’re friends. We’re just—”
“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” he growled, cutting you off. “You think I haven’t noticed how you avoid my eyes lately? How you bite your lip when I get too close?”
He pressed a hand to the wall beside your head, caging you in, but not touching you beyond that. Giving you space—barely.
“Say something,” he murmured.
You reached up, thumb brushing one of the kiss marks you’d left earlier. “You liked it,” you whispered. “Didn’t you?”
His control snapped.
He kissed you—hard. Mouth urgent, hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t get enough of you. And you kissed him back, all the heat and tension from the day exploding between you in a rush of teeth and tongue and desperate gasps.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours.
“That’s not leaving the studio,” he whispered. “That’s mine.”
My bestie was looking for HyunChan x reader and couldn't find anything she liked...so now I have volunteered to sacrifice myself to take on the Red Lights duo. A venture I shall brave, knowing nevertheless that I shall perish in my duties to bring her what she craves.
Well wishes go with me as I ready myself for battling with the dragons!!
✷ There are some things that change with the light. The sea. Your apartment. Lee Chan.
✷ genre: angsty with a happy ending
✷ wordcount: 5187
✷author's note: hello, i had the urge to just. finish a story. to write THE END in a document. to feel the dopamine kick in. so i wrote this! it is great? who knows! you should know you are the author one must think - well, a secret between us: i didn't read this, i am posting without checking it, and without a beta read [because we die like men][in a war with typhoid i guess] anyways - the island by the way is a real island - it is called Fernando de Noronha and there is indeed a dog's bay and a very serious problem with red lionfish you can google it. i know nothing about this field so i just used googled and went with it, anyways enjoy. i am sorry for the lack of effort in the pics i am tired bye
✷ This work is a part of "The Loviest Time Universe" - A collection of stories inspired by Carly Rae Jepsen's album
✷ Smut under the read more, please if you are under 18 do not talk to me, thanks! ✷
After last night
Things look different in the pale moonlight
There are some things that change according to the light.
The sea – that during the day is warm, that welcomes every adventure you have with your friends. You could always escape to the sea; you could always plant your feet on the sand and watch the waves wash over the shore.
But with the sunset that haven always felt different. It seemed like with the absence of light a new quality emerged with the new waters – maybe it was the lack of people screaming and enjoying the day, maybe it was the soft and colder wind, you couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Your small one room apartment near the beach, that cosplays as a small oven during the days and a small Siberia during the night. Every hour of the day the lights entering through the windows transformed the shadows around it.
And Lee Chan.
He was the one thing that changed the most during sunrise and sunset.
The way the light illuminated his face through the messy strands of hair during the wee hours of sunrise, the way that his smile grew bigger around noon, the way his face got a boyish glow when the sun was setting, and his eyes were growing sharp and smaller. The way that he looked like a completely different person under the moon light one week ago.
And it ruined your life.
“I thought you would be on the beach right now,” Seungkwan – your best and only friend – said while putting the açai bowl in front of you.
“I told Seungcheol that I had enteritis, you know how emphatic he gets when the subject is almost dying in your own bathroom.”
“He doesn’t look like it, but he is your boss,” he says finally uncrossing his arms and sitting in the table with you, there is not a single soul in the small store he runs, “you know you guys are going to the island next week to deal with all those invasive species.”
“How do you know about that?” You ask with your mouth full – the açai cold against your palate and making your brain freeze.
“Lee Chan,” Seungkwan sighs, “he was pestering me in the wee hours of the day, which made me threaten Seungcheol about paying me more because you guys are insufferable really, but that’s not the point, the point is-”
“There is no point in this whole story,” you say picking up the bowl and getting another mouthful, maybe if you get yourself a brain freeze and die maybe you can escape the subject looming over your head the last weeks.
“Argh,” Seungkwan screams, “you will have to face Lee Chan at certain point you guys are doing the same project for four years – the project you moved to this hellhole for, the project that will grant you a silly creatures of the sea PhD.“
“I can always change projects,” you spite.
“No, you can’t,” Seungkwan says so matter-of-factly that makes you angry, “you spent forty-five minutes telling me how it was your dream since you were five and how you will have to pay back everything you received so far.”
“I can always kill Lee Chan,” it sounds like the last resource but- “and you can always help me.”
“That would make me the happiest man on earth and you know that, but I cannot kill my own family, and killing your crush is just-“ Seungkwan ponders, “depressing, It is just make a depressing headline.” He adjusts on the seat, changes his tone of voice to a news anchor’s impersonation; “Young woman kills romance interest after one drunk fuck. Depressing”
“Well,” you finally let your spoon go, “he did it first, so why I cannot avoid him?”
“Because you are not fifteen, and because you are brighter than Lee Chan that dumb fucker,” and it is true but you need to bite back your own tongue and hold back your own leg to not kick Seungkwan under the table and say that Lee Chan is not a dumber fucker even though every action the last past week has been saying the exact opposite. Maybe Seungkwan is right.
“And like,” your friend continues, “there is so much you can shit, is it day two right? I don’t think someone can survive three days of shitting for twenty four hours nonstop.”
“For God’s sake Seungkwan, I am eating.”
“And,” he starts when finally someone enters the store making the bell on the top of the door ring, “because I cannot for the love of god listen another forty five minutes of Lee Chan ranting about you, he is worried.” He finally gets up, knocking on the table like he wants to say something more, but he just turns around and get his costume service smile on and ask what the girl with white blond hair wants – bleaching your hair and going on a beach? Beginner’s mistake.
Seungkwan’s voice keeps ringing on your head.
Maybe he was right, maybe killing Chan was too much only because you two hookup once and he immediately acted like nothing happened in the following days and then you couldn’t keep up with the façade that everything was fine and pretended to be sick to not see his face for 48h in hope that that would give you peace of mind.
Maybe you could just lie again and tell Seungcheol that your period just arrived and going to the beach and entering the water would be a big no no – there are sharks out there, we are working with sharks, you know how they can smell blood and then a drop of blood and we are experiencing Jaws in real life.
Seungcheol would get pink in his cheeks due to being extremely embarrassed and would let you go if you made another three people witness the scene.
There is no way he would remember that for the past three months you had not experienced this problem. Soonyoung wouldn’t either, neither would Wonwoo. Perfect plan.
Maybe you could avoid Lee Chan like the plague for the rest of your life.
Maybe Lee Chan was a dumb fucker.
Maybe you would ruin your life just because you fell in love with said fucker.
Maybe you should just pack your bags and never see him again.
In the moment I was hypnotized
You can go ahead and open your eyes
You avoid Lee Chan for exactly nineteen hours and eight minutes when he finally bangs on your door. And for a split second you think it was better when he was the one doing the avoiding.
“Are you sure you are good to go?” He asks in the cramped stairs of your very old building and suddenly you are too self-aware.
Are you fucking ugly?
Are you looking unwell? (Maybe that is just a consequence of his presence, yet you shouldn’t kick a dead dog).
Maybe Seungkwan is right, Lee Chan is a dumb fucker and therefore, you should just get over this dumb crush and treat that one fuck like getting out the system kind of thing.
“I am great,” is the only monosyllabically answer you can come up with.
Maybe it is the light, soft entering through the stylized brick wall – those small flowers made from clay and concrete that embellishes the corridor. Or maybe it is how the corners of his mouth don’t curve up. But something in Chan looks different – for the first time he looks old, or his own age without the boyish gleam that you love, serious like he only gets when he is analyzing the materials that your groups collected.
“Are you really?” He asks again when he finally reaches the stairs leaving you three steps higher than him, “are we good?”
Maybe that was the problem with your and Chan – maybe you were just in different levels of the same stair, that eventually leads to the same place.
No, you want to say, we are definitely not good.
We are so not good that I thought about blocking your phone when you didn’t send me the last tiktok aberration you find when we were supposed to be sleeping to get up before five o’clock.
We are not good because I have been two days inside my apartment, and you didn’t updated me if Wonwoo is still suffering on the boat and if Soonyoung forgot everything like he does every damn trip.
We are so not good because I want to kiss your stupid mouth.
“Yep,” you hiccup, “talked to Cheol about it, I think it was something that I ate, you know how it is, I should not buy street food at night on the beach.”
“Okay, we are good then great,” his hand patting his flimsy shorts, “that’s good.”
“Chan,” you say almost inaudible - your throat and heart constrict at the same time making your voice crumble.
“That’s good, that’s great,” he repeats, “I am glad you are okay.”
“Chan-“
“By the way we need to check if we have the plankton nets on the boat, Soonyoung forgot it yesterday which caused like an one hour delay that caused Wonwoo to freak out which made Seungcheol stressed, you know how it is, like domino effect.”
Yeah, I see you
And I think it's gonna change my life
“Are you good?” Wonwoo asks while he fixes his glasses under his cap.
“I am great,” you answer robotic. You start to think that after 28 are you good question you start to feel not good at all.
“I told you guys,” Seungcheol sighs, “you shouldn’t eat food made in the sand of the beach, those are a safety hazard, just cross the street and eat something Seungkwan put it together please. Next week we need to go to the island, the situation with the red lionfish is getting out of hand and I can’t have any of you dying on this boat or on the island.”
“And if the person dying is Soonyoung after he forgot the sediment corers?”
“That,” Seungcheol breathes, “that wouldn’t be a natural death that would be a crime, and I would be the perpetrator, so we are talking about different stuff.”
“Can you guys stop? I used the checklist today, okay? Everything is on the boat.” Soonyoung screams.
“Even the folsom plankton samplae splitters?” Wonwoo asks sitting by your side and cleaning his glasses with the bottom of his shirt.
“That was Chan’s responsibility, you said I shouldn’t handle that,” Soonyoung screams again from the other side of the boat.
“Exactly my point,” Wonwoo whisper.
“Can you guys stop fighting already,” Chan sits on your side making the small bench even smaller, you are pretty sure it is not a three-seat.
The small spaces make you claustrophobic.
The sun is up now, making Chan’s hair appear to be a lighter shade of brown. The ray of light makes his nose look more pronounced by casting a shadow on his cheeks.
Your heart thumps against your ribcage. Your shoulders are flushed together, your elbows touched, there is no space between his legs and yours. It is the first time since that night that you are touching Chan like this. The heat of his body is the same. His smell like the sea – like always, the salt and sand splashed across his body, and soap.
And in the wee hours of the day unfortunately the sea is your safe haven.
“Fuck,” Wonwoo sighs as soon as the boat starts to move, “I am getting sick.”
“Did you take your meds?”
“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo screaming while going inside the boat.
You slide across the small bench finally breathing when your body disconnects from Chan’s.
“I don’t even know why he choose to be a marine biologist if he feels like dying every time we get on a boat,” Chan’s says like he never once in his life did something unreasonable.
He stretches out his arms, like he always does, like his body needs more space when it is tired. You can feel your bodies connect again, his arm against your nape, his hands brushing against your jaw.
“People make stupid decisions, Lee Chan,” you say before you can think about it – like there is no filter between every damn thought and your mouth.
You don’t look, you can’t dare to.
You only feel Chan’s eyes on you while you stare ahead without moving because the mere thought of lifting a finger or breathing after saying what you just did makes you shiver in fear. Everything feels so delicate right now, like a gust of widow could break the sandcastle you built.
“Hey you guys, can your help with the nets?” Seungcheol screams from the back of the boat.
“Sure thing,” you say getting up and leaving Chan on the small bench.
Not afraid of getting close this time
You can go ahead and open your eyes
There is a motto – you don’t remember when you saw it – but it rings true know.
There is nothing so bad that can’t get worse.
It sums up your and Chan situation.
It reaches a point where you do not know if you are avoiding him, or he is avoiding you. Or you are both avoiding each other and doing a great job at it. Every time you are dealing with the Plankton with Seungcheol he works with Wonwoo dealing with the sediments or water samplers.
When you are finally on Seungkwan’s you take turns going to the bathroom, so you don’t sit together on the table – which only gets you a look from Seungkwan. When Seungcheol asks if someone can take one for the team and make sure Soonyoung gets everything the next morning you say you can do it – which breaks the ritual of Chan knocking on your door and walking down the street with you till the harbor.
When Fridays arrive, he doesn’t ask what movies you are watching that night. He doesn’t send you another Tiktok video or how his older bothers – Seokmin and Jihoon – has been pestering him about visiting him for the first time in the city. He thinks Jihoon doesn’t even want to travel, but Seokmin said he would always visit his younger brother. Chan joked at the time that his brother was talking like Lee Chan was in a prison waiting for a weekly visit, to which Seokmin answered worse, you are knee deeps on the Academia pyramid scheme and the prison is closer.
When the day to go to the island Soonyoung was the one that pointed out that you two were being weird – sleep was your excuse while Chan swore, he was not weird, everything was normal.
And maybe it was. Maybe you were the only one that was suffering inside – the only one who heart was shirking, that was extremely miserable because you got a taste of Chan and never again you would have him. All the people of the world were right, maybe never having it is easier than getting robbed of it.
Maybe Chan’s kiss changed your palate and now everything nothing would taste the same.
You insisted that you could deal with all the red lionfish killing in the Dog’s Bay, Chan swore he could be responsible for Saint Antony’s beach. Seungcheol made you two promise you wouldn’t leave your post to talk to one another because he could not leave this island with one single red lionfish in the sea endearing a whole ecosystem.
You promised. Chan did too.
When the sun reaches the highest point in the sky you think the promise was somewhat futile. Now with the sun set and the stars dancing on the black sky you think that never again you would go against Seungcheol to steal a few minutes with Chan.
“Can we talk?”
Chan’s voice makes you jump out of your skin.
The moonlight is soft against the waves, the wind makes the palm trees dance, every shadow swaying languid. Everything screams peace and quiet until you hear Lee Chan’s voice.
“What are you doing here?” You finally look at him – his hand inside his pockets. There is redness in his cheeks, like his skin is safe keeping the rays of the day.
It makes you sad. The flushed cheeks a proof that you didn’t call him to reapply sunscreen during the whole day after walking around the island searching and cataloguing red lionfish, the fatal proof that Chan is indeed a dumb fucker like Seungkwan said so.
“What are you doing here?” He says finally sitting on the sand by your side, “I knocked on your bedroom’s door and you didn’t answer so it was or the beach or waking up Seungcheol to say you died and I needed your room’s key.”
“Hmm,” is the only noise you can make, and you pray it dignifies as an answer to Chan.
“Are we really doing this?” Chan asks, his feet going under the sand, “it has been weeks now, since-“ he halts.
Since that night, he wants to say but he doesn’t even have the courage to say it.
It must be the sand, the salt or the fact that you have been awaken for more than twenty hours now but your eyes hurt. Your eyeballs tingle, making you blink to the point that the moon gets unfocused.
“We are not like this, I hate that we are being like this,” his voice is softer now, “I know you think it was a mistake so I don’t have any hope so-“
Another gust of wind hits your face, and you feel your heart get a size smaller.
“A mistake?” You say in a humorless laugh.
Chan winces. There is no boyish glow when you look at him, he looks tired, and his soft shirt is wrinkled, and the corners of his mouth are not turning upwards.
It makes you miserable. It makes you nauseated that you are the reason why Chan looks so out of his body.
“Yes?” It sounds like a question that you don’t quite know if it is a real one, “I heard you talk with Wonwoo on the boat the next morning how everything was a mistake. I-“ Chan breathes again, his face turning sour, “It sucked to hear I guess but I got the message,” he says passing his hands through his hair, his head limp between his shoulders. “I am not an asshole, okay? I can deal with rejection, so you don’t need to feel bad or avoid me, I can deal with it we can go back to normal behavior, even Wonwoo asked what was going on.”
“Chan-“
“I can take it okay? It is on me, you never told me you were looking for something, you never told me anything really, so any ideas that I had about it, it is on 100% on me, I take responsibility for it. You never said anything, I just ran with it, it is totally my fault, so I am not ever angry I am a totally percent okay.”
“Chan-“ you try again, your mind racing against itself trying to put the whole picture together, trying to make sense of the puzzle in front of you.
“It is okay,” he repeats, “it was just-“ he sighs, “I know it is not your fault so we are good, I understand, again you didn’t said anything that would entail we holding hands in the library or going on the dates in the seafood restaurant or that our movies night would turn into something more, that all was my own wishful thinking so I don’t blame you and I don’t blame that you think it was a mistake, which clearly you told Wonwoo it was and I heard so I get it-”
“It wasn’t the party your doofus,” you scream finally making Chan shut up his enormous mouth – the corners now rounded, his irritating lips apart enough to make you think about your lips in between. “It was the non-sleeping part of it, even if it was the party that would not mean you.”
“Hm?” Chan hiccups a noise, his head tilting like you just knocked out every damn thought that was on his head and now a tumbleweed rolling in his skull like the beginning of a western movie.
“I thought about it,” you blurt it out, “I thought about it too. I was already thinking that we should order pizza and enjoy a movie. I did the whole scheme on my head ok? We would go to your house, Yeonjun would be drawing on the living room desk and Changbin would be screaming because he needs space for his digital mixer or whatever, we would laugh and pack enough clothes so you could spend the weekend, and we would do all the things we love. Not the seafood restaurant but a stroll on the pier, then we would wake up at four am and we would probably fight because you would hog the bathroom and ask stupid questions like ‘why are you washing your head if you are going to the beach’ or something insane like that. But you were the one that avoided me like the plague so if you add one plus one…”
“Ah,” Chan mutters – the corners of his mouth dancing, still unsure if it should go upwards and stretch into a smile.
“You are so dumb,” you say, this time your voice is sugary sweet.
Chan’s finally laugh – a loud sound that echoes through the empty beach. The corners of his mouth finally upwards this time, unabashedly. It stays in that position even when the sound dies but his mouth continues to stretch around his face like a cat stretching into the sun, almost lazily.
“Sorry,” he says, “what was that? I was too busy thinking about you saying that you think about me every second of the day.”
“I didn’t say that,” you retort but when Chan’s arms wraps around your waist you let yourself melt against his arms, your head finding it’s place on his shoulder, the sand against your legs.
“Oh sorry, that was me then,” he says kissing the crown of your head.
Your heart is so full that it could burst.
The research team’s dorm on the island is right by the beach and the whole time you walk towards it, Chan’s hand never leaves yours.
Your hands are interlocked when you both shower in the outdoors shower to get rid of the sand – Chan’s free hand patting the back of your legs and shorts. He keeps his grip firm when you struggle to get into the house – shoulders knocking against each other and the door frame. He doesn’t let go of your hand when you two walk through the door of his room.
The grip only seems to hesitate when you finally reach for your doorknob.
“Chan,” You call, pulling his hand until he Is inside the room.
The room, as Seungkwan would put it, is depressing. The single bed is so small not even you fit in that, let alone you and Chan. There is a small desk that is also depressing – you knee always hit the leg when you try to sit and work on writing your reports. The television on the wall is the only proof that humanity happened in this room other than your big ass backpack on the floor.
But when Chan presses his body against yours, his hands caress your jaw, and you finally get a taste of him again, you could not be bothered by the state of the room. You are too happy to care.
There is something holy, you think, in the way that Chan breathes every little noise you make. In the way that his hands dance on your ribcage with every breath. In the way that his tongue tastes you to the point that you are losing your damn mind.
There is almost no light now – the moon is timid in the sky, yet the colors in Chan’s cheeks are more pronounced. Your fingertips expand around his arm, and you can feel how warm his skin is – a small reminded that he spent the whole day under the sun.
Chan’s smile is lazy now. You feel like you are bathing in warm water, almost becoming undone when Chan’s hand presses against your stomach under your shirt.
“I want you,” Chan’s breath against your mouth, “so much.”
The noise that leaves your body should be embarrassing, but it isn’t, solely because Chan’s grunt against your neck. He nips at it, his lips following the dull pain that travels to your body. His hands grip at your hips. Another noise leaves your body, it makes Chan search for your mouth again, his lips hot against your jaw before he kisses you.
It is almost like exponential growth of a particular species of fish – they grow slowly, until it burst upward. Almost like something breaks inside of you and you can’t control how you reach for him – your nails finking in his shoulders, the way that your fingers slide against the material of his shirt until you are yanking it like there is nothing more sinful than having that layer between Chan’s and the moonlight.
Chan finally takes the matter in his own hand and makes his shirt disappear in that tiny room.
This Chan you think – is your favorite. This one under the moon, this one that every well-defined muscle gets framed by the dim light, this one that sits in the bed and pulls you until his back hits the wall, until you frame his legs with yours.
“I thought,” Chan hiccups when your fingers touch his waist, slowly getting under the material of his shorts, “I thought we wouldn’t do this again,” he admits.
“We can do this again,” you say, your tongue thick against the roof of your mouth, Chan’s hand is splay open around your back, his breath hot and haggard against your neck. It sounds like a plea to your own ears, but you don’t care.
When your hands finally envelopes Chan, his dick hard and hot against it, you whisper, “we will do it again.”
Chan’s hand holds your wrist. You can see his throat going up and down, almost like he is searching for air – it is only then you remember to breath too.
“Not like this,” he whispers so hurried you almost don’t catch it.
Chan lifts your shirt enough to kiss your ribcage, enough to kiss your sternum and to plant his lips against your breast. There is something hurried about Chan – he doesn’t take your bra off, he just gets it out of the way enough to kiss your nipple making the bra wire sit uncomfortable against your skin.
When he sucks your nipple into his mouth, he doesn’t make any mention of taking off your shirt, or bra, the only thing that he does is grab your thighs and pull your even close to him. You are joined by the hips, the flimsy material of your shorts and panties being the last barrier between you and him.
“I love when you do that,” Chan says against the skin of your breast. You know that by now Chan will be walking under the sun with crescent moons across his shoulders – your nails carving him a note that he is yours to every other human being.
“Hm?” It is between a noise and a question.
“The noises you make,” he says dragging down your shorts, “I love every sound,” he moves around the bed – pulling your hips, moving your legs, rotating his hips enough that you can feel him against your entrance, making you hiccup when he moves again finally leaving your naked.
When Chan’s hands leave you is like a cold and big wave washing you to the deeps ends of the sea. Terrifying.
“Come back,” you say without even realizing, pulling Chan by the shoulder, reaching your hands to his neck.
A laughter dances in the air again – it is smaller than the one at the beach, but it follows the same rhythm. “Do you want me that much?” He asks and you can feel the heat against your cheeks.
His hands hold your hips, finally – you can breathe again. Chan is around you - everywhere. You feel him under your thighs, against your stomach, his hands flushed against your spine pressing you against his body.
“I want you too,” he confesses, and you ask yourself if you answered his question – you don’t remember, but everything is getting fuzzy. Your skin is pulled taught, you can feel yourself ripped at the seams.
Chan guides your hips again, upwards this time. His mouth envelopes your breast again, his teeth pulling your nipple enough to the resembling pain - a reminder that everything happening is real, Chan is right there.
One of his hands leaves your hips and trails your body until it reaches your pussy. You and Chan respond at the same time with noise.
“Chan,” you breath out, unsure what you want to say.
“I know,” he says like he has figured out what you couldn’t fathom for yourself. “I’m right here,” he whispers before kissing you again. His mouth doesn’t leave yours when he guides his dick for your pussy. He doesn’t stop kissing you when you sink into him. You moan against his mouth and Chan eats every noise you make.
“That’s it,” Chan says, his hands griping your ass, mouth breathing against your neck, his tongue licking your skin.
You can feel Chan everywhere. Stretching you in all the right places. The muscles of your thighs burn, and you can feel the sweat form in every corner of your body. Chan guides your every move. Groping your legs, holding your waist, grasping your hips. There is not a centimeter of your body that he left untouched.
Chan’s fingers find your clit again. He buckles his hips and his rhythm falters. It gets harder to breath, “please baby,” Chan whispers against your throat and it is enough to make you cum, Chan follows you not even a second later.
It is hot, you can feel the sweat in the back of your knees, in your nape. The room is small enough to turn into a furnace, and the fact that you can feel Chan around you everywhere doesn’t help.
“We should shower,” you mutter, eyes closed and feeling your body move because Chan is fighting to get more comfortable, trying to find a position that this small bed can fit both of you.
“We are not moving,” he claims, “I am literally not felling my legs right now give me another hour.”
You laugh, finally, opening your eyes and looking at Chan – he is the one with his eyes closed now, the light dances on his features, but the corner of his mouth are upwards.
Chan changes according to the light.
But you think this one, this lazy Chan, spent on this small bed, with the corners of his mouth upwards is your favorite Chan.
