Asian Celebrities Imagines

Bang Chan: Overstimulated

"Hi," You manage back. You don't have much energy to talk, but there was so much love in that single word you couldn't help but return it.

"You're gonna wash up, right? After work 'n' everything?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Cool. I'm gonna go back to our room." He pauses as if he's thinking of something else to say. When he can't find anything, he just kisses you again.

His lips feel perfect like yours. Pillowy, soft, still tasting of the cherry Vaseline he applied hours ago. He holds the kiss for a second longer than most gentle kisses are. His hand stays holding yours for a moment later. Even in such small movements, he's clinging to the softness, the innocence.

He can sense the anxiety that's mounted in your chest, your throat. He doesn't want to rush you into talking, he just wants his baby better. So he holds it. He clings to the calmness for just a second longer.

You pull back and smile at him. He nods and turns around, fingertips skimming the door frame as he walks back into your bedroom.

Washing up is fast but is in no way fun. Your soul still feels like it's scratching to get out. The smell of steam is the only thing in the bathroom, and without Chan's smell or the soft touch of his skin, the toxin is back in your bloodstream. You can feel each jet of water from the showerhead, each drop of soap, each plume of steam rising off your skin. You don't stay in that shower very long

You're able to bundle yourself in pajamas. Safe fabric, finally. Something soft, familiar. That worn-out t-shirt you stole from Chan. The shorts are a bit too stretched out but you can't bring yourself to toss them. Nothing too tight, too smooth, too rough. Everything's safe.

You run your fingers over the hem of the shirt as you walk into your bedroom, the cool fabric slipping between your fingertips.

Peering into the bedroom, you just sit and admire your boyfriend for a few seconds. It's clear he's going to go to sleep early. Despite it only being about 8:00 or so, he's already shirtless and partially under the blankets. He's lazily scrolling on his phone, a thousand-yard stare painting his eyes. And yet that bright, joyful smile hasn't left his face. It's more tiring now. Much more gentle. Much less upturned. But there's so much peace in his face. The faint magenta light that glows against his walls has painted his skin a beautiful mural of pinks and purples. He looks like something you'd find in a prodigy's photography portfolio.

You take a deep breath and walk in, clambering on top of the mattress. Without a second of consideration, you lie face down on his torso. Resting the side of your face in the middle of his chest, you slip your arms under his back, holding him close to you. He's smooth and warm, his typical gentle, warm smell filling your nose. You take a deep breath, letting your lungs fill with him.

Without a second's hesitation, Chan rests one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head. He looks down and kisses your, his lips brushing ever so faintly across the top of your head.

"Why, hello there, my pretty baby." He muses, his voice is high and playful. He may be tired, but he's overflowing with happiness at the mere sight of you. Being able to see, touch, and smell you. Each sense activated is another damn bursting with golden light.

Hi. You think. You don't respond out loud. You want to. You do. But there's no energy. With the overstimulation fading away, all you can feel is how tired you are and how shitty you feel.

Chan strokes your head lightly with his fingertips, trying to lull you into a calmer state of mind. It's working, thankfully, and he wants to make sure it stays working.

"You okay?" He asks you, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Mm-mm." You manage, unmoving beneath his soothing hands.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Mm-mm."

He sighs. You can't see it, but he nods.

"That's okay." He assures you. "You don't need to if you don't want to." He kisses your head again, this time longer. He holds your head a bit firmer, pressing you into his lips. "I love you so much, my baby." He sighs.

With that, he doesn't say anything else.

You stay like that for a while. The only sounds are the pitter-patter of an approaching storm against the window and the breaths of Chan beneath you. His warmth leaks into you, that golden love inside of him infecting you yet again. Sticky sweet honey that holds the two of you together.

Each breath you take in unison, every small circle of fingertips on the skin, all the tiny kisses you press into each other. With every minuscule act of love, you're pulled closer together. Closer to each other's souls, closer to sleep.

Eventually, the overstimulation and anxiety have completely leached itself out of your body. His fingertips no longer feel like hands. You're able to snuggle deeper into his chest, he's able to hold you tighter. He buries his face in your hair as you bury yours in his skin. He smells good. He smells like home.

Despite sleep dangling above your head like an anvil tied with twine, it's yet to knock you out. Your eyes are shut, and your body is still. Yet you still haven't passed out. No matter if you have it or not, it's comfortable. It's sweet. It's safe.

After a half house of this wake-sleep silence, Chan speaks up again. His voice is raspy and deep, indicative of someone about to pass out themselves. Still, he doesn't stop himself from speaking to you again.

"I know you had a bad day, and I want you to remember that tomorrow's going to be better. Even if work is worse, I'll be waiting right here when you get home. I promise. I'll be waiting right here for you. I'll always be here to make sure you're alright. You're the love of my life, Y/N. I can't just let you feel like shit." He takes a deep breath. "I love you, Y/N. Sweet dreams."

He presses one final kiss onto your head, and as his lips leave your skin, you're finally pulled under.

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