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#stray kids fic
ch4nb4ng · 2 days ago
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Affliction
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Paring: chan x fem!reader
Genre: Friends to lovers, college party
Warnings: Making out, nipple play, praise, dirty talk, 69, oral (f and m receiving), cum play, mentions of erections, squirting
Word count: 4.9k
Tagging: This idea couldn't have been made without j (@jsung01) so thank you for helping me come up with this and proof reading it for me :( Also tagging el (@spilledtee) bc she said was looking forward to it so here's the notification!
Summary: The party was fun, Chan was great company, but when Changbin accidentally spills a drink you and stains your clothes, Chan is reminded of his dirty little fantasies where you happen to be the main character.
You began to laugh, simultaneously taking a sip from your almost empty red cup as you heard Jisung tell his so-called ‘scary’ story.
“Jisung dude come on,” Changbin snickers, playfully hitting him on the chest, “that was one of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard. There really wasn’t anything scary about it at all.”
The other 5 boys nodded their heads in agreement with Changbin. To be fair, Jisung forgetting his clothes in the communal dryer and then remembering as he was halfway through cleaning himself in the communal shower, then running from one end of the campus to the other with nothing but a towel wrapped around him for the second time: it was hilarious. Scary for him, but nothing but amusement for you and his 5 other friends.
However, the storytelling was one of the least fascinating things that were happening. There was a variety of things to focus on: the blaring music, the array of cups on the kitchen counter, couples, throuples, foursomes, making out in almost every corner of Chan’s house. But the main thing that was taking up all of your concentration was how close he seemed to be to you at this current moment.
You were leaning, gently sitting on the edge of the coucharm, Chan sitting right next to you on a single chair, his ankle accidentally brushing against your lower leg every couple of seconds. Although it seemed like some kind of innocent mistake, you knew it was anything but that. You could feel his eyes lingering on you with every collision of skin, the sting of his gaze burning holes into the side of your face. You wanted to stare back, see that lustful stare that you had only seen a handful of times; but with other people. You had yet to experience it, personally that was. You turned to him for a brief moment instead, causing him to freeze for a moment, a friendly smile forming on his lips as you finally met his gaze. He took his foot away, crossing his legs as a sign of defeat, knowing very well that he had been caught.
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course y/n,” he smiled, sending you a quick wink.
“Then why do you keep kicking my leg?”
He said nothing, eyes drifting to your lips for a brief moment, a flush of butterflies erupting in your stomach as your eyes followed his trail, but you ignored it.
“So,” you began, hurriedly trying to change the subject, “how was your first two weeks? I feel like I haven’t seen you much.”
“Oh it was all over the place,” he sighed, taking a small sip in between his sentences, “all my professors are really nice though, so I cannot complain.”
“Who wants a drink?”
Seeing as your cup was already empty, the call from Seungmin across the room refilling random cups was perfect timing. Jumping out of your seat, you turned to Chan, holding out your hand as if to give him your cup, cheerfully strolling into the kitchen, gently nudging Minho out of the way and filling the two cups to the brim.
“Woah, y/n,” he smirked, grabbing you by the hips, placing him in front of you and closer to the keg, “someone is eager to party tonight.”
“What can I say Minho, I’m a girl that likes to have fun.”
He gave you barely any time to speak before the hands that had been placed on your hips were spinning you around, enclosing you in the small space between the kitchen bench and his body. His lips curled into a smirk as his eyes traveled up and down your body, eventually bringing them back up to meet your own.
“You want to have fun, huh?”
“Of course,” you scoffed, unfazed by his, in what your mind, was a poor attempt at trying to win you over, “Who doesn’t want to have fun?”
“We can have fun right now”, Minho tilted his head as he knelt his body forwards, drawing dangerously close to yours. ”You want to get out of here?”
You rolled your eyes, breaking free from his grip and turning away from his gaze.
“Nice try, Minho,” you yelled at him as you began walking back to where your friends had been , “Only in your dreams!”
You didn't bother waiting for his response, chuckling to yourself as you walked up to Chan, who had a puzzled frown on his face when he saw your giddy smile.
“What was that about?”, he asked you, nodding towards the spot you walked from.
You glanced behind you. “Oh, that? Just Minho trying to get in my pants again, nothing new”
“Oh, that must be annoying,” he chuckled, a painful one as he hid his jealousy behind a hefty swig of alcohol.
Truth was, Chan was well aware of the scene that had just unfolded in front of his eyes. He saw the whole encounter, the reminder of his annoyance apparent once he looked down at his palms and noticed the crescent shaped marks left by his nails digging too far into his skin. Even Jisung had taken notice, putting his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.
He usually didn’t care who you spoke to, but Minho: Minho was another story. He had a strong disdain for the guy, especially due to his reputation that he had with other people. Using and discarding them like they were purely put in the earth for his and only his benefit. This was a minute detail, however, seeing as Minho wasn’t really involved much with Chan’s circle. He didn’t know what it was, but the idea of you ever having anything to do with the younger boy was infuriating. Not wanting to show said jealousy to you was integral to your friendship in Chan’s opinion. He still didn’t really know why he was so jealous anyway.
“It’s fine,” you sighed, quickly changing the subject. “I'm bored, do you want to go dance?”
“The fact that you even have to ask me speaks volumes about our friendship.”, Chan replied with a smile.
You shook your head, a placid smile on your lips as you stood up and took Chan’s wrist, beginning to mildly tug him to the living room dance floor. You began to giggle, but sadly you were interrupted, feeling something, more yet, someone clumsily hit your shoulder. Everything felt in slow motion for a minute, until you looked up and saw Changbin’s mouth open, two cups on the floor, and a wet patch covering your jeans.
“Changbin!”
“Fuck y/n, I’m so sorry, they just slipped out of my hand I-”
“It‘s fine dude,” Chan sighed, keeping his calm, friendly composure, “we know how clumsy you can be.”
You chuckled, admiring the way he was trying to make light of the situation.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”
You nodded, following Chan upstairs to his bathroom. You were in luck, seeing as this was Chan’s house, he knew where everything was kept. Opening the cupboard in front of the vanity, you sighed, disappointed by the fact that your favorite pants were now ruined, sticky with alcohol and pure regret. You really should have worn the skirt that you originally planned to.
“Here, some paper towel,” he smiled, handing you the thin material, “do you need anything else?”
“You stood up from the edge of the counter top, looking down and seeing the wet patch coincidentally covering your crotch. A sudden heat came to your cheeks, feeling his gaze lingering in the same spot. The tension in the air had suddenly become thick, and you ripped the towel out of his hands, quickly turning around and attempting to clean yourself.
“Uhm,” he mumbled, “I’ll just be in my room, while you, uhm, help yourself. I’ll give you a pair of pants to change into when you're done.”
You ignored him, praying for him to leave the room sooner. He was making it so weird. It was just a stain that happened to be in an unfortunate place. You rolled your eyes, forgetting how immature your best friend could be sometimes. It was seriously just a wet patch.
You grunted, trying with maximum effort to dry yourself as much as possible before opening the bin and chucking it in. Ignoring your thoughts, you opened the door, striding down the hall and to the left: Chan’s room. You knocked on the door, hearing the faint ‘come in’ from the other side as you opened it slightly ajar, making sure Chan wasn’t doing anything… weird. Why would he be doing something weird? He was genuinely just waiting for you so he could help you wear dry, comfortable clothes; he was being a good friend.
You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw your friend sitting on the edge of his bed. The look on his face was odd. It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t a frown either. And why was he holding a pillow across his legs?
“Hey.”
“Hi,” you nodded, eyebrows now furrowed, “can I have that pair of new pants now?”
“Oh yeah sure,” he jittered, “they're just in my drawer.”
“Which one?”
The colour on his face began to drain. His legs shifted slightly. You had never seen him so stiff.
“Okay well, are you going to show me where?”
He looked at the floor, mumbling any barely coherent words comprehend.
“What?”
“I said, please don’t make me get up and show you.”
“Why not, I don’t know where they are, it is your wardrobe.”
He left you standing there. Not moving, not speaking, simply doing nothing. His stubbornness was making you frustrated, but it was when he moved the pillow against his groin slightly, that you noticed. The puzzle piece in your head was beginning to fit together, and create a perfect masterpiece.
“Why are you being so weird right now?”
“I’m not being weird,” he snapped, fixing his gaze on anywhere but your pants, “you’re being weird?”
“I am? You’re the one that’s acting like a robot right now. And why are you holding a pillow?”
He said nothing, again, making your frustration peak at a new high. Storming towards him, you gripped the pillow, giving him no time to react before you yanked it away, leaving him open, and extremely exposed.
“Y/n,” he yelled, now covering himself with his palms, “why did you do that!”
“Because,” you shrugged a smirk playing on your lips, “you were being really awkward. Now I know why.”
The chuckle on your lips was making him angry. This was so embarrassing for him. Being aroused over such a small thing. It was pathetic.
“Stop laughing,” he groaned, waving his hand in front of you, “it’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry,” you stumbled, gasping for air between each fit of laughter, “it’s just, how could you possibly have a boner right now?”
“Because of you.”
Your fit of joy came to a very sudden halt. Did you hear that correctly?
“Because of me?”
“Yes! Okay? Because of you, and because of that stupid stain on your pants.”
Your confusion was now at an all time peak. What the hell was he talking about? How could a gross beer stain make him so horny? It made no sense. You were distracted by your comedic enjoyment, completely unaware of how big his bulge truly was. Your eyes widened, cognitions solely focused on how much his cock was straining against his pants. Chan took notice, his arousal intensifying at the way you ogled him.
“You like what you see?”
“Uhm” you coughed, “I do, but what about me having a sticky stain on my pants, that obviously isn’t cum, get you so worked up like this?”
“It’s embarrassing,” he whined, tearing his eyes away from your intense gaze, “I don’t want to tell you.”
A sigh of annoyance escaped your lips. You did love him, but his stubbornness was something you wish you could slap him out of. You simply would not accept that as an answer, but there was a way you could get it out of him.
You took a couple of steps closer, inches away from him as you dropped to your knees, enjoying the choking gasp that was strangled from his lips as you became eye level with his raging erection. Placing either hand on his upper thighs, you sighed, pretending to be upset with your best friend.
“Come on baby,” you cooed, hands sliding closer and closer to his aching heat, “tell me, what’s got you so fired up right now?”
“I told you already,” he whined, momentarily moving away from you, “you.”
“Yeah, but,” you whispered, spreading his legs wide, “tell me more. Is this the first time you have thought of me like this?”
“Come on y/n, you know the answer, please don’t torture me like this.”
“Chan, come on,” you pouted, “you’re not making this any fun, don’t you want to have some fun?”
“Please,” he whined, feeling your index fingers barely brushing where he wanted you the most, “please suck me off.”
The forwardness of his statement took you back for a moment, subtracting your hands and looking up at him. His gaze was weak, but it was there. He kept them fixated on your pants. It didn’t matter anyway, the feeling of your hands softly rubbing over his still clothed cock was making you feel lightheaded.
“Is that what you want, baby?”
“Yes,” he hissed, no secondary thought coming to his mind, “I want you to suck my dick like you do to all those other guys.”
“Mmm,” you hummed, allowing his words to have maximum impact, “that would feel so nice.”
His voice, so dark and sultry, yet so needy and desperate was corrupting your thoughts entirely. Any prior hesitation you had about how this could change your friendship for the worst had dissipated. Every fiber of being wanted nothing more than to wrap your lips around his anguished cock. Make him beg the answer you so desperately needed out of him.
Your left hand moved to his zipper, right hand unbuttoning the single button one swift motion. The sound of each tooth from the zipper felt like an eternity to him.
“Faster please,” he whispered impatiently, “please y/n, faster.”
You truly wanted to take your time: you really did, but as soon as he lifted his hips and helped your slip of his pants, and you saw his throbbing member, all coherent thoughts of teasing and taking your time were gone. The fact that he was wearing no undergarments was so hot. Almost like he planned for something like this to happen.
He didn’t, but he was getting hornier the longer he went without being touched. His thoughts were all over the place. There were so many times that he sat in this exact spot, with you in this exact position so many times. He stroked himself off at his desire for him to have his cock all the way into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. The gags he pictured erupting and bubbling in your throat and spilling out of your lips had become so realistic. All of his fantasies he had created of you were basically brought to life. Chan truly thought that if he made his imagery of you participating in these filthy, naughty acts, they would satisfy his wants and needs, because he really thought that this would never happen. But it was happening right now, and my god, was he enjoying this 1000x times more than other erotic imaginations he once created.
You titled as close as you could to his shaft, coughing and parting your lips, letting a smooth line of saliva drip from your mouth, coating the tip of his slit, and causing his hips to jolt in anticipation. You continued your wet assault, pushing your tongue out flat as you licked a long, hard stripe up the backside of him.
“Fuck,” was all he could say, hands instinctively travelling to your scalp and interlocking anything he could hold onto.
You chuckled against him, finally letting yourself have a hint of how he tastes as you wrapped your lips around his tip. The hisses and groans that escaped his lips were nothing but music to your ears. The further you sunk onto him, the louder he became. You were sure someone from the party, oh yeah the party, could hear him; but you didn’t care. If anything, your excitement increased. The idea of someone, preferably one of Chan’s friends, hearing you make him feel this good was making you dizzy.
You began to take him in your mouth effortlessly, cheeks hollowing every time you reached the base of his cock. He pushed his hand in the back of your head, lightly thrusting his hips into your mouth, the gags that bubbled in your throat adding to his satisfaction to an even greater extent.
“Hmm,” you hummed, replacing your mouth with your hand to take a break, “is this how you pictured me?”
“Yes,” he grunted, looking down at you, “there’s so many things I want, you have no idea.”
You paused, taking your hand away from his cock, creeping onto the bed with your legs on either side of his hips. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled, your jeans hit the perfect angle against your heart and you pushed down onto him, fiercely grinding yourself against him.
“Hmmm,” you moaned, enjoying the gentle friction, “is that why you got so turned on by my pants?”
“Fuck,” he paused, gripping your hips and attempting to speed up the awfully slow pace you had set, “you don’t know what I wanna do to your right now.”
“Tell me,” you whispered, lips resting in the crook of his neck, “I’m dying to find out.”
“I want to make you feel so good y/n, you have no idea.”
“Fine,” you hissed, taking your head off his chest and looking into his eyes, then his lips. God his lips. So plump and ready to be attacked. You leaned forward, lip attaching to his as you began to move ferociously, a combination of moans and groans being shared amongst the two of you as things really began to heat up. There was so much passion, so much lust. So much want and need from the both of you, just as hungry as each other for the other’s desire.
Chan pulled away, admiring the heavy pants of your chest as he grabbed your hips, much firmer than before. He pushed you aside. Standing up, he lifted his shirt, exposing his bare body to you. You had seen him shirtless a million and one times before, but this time, it was different. You were seeing him in a whole new different light. He was always just your innocent little best friend. But now, he was the sexiest person you had ever laid your eyes on. His whole body was so toned, you couldn’t help it. Dipping your hands underneath your pants, past your panties, and into your folds was the only way to relieve the pent up stress you felt in your body at this current moment.
“You’re so hot,” he growled, following your actions in stroking himself, “does that feel good?”
“Mhm,” you whimpered, bucking your hips against your own fingers, “can you touch me?”
“You want me to touch you, pretty girl?”
“Please.”
“Stand up.”
You need say no more, as Chan brought you to your feet, swiftly discarding you of any and every item of clothing you had on your body. The heat rose to your cheeks as it hit you that your body was now completely exposed to him. He made a step closer, digits bruising against your stomach as Chan searched your body. He let his hands roam, making your body shiver under his tender touch. You could feel yourself melting, body barely able to stand as he moved closer. He let his finger travel closer and closer to your chest, softly brushing over your nipple to test the waters. Your body shuddered against him, a sharp intake of air coming into your chest in response. A smirk appeared on Chan’s face. He loved the fact that such little effort made you into a mess.
“You wanna know what I want to do to you?”
You nodded, not wanting to embarrass yourself from the lack of control you had over your vocal chords. He pressed a kiss to your lips, creating a trail across your jaw, down your neck, and back to your chest. He looked up at you once more, simultaneously capturing your left nipple in his mouth as you opened your mouth, eyebrows furrowed, and hands interlocking in his hair as he harshly sucked on the exposed skin.
“I want to,” he paused, pressing a kiss to your left nipple, “make you cum so hard,” he paused again, pressing a kiss to your right nipple, “that you’ll be shaking, begging me to stop.”
The color of his eyes had changed, nothing but black whirling inside of them as he grabbed you by your hips, setting himself down on the bed first. He turned your body around, leaving your ass in his face and his dick in front of yours.
Chan bit down on his bottom lip, hands on either side of your ass as he spread your cheeks, humming in satisfaction as he enjoyed the view. Yes, he was ogling, but you didn’t mind, especially since his cock was right in front of you. You sighed, leaning down and taking him into your mouth once more, another groan erupting from behind you as he bucked his hips, trying to get a view of him sucking his dick like he had pictured.
“Fuck,” he spat, spreading your folds with this middle and index finger, “you’re so good at that baby, fuck!”
A hum of satisfaction came from your lips, your chest feeling warm at such a nice, gentle praise. The contrast between the sweet words, and the indecent acts that you were fulfilling.
You became lost in your sexual thoughts, eyes fluttering shut as you enjoyed feeding into Chan's pleasure. His cock was also super nice to suck on. Just like a lollipop. You were truly in your element, that is, until you felt a wet substance. His noises were consistent, becoming slightly muffled as he pushed his fingers into his mouth, drowning them with his own substance as he painted a line down your core, prodding them at your extremely aroused entrance.
“Hmhm,” you whined, choking on his length. You took him out of your mouth for a moment, substituting your hand as you let out a loud moan.
“C-chan, that feels so good.”
“You like that baby?”
“Yes,” you whimpered, digging your hips into his fingers in any attempt to increase the friction, “so good baby.”
Your useless whimper was enough to send him into a buzz. He stuck out his tongue, aggressively attacking your pussy, teeth brushing against your bundle of nerves as you continued to rock against him. The moans, which were minor pants before, became an endless string of noise, the pleasure becoming immense the longer he kept his tongue against your clit. The gratification you were receiving from Chan’s minimal, yet extremely skilful kitten licks on your clit was so much, it was becoming hard to keep steady on his cock. You took your lips away once again, this time, pumping him hard with your left hand, your right hand gently massaging his balls as you saw his legs shake, committing to the desired impact you wanted to have on him.
“Oh shit,” he whispered, pushing two fingers into you, “you’re gonna make me cum right now if you keep doing that.”
“You’re close already huh?”
“Yes,” he growled, barely giving you time to respond, “don’t stop.”
His words motivated you greatly. You kept your hand on his balls, mouth now hollowed and returning to his tip. You began to suck, extremely harsh, wallowing and tracing his slit back and forth. The action caused him to jerk into your mouth; but you weren’t having any of that. Moving your grip to his sides, you giggled, pushing his hips aggressively against the bed. The last thing you needed was him helping you reach his high. You wanted to do this on your own, show him the good girl you really were and make him cum solely based on your skills.
“Oh fuck,” he whimpered, “I’m so close y/n.”
“Cum then.”
Chan said your name over and over, any and all vulnerability being exposed as his stomach coiled against your chest, legs shaking as his substance of the highest arousal coated your lips. You smiled, enjoying the taste of his orgasm that you brought him to smother you. You took a finger to your lips, sucking on them with no question.
“Hmm,” you purred, “all that pineapple juice you drink truly pays off sometimes huh?”
“Of course it does.”
You lifted your leg up, attempting to climb off the bed and stand up, but you were interrupted by a delightful surprise, Chan nipped at your ankle, hooking his arm around it as he brought you back to your original position.
“We’re not done yet pretty girl,” he growled, “turn around.”
You did as he said, his eyes now in line with your core. Hooking his arms around your knees, you gasped, taken aback by the brute force he used to bring you to his lips. You looked down at him, the look of eagerness in his eyes making your clit tingle in anticipation.
“You wanna know why your pants made me so wet?”
“Yes.”
His finger plunged into your folds once more, soothingly massaging your knub as you let out a ferocious moan in response to his attack.
“Because princess, I want to make you cum so hard, you’re squirting all over me.”
He attacked again, giving you no time to respond as he situated his palms across your chest, flicking your nipples mercilessly, lips basically suctioned onto your clit as your body jerked in response. Your head was thrown back, eyes shut tightly, as you began to lightly rock back and forth on this tongue.
“Oh fuck,” was all you could say, followed by his name in different high pitched whimpers, “Chan.”
He hummed against you, the vibrations doing wonders through your body. The knot in your stomach was forming very abruptly, becoming together with each millisecond as Chan continued his rough, yet very highly skilled blitz on you. Your head was feeling drowsy, your jaw was open wide, hips were becoming sporadic. Everything was leading perfectly to the moment you’ve been waiting for. The build up had become so intense within a small period of time, and Chan being relentless with your body was not helping.
“Right there,” you gasped, looking down to see the edge of his tongue inside of your whole, “oh my god right there please baby don’t stop.”
The begs and pleads of mercy that escaped your lips every few seconds truly was music to his ears. He wanted to stop every second moment, fill your mind with the dirtiest of words and humiliate you, but you were already too far gone, and he would feel guilty in some way if he didn’t give you what you wanted.
Your legs were beginning to shake. Your hair was disheveled, your own hands tugging at the roots as you slid yourself farther and farther down onto his tongue, letting him fuck the shit out of you with his mouth.
“Chan please,” you moaned, becoming completely lost in the pleasure, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum for me then,” he paused, reattaching his lips to your clit, “I want to see how good I make you feel.”
Your breaths were already extremely heavy, a soft grunt coming from your lips. Everything had suddenly become so overwhelming. He could tell you were feeling it too. The way your face was flushed, and the perspiration that had gathered across the sleekness of your collarbone; it made him want to go even harder. His tongue was now moving at an ultra fast pace. His change in tempo made you scream a little, unaware that it was humanly possible to do something as good as this. It was enough to finally take you over the edge.
Your body became numb, hips gently curling around Chan’s tongue as he let you ride out your high, the excess stimulation making your body completely shut down. You collapsed on top of him, completely unaware of doing so. Your vision had become blurred, and all you could feel now was lying beside him, hands enveloping you into a warm embrace. You looked over at him, your face turning into a state of shock when you saw the mass liquid glistening across his entire chin.You lifted a hand, trying to clean it off of his face, and save yourself the embarrassment and reminder that it was Chan, your best friend, who had brought you to such a distraught state. Over an accidental beer stain.
“Oh shit, I wanna say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.”
“Don’t be sorry y/n,” he smirked, “that’s exactly the response I was looking for.”
398 notes · View notes
fizzydrink698 · 2 hours ago
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consort ii | minho
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pairing: lee minho/female reader
word-count: 6.4k
genre: historical au, arranged marriage, enemies-to-lovers
warnings: swearing, period-typical sex misinformation, thigh-riding (it is a minho fic, after all), unprotected sex, two stubborn assholes with feelings
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summary:
He trailed off - moved wordless, for perhaps the first time in your presence, and you were stunned.
There was a power to this, you realised with no small sense of delight. A power over him, should you seek to master it.
You rolled your hips again, and Minho’s head dropped, pressing his face into your neck.
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“It’s up to you,” Minho said. “If you trust me enough now.”
The room was dimly-lit, illuminated only by the flames in the roaring fireplace. Shadows were cast long and dark, but you could still make out the expression on Minho’s face. Calm, composed, staring back at you with a perfectly neutral expression. If he had any desire of his own, you could not glean it from his face.
You could, however, make a very educated guess from the hard length straining against his breeches, pressing into your palm through the fabric.
You wondered if, even now, Minho thought he could still fool you with that perfect composure, that carefully calculated disinterest.
Or, perhaps, he just knew how badly you wanted to see that composure crumble by your own hand.
Gently, the motion still a little unsure, you squeezed him through his breeches, just to see his reaction.
Minho did not disappoint. His lips parted immediately, with one sharp intake of breath at the sensation. His eyes darkened, almost coal-black, as he continued to watch you.
“Alright,” you said, lifting your chin to meet his burning gaze head-on. “I trust you.”
There was a moment of silence following your words, as the two of you stayed locked in each other’s stare. It felt like you were wavering on a precipice, about to tumble down into the unknown.
And, suddenly, Minho’s lips were back on yours.
There was an urgency to him now, a raging fire in this kiss that had only smouldered in your first. To your mild confusion, there was now also a strange tang to his lips, and it took you a moment to realise that this new taste was you. Traces of you, still lingering on his mouth.
You barely had a moment to register this before he pulled away from your mouth entirely. Your eyes snapped open – when had they shut? – in panic, only to find him gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.
You were left dumbfounded, blinking at the sudden expanse of bare skin now on show – an unexpected feast for your eyes alone.
Minho had the lean body of a sportsman, a hunter, a dancer. There was very little bulk to him, and yet you found yourself following the lines of his muscle, fingers twitching to trace along where your eyes wandered.
“You can touch wherever you’d like,” Minho told you, his voice taking on just an edge of smugness. You realised how obvious your thoughts must have been, how clearly they must have been written on your face.
You swallowed, curiosity quashing any remnants of shame or shyness, and lifted your right hand to skim over the lines of his abdomen, fingers grazing each rise and dip of muscle. His skin was so warm, and yet you watched him shiver as your hand continued northwards, up to his chest.
Pages from your anatomical texts – loaned solely for the purpose of academics, and only to be used in lessons and never for private study – sprang to mind. Pectoralis major, you remembered, as your fingertips reached this swell of muscle. You shifted your hand just to the right – his left – and hovered just over where you knew his heart to be.
Slowly, you pressed your palm into him, eager for that tell-tale thrum of pulse.
It did not disappoint. You felt his heartbeat, felt how quickly it pounded – as if it were racing, you thought, as your eyes flickered upwards to meet his face.
“Amazing,” you murmured, and allowed yourself one small smirk. “It seems you do have a heart after all, Minho.”
“To my unending disappointment,” he sighed.
At another time, when your nerves were a little less frayed, when the atmosphere between you two wasn’t so…heavy, you would have laughed.
Instead, you dropped your hand, letting your fingers brush against the drawstrings of his breeches. Your bravado was beginning to fail you, because you hesitated, doing nothing more than simply taking the string between your fingers.
You realised…
You realised you wanted to kiss him again.
You used your left hand to push yourself up, not allowing yourself even a moment to second-guess your actions before you leaned in.
Yet again, this kiss felt different from the last. Minho was open to you, reciprocating, but that was how he stayed – matching your pace, never overtaking you.
It struck you then that this was the first kiss you had initiated, not Minho. How strange, that a difference that seemed so arbitrary on the surface could feel so critical.
It revitalised you, fuelled your courage once more, and you pulled on the drawstring. The knot gave away so easily, coming apart in one motion. You supposed it was much like the thin silks you were wearing, in a sense. Made not to be worn, but to be removed.
Tentative, you slid your hand into his breeches, all-too-knowing and yet utterly clueless as to what you’d find there.
The moment your hand made contact, you felt Minho’s breath escape him in one shaky exhale.
Interesting.
Bolstered by his reaction, you explored further, following his length upwards. There was a slickness to him, and a dampness to the inside of his breeches, and you recalled that disastrous meeting with your women’s physician.
His body was readying itself, as yours had. Preparing itself for the act ahead.
Your hand continued to wander, until it found the end of him – and another piece of information wandered to the forefront of your mind, something you were suddenly very curious to discover for yourself.
You wrapped your hand around this part of him, feeling his weight, and let your thumb slowly drag along the very tip of him – and Minho couldn’t stop the faintest moan from slipping out between his lips.
“That’s sensitive,” you grinned, confidence colouring your tone as finally you could display your own knowledge. “Isn’t it?”
Minho’s eyes just barely slid open, staring at you through hooded eyes. “…And how do you know that?”
“Believe it or not, the physician did actually prepare me a little for the wedding night,” you retorted. “Your pleasure was of the utmost importance, I was assured.”
Minho blinked, stilling slightly, and you found yourself faltering. Had you said something wrong?
“What?” you asked, grip loosening. “What is it?”
Minho didn’t respond with words, but instead with another kiss – the action almost a contradiction within itself, so urgent and yet almost…
Gentle.
Part of you wanted to melt into him, just a little. There was a sweetness to him, so utterly alien to the Minho you knew, and a part of you wanted to follow it, to savour it.
The other part of you – the smarter part – recognised this for what it was.
Pity.
You bristled at the realisation, a sudden fury sparking deep within you.
You would not be pitied. How dare he even try.
You knew that you were at a disadvantage, that your inexperience put you so squarely in Minho’s hands, but you were a quick learner. You had always been a quick learner.
So, you chanced another squeeze again, and Minho grunted against your lips. His so-called sweetness was rapidly growing eclipsed by his lust, as evidenced by the jerk of his hips up into your palm.
Was this how he had felt? When you had been under him, pleading for his touch?
No wonder he’d been so smug.
Minho suddenly shifted, breaking the kiss, and he sat back on his heels – forcing your hand to withdraw from his breeches. You let it drift back to your side, the ghost of his pulse still thrumming against your fingertips.
“It’s your choice,” Minho mused, eyes fixed on you. To your annoyance, he still looked relatively put together – in sharp contrast to your own internal ruin. “You can leave your silks on, if you’d like. Or you can take them off.”
He ended his sentence there, but you could hear the final, unspoken part echoing loud and clear.
Take them off for me.
This felt like another test, of your bravery, of how willing you were to see this through until the end.
It was a test you were all too happy to pass.
Maintaining eye contact, you gripped the hems of your silks, sliding them up and over your body, leaving yourself bare before him. That eye contact is broken briefly when the silks come up to your face, and you wasted no time finishing the job, tossing the very last of your clothing to the floor, out of sight.
Minho drank in the sight of you, eyes roaming the length of you, from head to toe.
You thought such unabashed staring would make you self-conscious, but instead…you found yourself bolstered by it.
His lips parted, and you could see the compliments perched on the tip of his tongue. Grand words of awe, sickly-sweet in their attempts to flatter your ego, platitudes so nauseating they would send you crawling under the covers and ending this evening right here.
But instead, his eyes flickered to meet yours, and his lips curl into a wicked smile. “Good girl.”
His words – and the memories they conjured up of your exchange earlier in the night, of the words praise tumbling from his lips – had you glancing away, face growing hot yet again. “Stop that.”
“Because you don’t like it, or because you’re embarrassed about how much you like it?”
“Because you’re irritating.”
A hint of amusement played at the corners of Minho’s mouth. “I think you like that too.”
“I know I’d like you to shut your mouth and…and…” you trail off, unable to get the words out as your face grew even hotter. Once again, your bravado was fading, as you were faced with the reality of the situation.
But Minho picked up on your meaning easily enough and finished your sentence.
“And fuck you?” he said, one eyebrow arched. “Is that what you were going to say?”
You swallowed, and arranged your features into a scowl, even as you felt the core of you twitch at his words. “I wouldn’t have said anything that crass.”
“Then, what else?” Minho teased, his tone taking on a mocking edge. “Make love to you?”
This was hell. This was absolutely hell, you decided as your face burned in embarrassment, so distracted that you almost missed the way his voice quietened.
“Because I could do that too, if that’s what you’d like.”
You blinked, attention snapping back to him in confusion. “What?”
It came out harsher than you were perhaps intending, and Minho paused, expression unreadable.
“…Like I said. It’s your choice.”
Your choice. Your mind scrambled for a way to decipher his meaning. Surely, Minho of all people would cringe away from the idea of ‘making love’, especially with you.
So, was this…him asking one last time? Offering you an out, a chance to back down?
Because if that was the case, you knew your answer.
“I-I just want…like I said, I trust you to…”
Be gentle? Be kind? Make it feel good?
“I just trust you,” you finished, lamely.
He stared back at you, for one long moment.
And he nodded. “Good.”
When he leant in this time to kiss you, you met him halfway. It was slow, unrushed, just careful exploration of each other. Just like your very first kiss, you found yourself on your back, Minho kneeling over you – but this time, one knee was planted right between your legs – pressing up against you.
“Push down onto it,” Minho murmured into your skin, and you felt the muscles in his thighs flex slightly.
You paused, momentarily thrown. “…What? With my hands?”
You felt, rather than saw, Minho’s smirk as he pulled his head away to press a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “No.”
…Oh.
You swallowed, and very tentatively, you rolled your hips.
The feeling was instantaneous, the friction of fabric so very delicious as you rocked against his thigh. You let out a moan, quiet but utterly filthy.
“Keep going,” Minho encouraged, but you were already moving again, setting yourself an almost torturously slow pace as you balanced the desire to chase more of this sensation with the self-restraint to avoid rutting up against him like a wild animal. You still had some pride after all.
Pride that was rapidly disappearing, as Minho’s lips wandered down to your neck, mouthing and nipping and sucking at the skin there until you were gasping at the strange mix of pain and pleasure he was drawing out of you.
His thigh shifted, just slightly, angling down in such a way that increased the pressure against that sensitive bead at the apex of your legs, and another moan erupted from within you, this one so loud that your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to muffle it.
Minho, however, had other plans. He reached up, gripping your forearm, and gently but firmly pried your hand away. Before you could react, his head dipped to press the softest of kisses to the inside of your wrist, surprising you.
But when he pulled away, his expression was entirely wicked. “You’re making such a mess on me.”
You scowled at his teasing, even as your hips continued on, chasing after your own pleasure. “I–”
“Do you think you could come, from this?” Minho asked, almost challenging you. “Soak right through the fabric? Hmm?”
It didn’t take much to connect the dots that ‘come’ meant ‘climax’, and your breath caught.
You…you realised you could, if you really chased it. If you clamped down onto his thigh and rode it like a prized hunting mare.
But that wasn’t what you wanted, not right now.
“I…I just want you…” you trailed off, hoping that Minho would finish the sentence for you.
He refused, content to watch you struggle to voice your desires.
“I want you…inside me.”
Minho’s eyes, now so utterly black with lust, burned as he took in your words – and he grinned. “Gladly.”
He pulled away, bringing himself back up to kneeling, and your eyes immediately darted to the wet patch you had left on his thigh. A mess, indeed.
His breeches, now half-undone, seemed barely able to contain him – and you wondered if it ached. You wondered if he was desperate to touch it, to palm himself as you had done, and you wondered if he avoided doing so for your sake.
A miscalculation on his part, you realised, because you’d quite enjoy seeing that.
“With it being your first time,” Minho said, capturing your attention once more. His head was tilted, almost contemplative, and his words were carefully measured as he continued. “The best way would be from behind.”
“Behind?” you repeated, as something cold twisted in your gut. Unbidden memories of your women’s physician came swarming back, her disapproving words swirling around in your mind. “And I would be…on my knees?”
“Well, if you–”
“No.”
Minho was very visibly shocked at your blunt refusal – your first all night. He froze, struggling to readjust. “There’s no…there’s no disrespect to this, it’s just the position that would cause you the least discomfort.”
“No. No, it’s beneath my dignity,” you parrot the physician’s words, before your own most private thoughts interject and spur your tongue on further. “And I–”
You cut yourself off.
Because how can you explain to Minho that, if this was an experience you would remember for the rest of your life, you wanted the memory to be of his face - not of the wall behind you, or the pillows under you?
You couldn’t tell him that.
“And I don’t want that,” you said instead, frowning. “I want you to take me on my back.”
Minho’s apprehensions quickly disappeared under the effect of your words. You could see the images playing out in his head, the images of what you were about to do, and his lips parted. “…Alright. If that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”
“It is,” you said. You sounded far more confident than you felt.
“Then, that’s what we’ll do,” Minho nodded, and before you could respond, he leant down to kiss you again.
You closed your eyes, trying to recapture that previous feeling of losing yourself in the act – but your mind was whirring now, nerves alight as you realised what was about to happen.
This was it.
Minho readjusts his position, moving to plant both of his knees between your legs. He broke away from your lips to look down at himself, hands moving to fully unlace his breeches.
You summoned enough courage to help, nervously raising one hand and hooking your thumb under the hem as you tried to aid him in easing the material down his legs. If Minho noticed the shaking of your hands, he didn’t respond with words, but there was a new look in his eyes when he glanced up at your face.
You shot him back the most impatient look you could muster, tugging at the fabric. Now was not the time for sympathy and gentle words. Despite your nerves, there was still an eagerness to your movements, a longing in the pit of your gut for Minho to resume his attentions.
And then, with one final tug, Minho’s breeches slid down far enough for his member to spring free, and your curiosity was piqued – your eyes immediately drawn downwards to take in the sight.
You had no frame of reference when it came to the size of him, but enough hushed whispers of the virility of His Highness and the careful warnings from your physician about the pain he could wreak within you had caused you to fear the worst. In some of your nightmares, it swelled to the size of a horse’s member, swinging heavy between Minho’s legs and threatening to split you in two.
There was a sense of relief, then, that no such monstrous appendage existed.
It was perhaps just longer than the length of your hand, if you had to guess. Reddish-pink, except for the head of him, which was dark red and so very visibly aching to be touched.
You supposed you could imagine it inside of you – and when you did just that, your face warmed.
Glancing upwards, you caught Minho’s expression. He was still watching you carefully, observing your reaction to the most intimate part of him.
You blinked. Should you say something? What? There was nothing in particular you could say – no comment you could make with any kind of conviction. It was the first penis you had seen in the flesh, after all.
“Do I…are you expecting a compliment?” you asked, unsure.
Minho paused – before the corners of his mouth twitched, as if in amusement. “From you? Never.”
Reassured somewhat, you gave him a shrug – or at least, as much of a shrug as you could in your position – and reached down for it, curious to test its weight in your palm.
Minho inhaled sharply the moment your hand curled around it, and something in your gut tightened at the sound. That familiar, yet strange delight you felt at provoking reactions out of Minho returned – and you repeat your earlier movement of squeezing him a little firmer, and slowly dragging your thumb along the slit.
“So,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “This goes inside me.”
Minho’s groan was muffled, barely escaping as he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “…Yes.”
Now that he wasn’t looking, you felt a little bolder as you carefully eyed his expression. After a moment of hesitation, you asked the question hovering at the back of your mind. “Are you looking forward to it?”
Minho’s eyes slowly opened, and he stayed silent as he took in your words. And then, voice quiet, reluctant, as if he were confessing something deeply personal, he replied. “…Yes.”
His honesty took you aback, leaving you staring wordless even as his response ignited something within you.
Minho didn’t wait for a reply, quickly moving to instead focus on your breasts, mouth closing around one nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut, mind quickly going blank at the sensations now building within you.
You felt his hand slide back up your thigh, and he soon made it clear you weren’t the only quick learner. His fingers immediately got to work, remembering exactly what pressure you liked, what movements had you keening up into him.
You didn’t have to think. You just had to feel.
And when that feeling was the press of Minho against your opening, you didn’t hesitate to nod your head at his final, unspoken request.
The hand he used to cradle your hip as he entered you was gentle, curling around the soft flesh of your rear.
That did little to alleviate the sudden, sharp pain that radiated through your groin, every muscle in your body going taut as your body reacted immediately in panic.
Your hand flew up to his chest, a loud slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. “Wait!”
Immediately, Minho froze, his eyes wide at your reaction.
“It…” you broke off, desperate for the right words – any words – to describe what you were feeling.
“What is it?” Minho asked, and you were too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the concern in his voice, the kindness so completely uncharacteristic of him.
“Y-you...you said this wouldn’t hurt,” you hissed, unable to keep the edge of betrayal out of your voice.
Minho stared down at you. You noted with surprise that your words had struck something within him. Guilt? Shame? The awkwardness of being caught in a lie?
Eventually, he spoke up, tone serious. “How badly?”
You swallowed, unable to stop yourself from shifting just slightly under him. The feeling of him inside and just...not moving felt even more alien to you than entering in the first place.
How could you explain what you were feeling? The strange sensation of...being opened to someone, the sting every fraction of an inch he slid deeper, the stretch of your innermost muscles.
But with him still, almost frozen within you, you found your body slowly accommodating to the sensation. There was still an ache, but you could feel your insides...relax just slightly, as if a panic within them was slowly subsiding.
As if they were starting to welcome the sensation of Minho pushing deeper inside you.
In embarrassment, you averted your gaze away from him. “Just...go slower.”
Minho was silent for a moment, still refusing to move, until eventually he did as you asked, slowing his pace, and you found yourself with enough time to adjust to him.
When you chanced a look back at his face, you found his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched tightly - as if he were in just as much pain as you, going at such a glacial pace.
It was only when he finally slid in all the way to the hilt that he let out the quietest of groans, eyes still closed.
And the groan...
Your cheeks must have been on fire by this point, because you could feel the effect that the sound of his groan had on your body. It stoked at something deep in your gut, a desire to hear it again, to hear a noise even louder.
Minho’s eyes opened just a fraction, and for a brief moment you were hit with an irrational panic that he had somehow read your thoughts, but all he did was say. “I’m going to move now. Or do you need more time?”
The question - however good his intentions might have been - did nothing but strike at your contrary nature, your knee-jerk instinct to prove yourself capable, independent, the opposite of a liability.
“Move,” you replied, and you were delighted that it sounded more like a command than a plea.
He did just that - and while his movement did reignite some discomfort, it faded far sooner this time. You were growing used to him, the feeling of him at least. With every stroke, he felt less and less like an intrusion and more like...
More like you were being filled. Like you had been empty before him.
You wondered, dimly, how Minho was feeling at this moment. His jaw was no longer clenched - in fact, at one particular thrust, his lips parted at the sensation. His eyes had closed again, and you found yourself distracted by his long eyelashes, so dark and so delicate.
In fact, you were so distracted that you didn’t have time to look away when his eyes opened - and you found yourself trapped in his gaze.
Eye contact, you realised, was frighteningly intimate. More than anything else, it felt exposing, like you had no way to hide your real thoughts, your emotions.
And yet, you stayed like this, unable to look away.
Quite beyond your control, your hips jolted up into him, meeting his movements almost greedily - just as they had under his careful fingers.
The movement didn’t escape Minho, whose eyes glinted in the dim light of the candlelit room. Shifting to brace his weight on one arm, Minho moved the other to hook under the back of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your leg. Carefully, he raised your leg - and immediately, you felt the difference, how deep he could reach within you. Your breath left you in one loud, sharp gasp - a little from the discomfort, but mostly from this new sensation.
Your head lolled back, eyes closing as Minho’s pace quickened again. You could hear the way his breathing was starting to grow ragged, the stuttering of his hips every other stroke. His grip around your thigh was growing tighter and tighter, and when you experimented with a roll of your hips, he groaned again.
“Y-yes,” he breathed. “That...th-that...”
He trailed off - moved wordless, for perhaps the first time in your presence, and you were stunned.
There was a power to this, you realised with no small sense of delight. A power over him, should you seek to master it.
You rolled your hips again, and Minho’s head dropped, pressing his face into your neck.
It was clear he was nearing his own climax - his breaths shortened, his movements faltered and stuttered as his control began to slip.
It was here that he finally moaned - the sound choked, low, right in your ear and filled with such shameless pleasure that it sent a delicious shiver down your body.
It sounded like victory.
You had assumed that when Minho’s climax happened, it would be…for lack of a better term, dramatic. You thought that you’d be able to feel him paint your insides, feel him stake his claim in you.
Instead, all you felt was warmth – and a new slickness that only made itself known when Minho’s thrusts changed, growing slower and deeper as opposed to the short, quick bursts that brought him to his peak.
Eventually, Minho came to a stop, breath shaky, head still tucked into the crook of your neck.
So that…
That was that.
The event you had been dreading for so long. The claiming of your innocence, your final step into adulthood.
And you were so completely unsure what to think of it, lying there in silence as Minho finally stirred.
He pulled his head away, and removed his hand from your leg as he braced himself up onto his forearms, then onto his hands.
You felt him withdraw from you completely, rolling away from you to lie on his back by your side, leaving you with such a strange feeling of emptiness.
And then, the first sensation of something leaking out of you.
Out of pure, morbid curiosity you looked down.
No great torrents of blood, staining the bedsheets as you had so greatly feared. There was perhaps the slightest tinge of pink to Minho’s seed, but otherwise…
Nothing.
It was enough to fill you with a certain trepidation. Quickly, you looked up at Minho, who still seemed to be catching his breath. “There’s…there’s no blood.”
Minho’s eyes flickered to yours, and you realised that was pride in his expression. “Good.”
You frowned, drawing yourself up to a seated position. There was already a soreness building between your legs, but you pushed that to the back of your mind. “No, it’s not.”
Panic was already beginning to bubble up inside of you – and it must have been visible on your face, because Minho’s expression changed. “What?”
“Untouched brides bleed,” you recited, the words ingrained in you from countless lessons. “They’re going to think I…that I…”
Your thoughts raced, overwhelming you. You had done everything right, preserved yourself just as they had told you to. What had gone wrong?
Perhaps it was those afternoons on horseback. You had been warned against it, been told horror stories of young maidens bleeding onto their saddle from riding too strenuously – but you had been so careful.
You only broke out of your thoughts when you felt Minho shift his weight, turning onto his side to face you completely. Your heart dropped at the frown on his face, the sharpness in his gaze.
Did he doubt you now? Did he suspect that you had lied about your inexperience? Your virginity? Was he about to accuse you? To cast you out?
You prepared yourself for a fight – for a screaming match of words to defend your innocence.
But instead, all Minho did was sigh.
“No more of this,” he muttered, and moved to push himself up from the bed.
His dismissive words had you bristling, but he ignored you as he reached for the pile of fresh linens by the bed. You watched him clean himself up as best he could, his movements increasingly lethargic, as if every second sapped more and more energy from him.
To your surprise, he grabbed his breeches from where they lay rumpled on the floor, and put them back on.
“Get some sleep,” Minho said, not looking at you, choosing instead to focus on his own hands as they clumsily worked to retie his drawstrings. Once finished, with barely another glance to you, he returned to the bed and slipped under the covers – clearly intent on following his own advice.
You stared at him, incredulous, as he closed his eyes.
He’s just…sleeping? After all that?
You hadn’t been expecting any scintillating discussion – or, God forbid, some grand declaration of love – but surely what had just transpired between the two of you warranted a conversation. Your new marriage warranted one, at the very least.
Minho’s silence didn’t fill you with sadness or pain or even confusion.
No, it was almost…frustration. Irritation.
The man was just so difficult to work out.
In fact, you were so filled with annoyance that you knew sleep was a long way off. No, you knew you’d be wrestling with your thoughts for another hour or so. Longer, if you had to lie there and look at Minho’s face.
Logically, you knew from your lessons what your next actions should be. Lying on your back, legs up in the air, allowing your hips to tilt up and keep as much of Minho within you as you could. An essential action for any new bride, to increase chances of conception.
But the idea of wrangling yourself into such a stupid position, with Minho right next to you – never mind the mortification of having to explain why you were doing so, should he awaken and notice – was not appealing.
So, instead, after some hesitation, you rolled to the edge of the bed and pushed yourself to your feet.
You winced at the cold of the floor under you, fighting a shiver as you reached down for the linens as Minho had done. You made quick work mopping the remnants of him from your legs, grimacing slightly. Everything was so…sticky.
Once you were clean, you dressed yourself in your silks again. There was a comfort in the way the material felt against your fevered skin, even as you felt goosebumps raise in your skin.
What now?
You glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the shelf of books in the far corner, before deciding against reading at this time. Instead, you crossed the room, seating yourself in front of the fire – which had since dulled from a roaring blaze to a steady glow as it continued to burn through its wood.
You drew your knees up to your chest, eyes fixed on the flickering flames as thoughts swirled in your mind.
Part of you felt that you should look back on the night and feel some sort of embarrassment. You had been so bold, so shameless – so intent on matching Minho stride for stride.
But you felt no such shame.
You didn’t know what you felt, honestly, but it wasn’t shame.
Tonight…hadn’t been what you expected. You knew that much to be true.
But beyond that? You were at a loss.
You stayed like that, staring into the fire in silence, until sleep overcame you almost without warning. Your eyes drooped to a close, breath slowing as you lowered yourself to rest on your side.
The bed was so far away.
Here, you were warm, and it was so easy to just…drift off.
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When you awoke the next morning, you were unbearably stiff from a night on the floor.
You let out a groan as you attempted to turn your neck, and another when pushing yourself up to a seated position seemed almost impossible.
As you shifted, however, you noticed something strange. You looked down to see a fur draped over your body – expensive-looking, thick and warm, and completely unfamiliar.
Minho’s, your sleep-addled brain conclude – before your senses kicked back in.
Minho.
You jolted up, memories of the previous night rushing back.
Minho, your new husband. Minho, your lover.
Minho – who was already awake, you realised, and currently lounging in one of the nearby chairs, flicking through some document with such characteristic disdain.
Minho, who hadn’t spared you a single glance since you’d awoken.
You swallowed, unsure of what to say, in light of all that had happened between you. You settled for the safest option. “Good morning.”
Minho kept his eyes on the document in front of him. “It’s afternoon.”
You blinked, eyes immediately darting towards the window. The sun shining through was bright, and at such an angle that could only confirm his words.
Still, you felt yourself scowl at such a curt response. “My apologies. I’d assumed from your attitude that it was still too early to be sociable. But apparently not.”
“Yes, it’s astounding that even this late in the day, you manage to wear my patience so thin,” Minho drawled, flipping a page over. “You have a gift.”
There was a familiarity to this back-and-forth. Not exactly a comfort, but enough that you could slip back into your old dynamic with ease.
There was just one small thing nagging you. Your hands curled around the fur, as you eyed Minho carefully. “Did you…the fur…?”
Minho finally looked up from his papers, glancing over to you with a familiar look of boredom. “Hmm? I assume you took that with you last night.”
…Oh.
That made sense, you decided. Your memory of last night was a bit of a blur – it was very possible you’d forget something as trivial as grabbing a blanket.
You pulled it around yourself, somewhat cold now that the fire had gone out. In the light of day, you were made all too aware of how thin and impractical your silks were.
Especially when Minho was fully dressed, looking so typically splendid in a perfectly tailored shirt and waistcoat, and black breeches so tight, you assumed he was planning to go out riding later.
That thought pulled at something in your gut.
You wondered, idly, what would happen if you got up and wandered over to him. If you pushed those papers to one side and sat astride him in that chair, facing him, watching him. You wondered what kind of reactions you could draw out from him.
And then, you brought yourself back to reality – to propriety – and you banished these thoughts with a shake of your head. The events that had transpired between the two of you last night – whatever temporary, unspoken truce you had agreed upon – had vanished.
You attempted to push yourself back up to your feet – and immediately winced at the new jolt of pain between your legs. The soreness had returned, with a vengeance.
You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth as you attempted to adjust to this new ache, and it was only when you opened them that you realised Minho’s attention had flickered back to you – watching you carefully.
On instinct, you pulled yourself up to your full height, ignoring the pain as you held your head high. You decided you’d rather die than have to confess to Minho that you were still aching from how…thoroughly he had attended to you last night.
“Do you have a robe I can wear?” you asked, voice perfectly level even as you pulled the furs around you even tighter. “It’s cold in here.”
Minho paused, before turning back to his documents, scanning through them with such nonchalance. “I’ll call for the servants.”
You nodded, only to blink in surprise when Minho got out of his seat, rising to his feet.
“They can escort you back to your chambers and dress you properly there,” Minho said, already turning and heading for the door. “I’ve got some matters to attend to.”
You stared after him, thrown by his words. He was leaving? “But–”
Minho paused at the door, head turning at your quiet interjection.
You shifted your weight, awkward as you attempted to piece together what you wanted to say. “…Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring my clothes up here?”
Because you’d be sharing his chambers – that was the silent implication. You would be sharing the same bedchambers, now that you were married. You would be sharing a bed, now that your new priority was to produce him an heir.
And yet, all Minho did was stare at you for a moment – and you were struck by the look in his eyes. It was…cold.
He turned away, leaving you to stare after him, and finally replied.
“No.”
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hwaflms · 24 days ago
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❛ ⩩ small things skz do for their s/o !
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✿ — chan. listening intently whenever you're talking about anything. whenever you're talking to him, even if you're just rambling about how cute this cat video you found was, he listens as if it were the most important thing to him. if you stopped talking because you think you were talking too much he would be like ";O why did u stop talking i was enjoying that ;O" he always looks so immersed in the things you tell him, even if he's doing something else at the same time.
✿ — minho. tucking you in when he sees you're asleep. if you had fallen asleep before he got home from practice, minho would slowly pull the covers over you as to not wake you and gently kiss you goodnight. even if the two of you were in a fight and you decided to go sleep on the couch, minho would wordlessly come and place a blanket over you after you fell asleep.
✿ — changbin. lending you his clothes randomly. he thinks you look so cute in his clothes that he can't help but lend you them all the time. don't have anything comfortable to wear when you're sleeping over? changbin has a spare shirt he can lend you. spilt milk on your pants? changbin has a pair of sweatpants that might just fit you. you're feeling cold? changbin has a jacket, a sweater, a hoodie and even a parka that he doesn't mind lending you. you don't even have to ask, binnie just hands you his clothes for no apparent reason.
✿ — hyunjin. cute texts throughout the day. as soon as you wake up, you can expect a "morning baby! i hope u slept well and dreamt of me bc i did :D ily <3" or a lil wholesome reaction meme to start your day off. before you sleep, he'll send you a cute goodnight text telling you that he loves you, even if he's mad at you. he especially loves describing the cute dreams he has about you in detail. he's always asking how your day is going so far and telling you how much he misses you when he isn't with you and even when he is.
✿ — jisung. sharing his food with you. whenever he's eating food like pizza or cake, he always remembers to save you a slice because he knows you'll like it. he'll always give you the last gummy bear as long as he gets to feed it to you. sometimes, he just does it without realising, like even if you have a plate of fries in front of you, he'll mindlessly feed you one of his own while talking to you.
✿ — felix. leaving little notes for you. whether it's letting you know that he made brownies for you by putting a small "made these for you, hope you like them baby :)" on the box, or doodling his name and your names together with lil hearts in your notebook you lent him to study, you'll always find small sticky notes or pieces of paper with something written on them from your boyfriend.
✿ — seungmin. taking pictures of you without you asking. minnie just thinks you're the prettiest person ever, and he should be taking pictures of the prettiest person ever all the time ! whenever the two of you are out on aesthetic dates, he always has his phone/camera out to take pictures of you before you can even ask him. if want something to post, seungmin has got you covered, he's basically your personal photographer.
✿ — jeongin. sending or buying you things that remind him of you. jeongin loves sending you random memes or posts that just remind him of you. he jokingly sends you reaction memes of weird looking people and tells you that you look like them and ironically tags you under those cringey couple posts. if he's walking down the street and he sees a plushie he thinks you'll like, you can bet he'll buy it and surprise you with it.
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etherealeeknow · 4 months ago
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the fwb rules
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• rated m for mature
• pairing: fwb!hyunjin x fem!reader
• wc: 4.559
• tw: explicit language, light characterization of an insecure reader, unprotected piv sex (stay safe, lovelies!), fingering & oral (f), nipple play, cream pie— i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:
• note: last time i said long fic isn’t my forte and this time i’ll still say the same hahahahaha. but still, i hope i don’t disappoint 🥺 please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes. feedbacks are always appreciated because i’d love to grow! thank you for waiting and enjoy 💞 pretty banner made by my bestie!! ilysm 😽😽😽
• tag list: @charlieshelves @es-kay-zee @formidxble @oh-my-sparkle @bobateastay @http-hyxnjxn @lyralurexrattle @hyunsluvv @healinghyunjin @sailorhyunjinz
what happened to the rules?
it didn’t start off like this. you can’t remember when exactly you started wondering about the five word question. all you know is that you were one bite away from gobbling a spoonful of jisung’s ice cream when it struck you: since when did you and hyunjin stop going by the rules? he’s been occasionally texting you out of the blue lately just to know what you’re up to, and today he even asked you to stay the night at his, and as much as you want to believe they’re all normal, again, it didn’t start off like this. from the beginning, you and hyunjin have come up with three rules so your relationship can work: one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking. but look at you now, lying naked and out of breath under his blanket while facing his ceiling, driving yourself insane over the haunted question. you have to get it off your chest somehow, but how? 
“hey, why so serious?” asks the culprit behind your overthinking, causing you to jump slightly over his sudden appearance and your hands instinctively pull up the blanket to cover your naked chest, which as a result, makes him chuckle. cute. “here. it’s my cousin’s,” adds the topless man as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands you a white shirt that even under the dim light, you can already tell won’t fit you.
“your cousin? the model? hyunjin, she’s tiny,” you utter, hands still gripping onto the blanket. “i’m—“
“you,” he cuts you off, placing a hand on top of yours while carefully glancing at you to make sure you there aren’t any signs of discomfort. “are fine, y/n. now hurry up. i’m sleepy,” he adds before letting go, leaving behind a lingering warmth on your knuckles.
nodding, you turn your back on him to change, and the room falls silent, causing you to hear how fast your heart is thumping even more than it should have. is it because you had too much coffee this morning? or it can probably be because the shirt is too tight that it’s cutting off your air circulation, right? right, of course. you tell yourself because as much as you dislike both reasons, they are still far better than having hyunjin as the cause.
once you’re done, hyunjin already has his back lying against the bedhead, his head tilting slightly to the side, avoiding the light coming from the night lamp on the bedside table, while his eyes bore deeply into yours. unbothered that he’s been caught staring, he averts his gaze downwards till they reach your chest and spot how your nipples are sticking out through the thin fabric.
“see? it fits you just fine,” he says, turning his vision back to your face as he opens his arms and motions them at you, only to have you remain in the same position with your increasing heartbeat.
“aren’t you gonna, uh, wear something?”
instead of a proper answer, all you get is his laugh—hyunjin’s contagious laugh that usually always succeeds in making you laugh too. but today hits differently. has his laugh always sounded this lighthearted before? no matter what the answer is, one thing for sure is that despite how sweet hwang hyunjin and his laugh are, they have never made your cheeks burn like this before, and this is forbidden. it’s against the rules.
“an hour ago we were naked while sucking each other’s face, y/n,” he finally answers after a while. “besides, i always sleep like this. now, come on,” he adds, repeating the same gesture, except this time his hands are open wider, eager to have you near him again because the space around him is starting to make him feel lonely.
complying with him, you fall into his embrace and hyunjin immediately lets his hands travel to the exact places of where they want to be—one around your head and the other around your waist. despite the room turning less cold with his warmth directly passing onto you, your heart and cheeks conditions remain the same especially since you can hear how hyunjin’s heartbeats are beating just as fast as yours when he lets you lay your head on his chest.
“hyunjin,” you call out, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt.
“y/n,” he replies, replacing the collar with his fingers instead, intertwining them with yours.
what happened to the rules?
“do... do fwb do these?” you ask, the bravery in you finally decide to show up, even just for a little.
“do this?” he asks back while squeezing your hand with all his might, as if he’s nervous.
no. not ‘this’, but ‘these’. not only the hand grabbing, but also the fact that he asked you to stay the night, that he’s cuddling you to sleep, and that you’ve been getting unusual symptoms over them until this very moment.
“yes, this,” you nod and hyunjin becomes muted, but his heartbeats are growing louder, and his grip on you has become tighter.
after what feels like forever, he whispers, voice slightly cracking, and hands getting a little colder, “yes. yes, they do.”
then the two of you become muted, but both heartbeats keep growing louder, and everything stays that way until sleep eventually takes over.
as a homebody, you’ve always against the idea of sleepovers. you believe home is the sweetest place and your own bed is the comfiest even when your mattress is older than a decade and your favorite plushie has had too many holes here and there. but waking up in hyunjin’s bed has broken your stigma—never in your whole life that you’d have thought someone else’s bed can provide you twice the comfort.
“looks like someone had a good sleep,” chirps jisung as he sits beside you, causing you to wipe off the smile on your face before going back to your laptop.
“wow suddenly my best friend’s a psychic?”
“hey, that’d actually make a great drama title!” he exclaims and you roll your eyes. “please do spill the tea though. what happened?” he adds.
“what happened?” you ask back, eyes still on the screen, but the corner of your lips are on the verge of breaking into the smile, knowing full well he’ll complain—which he does by lamely calling you a meanie.
laughing, you tell him nothing happened, but the way he rolls his eyes is a sign he’s not taking any of your bullshit. you are telling the truth though. besides spending the night with each other, nothing really happened, right? it was just another casual fucking session. yes, it was amazing, but that’s no news for jisung. the guy’s practically your wingman—setting you up with hyunjin was his idea because he believes you should, “live your life. have that dreamy college sex orelse you’ll regret it like my old man changbin!”
right on cue, a notification popped out on your big screen, and the sender’s name makes your heart pop too.
“aha, see!” jisung points at it. “y/n, where are you?” he reads out loud, earning yourselves all the eyes from every other student in class.
“oh my god, jisung. shut up!” right when you’re about to log out from the chat app, hyunjin sends another one.
“can i call you?” jisung reads once more and you’re only one second away from smacking his head, but your vibrating phone holds you back.
shooting jisung a glare, you make sure to close your laptop before leaving the class, answering hyunjin’s call even when you’re still half way through the door. right when you’re about to greet him hello, hyunjin beats you to it—his voice a bit raspy, but the softness in his tone still lies within, and it creates endless questions in your mind.
has he just woken up? so is this how he sounds in the morning? why is he calling?
and the list goes on because this isn’t like hyunjin at all. sure, he’s not validating the rules, but he’s breaking his character despite already alarming you to anticipate morning booty calls from him at times. he’s never actually done that though. 
“hi,” you reply, startling yourself with how small your voice came out.
“you left,” says hyunjin and you can hear him sighing from the other line, which somehow causes a slight pang in your heart, wondering if perhaps he is disappointed. “can you come back? wait, actually, let me go to you instead.” he says and you can hear the rustling sounds coming from his side.
“hyunjin, i have class. that’s why i left. i—” should you apologize? but why should you? casual, no strings attached, and no fucks given, remember? “i’m sorry.”
“oh.” hyunjin stops on his track before plopping back down onto the bed, smiling. “i’ll pick you up after class then. when will you finish?”
unconsciously, a smile creeps up your face too, but the realization hits you right after, then followed by the five word question, and you know—you know this is your guts telling you that now’s the time to ask him about it, but your heart hates confrontation. plus, wouldn’t it be rude to reply to someone else’s question with a question? “hyunjin, are you, uh, horny?”
just like yesterday, hyunjin laughs, and with the raspiness in his voice still present, he doesn’t fail to make you laugh along, but at the same time waking the butterflies in your stomach and makes you rethink your decision. mayhaps, you should’ve left him a note or told him that you’ll leave early in the morning; or even, you should’ve ditched classes today and stayed so when he wakes up, you can get him a glass of water, not leaving the boy uncared for like this. but who are you to do so? 
“isn’t it normal for a guy to have a morning wood?” he jokes before quickly adding that he’s not horny. “i just want to see you so let me go get you.”
pressing your lips together, you contemplate on whether you should let him. if you do, won’t you be turning whatever the two of you have right now into something far more complicated? but it’s only until hyunjin adds a desperate “please?” that all of your dilemma disappears, as if you’re being cast into his spell—“okay.”
while heading to the gate, you have the biggest urge to book a massage appointment. dodging jisung’s questions and running away from him after the first period was draining, but having to spend the day running back and forth between two buildings because thinking that volunteering as the lecturers’ teaching assistant was draining on a whole new level. other than feeling like your legs are gonna come off, your mind also feels like it’s gonna blow off—you can’t stop recalling all the things you need to start working on as soon as possible, but stepping into hyunjin’s car turns everything to 180 degrees.
you’d like to think that it’s because of the faint lavender aroma coming from his car freshener along with the heavenly cool air conditioner, but no. you know full well it’s because of the way hyunjin’s smile lit up, his eyes disappear into two small crescent moons, and his blonde hair which is becoming one with the warm orange sky that brings peace to your heart.
“hi,” he breathes out the moment you close the door, and you do the same except for looking at him, which causes hyunjin to furrow his eyebrows while speeding away.
the way home is silent, just the way you like it, but you know full well that it’s not hyunjin’s cup of tea. he doesn’t need to say it, his action is showing it all as he’s been fidgeting non stop, wiping his sweaty palm along his jeans while occasionally licking his plump lips. hyunjin’s a very vocal person. he’s talkative and loud—including in bed. you press your warm cheeks over the realization of your own thoughts, embarrassed. you can’t possibly suspect hyunjin for being horny in the morning when you yourself are being like this in the afternoon. it’s uncalled for.
noticing you from the corner of his eye, hyunjin calls out, asking you if there’s anything wrong, totally catching you off guard. what should you say? lying is not your forte, but being honest clearly isn’t the best option right now, at least, not before you shower and appear presentable in front of him—but wait, since when did that matter so much? a few months ago, you even fucked after you ran a marathon.
“y/n?” calls hyunjin for the second time.
“look, hyunjin, really, it’s okay if you’re horny. you can pull over and i can, uh, relieve you and i can just take the bus home after,” you spit out shamelessly while looking at him straight in the eyes, eager to get far away from hyunjin as fast as possible before you go out of your mind.
just like the night before, hyunjin laughs. and just like the night before, his laugh hits differently and it does nothing other than burning your already burnt cheeks for the worse.
“i swear to god, y/n, i’m not horny. i genuinely want to take you home. nothing more,” explains hyunjin, head straight at the road but eyes repeatedly stealing glances at you. “and nothing less,” he adds, voice barely audible but you caught it.
“o— oh.” is all you manage to respond before the ride quickly turns quiet and hyunjin’s hands begin fidgeting again, all the while you’re trying to decode what he has just said—what does he mean by genuinely wanting to take you home? do fwb do this too? what happened to no fucks given?—and it goes on until hyunjin hits the break in front of your old apartment building.
“we’re here,” says hyunjin, breaking the silence by unlocking the car door.
“we’re here,” you repeat after him, already opening the door and setting a foot out. “uh, thank you.”
“don’t mention it.” hyunjin shoots you his signature smile the moment you lower yourself to meet his eye level from outside the car; this time, you have no choice but to fall under his spell.
“hey, uh, you wanna come in?” you ask, biting your lower lip as a way to punish yourself for being so indecisive. one second you want to run away from him and the next second you want to be near him. come on, get a grip.
as if the punishment isn’t enough, hyunjin declines your offer, all while chuckling with his head thrown back. “for the third time, y/n. i’m not horny. go in and rest up.” 
“if you say so.” you shrug, giving him a small smile before turning around, making sure not to look back, only to fail when you hear the engine driving away.
you can’t quite tell—no, you can’t tell. you don’t get it. there’s an unexplainable empty space in your heart that is caused by hyunjin’s rejection. is it because you’re just not used to see him without having to fuck him? or is it because you’re hurt over the fact that he’s not in the mood to touch you? is it because of last night? is he finally sick of your flaws? things would probably be different if you had retouched your makeup or at least combed your hair before seeing him, would they? either way, you’re fully aware you shouldn’t be torn over your friend with benefits, yet your aching heart says otherwise.
and so when the doorbell rings only a few seconds after you get in and the figure you see through the peephole is no other than the man in question, you spare no time to swing the door open. hyunjin, in return, spares no time to lock his lips with yours right after he utters a brief apology. just like the way hyunjin sneaks his playful hands down your ass, you sneak your tongue in his mouth, and your action makes him smile into the kiss as he leads you back into the room and kicks the door shut with his long legs.
the way to your bedroom is actually pretty short, but with your tongues moving in sync, bodies pressing—glued, even, and eyes continuously closing in pleasure, the short way to your bedroom consists of endless stumbling, tripping, and bumping the door. once inside, you break the kiss and are about to undress yourself when hyunjin beats you to it, settling you down on the bed as he begins taking off your attire one by one ever so effortlessly. and in just a matter of seconds, his lips are back on yours again, floral scented hair falling and brushing against your cheeks, leaving you no time to wonder over the fact that it’s the first time hyunjin has ever undressed you. 
as the kiss continues, you can feel yourself gushing more and more that you start grinding on him mindlessly, needing to feel more than just his bulge poking you. your hands leave his blonde strands to tug on his hoodie, only to have him stop you—one hand around your grip and the other rests on your hip.
“what do you think you’re doing?”
“need you. need to feel you,” you mumble, desperation so visible through your cracked voice. 
“what happened to the girl who was all flustered to sleep with me last night just because i was shirtless?”
autumn nights aren’t supposed to be hot, but hyunjin has proven he has the power to make the impossible happen just with his words and mocking smirk. but the rising heat on your cheeks is nothing compared to the emptiness you feel below, clenching around nothing surely isn’t the best feeling.
“please, jinnie,” you whine, tugging on his hoodie once more, hips moving against his hold.
“fuck.” is all he manages to say before getting off the bed to disrobe himself—hoodie and track pants thrown across the room, now showcasing his toned body and thighs altogether as he hovers over you.
“please take this off too. it looks suffocating,” you say, index finger running faintly through the bulge forming from his tight boxer, making it stand up even more and hyunjin has no choice but to obey you. “put your hair up too please,” you add just when he’s about to dive right back in, and again, your wish is his command.
biting to pull off his hair tie from his wrist, hyunjin smoothly ties his hair back and you’re only given a few seconds to admire his feature before his plump lips coming in contact with your hardened nipple while he toys with the other using his fingers—rubbing and pinching, making your breath hitch over the sensation, fingers digging into his bare shoulders because you don’t want to mess up his hair, and hyunjin’s low grunts pretty much indicate he’s loving it.
“more, please. give me m—”
hyunjin retreats his hand and tongue away from your breast, moving them to your naked pussy,  drawing circles on your outer labia with his middle finger. he teases you just enough and quickly slides in his digit and at the same time sucks on your clit right before you’re about to complain, making you tingle from head to toe.
“you hear that?” he asks, voice muffled, the effect of being too tongue tied from licking every part of your heat, but finger working its magic perfectly, creating loud wet noises from your fluid. “drenched. my pretty y/n is drenched,” says hyunjin, and as much as you want to comment on him for the pet name, you’re too caught up on how his lips vibrate against you the moment he starts palming himself with his unoccupied hand. if he keeps it up, you know you would come undone there and then, and you don’t want that—not yet. so you ask him to stop and he instantly does as told.
“what’s wrong? did i hurt you?” there’s fear written across his expression and heard from his tone, but you’d like to believe your eyes and lips are just playing tricks on you.
“n— no. i just,” you pause to avoid his gazes, but something within you pulls your attention back on him. “i wanna cum with you inside me,” you confess, voice barely audible due to embarrassment; all this time, it’s always been hyunjin to say such things, but perhaps, all the strange tension lately has finally gotten the best of you. you hear him mutter a low “fuck” while his pupils shakes for a brief moment before they somehow appear a shade darker. licking his lower lip, hyunjin pulls you by your legs and rests them on his shoulders, and proceeds to align his tip with your entrance, once again teasing your throbbing core.
the moment you whine is the moment hyunjin pushes himself inside ever so gently, but the stretching still has you throwing your head back, while hyunjin letting our airy moans upon your walls clenching around him. none of you can tell how it’s possible for your vagina to remain so tight after all the countless fucking session for the past half year, but hyunjin doesn’t find that troubling. in fact, he lives for that and it shows from the way his eyes roll to the back of his head as he begins thrusting in and out of you—slowly but steady, veiny hands secured on your hips, vision goes back and forth from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.
hyunjin leans down to kiss you for a couple of seconds, and when he lets go, he quickens his pace—leaning down once more so his length can go deeper in you, hitting your g-spot. at that very moment, you mentally praise yourself for placing the bedroom mirror right across the bed. it presents you with the magnificent view of hyunjin’s rounded, firm ass bouncing rhythmically whenever he snaps his hips, and placing your hands around them, squeezing them, nearly makes you drool over the sight. with hyunjin constant thrusts, the familiar knot in your abdomen starts to bubble up.
“oh my god,” the two of you whimper in unison as hyunjin begins to lose his tempo, moves also grow sloppy, but never once misses your spot.
“y/n, i— ah— i’m so close. fuck,” he breathes out, sweat forming on his forehead, wetting his baby hair down to his neck and chest, and you can only drool helplessly at the sight.
“me too. please cum inside me, cum with me, hyunjin, please, please,” you beg, voice a pitch higher, almost sounds like you strain your throat, and it stays the same. when you feel hyunjin twitch inside you, your hands automatically reach for the bed sheet again, but it only lasts for a second before they’re being taken by hyunjin’s own hands—he has never done this. while intertwining your fingers, his cock twitches again and his eyes roll to the back of his head, jaw falls open as he calls out your name—you naturally do the same, fingers pressing flat against his white knuckles
“hyu—”
“cum, baby,” he cuts you off, averting his hazy eyes on you, and that’s all it takes for you to break—your orgasm washes over you like waves and you cum undone around hyunjin, shaking and mewling altogether while feel the wet coldness around your inner thigh. hyunjin follows right after, shooting his hot cement inside of you; the man can no longer keep his eyes open as he buries his face on the crook of your neck, his choked moans bring music right to your ear all a while his hot breaths bring goosebumps to your unrecovered body.
after riding out your highs, none of you move. hyunjin stays on top of you, his chest rises and falls according to your hard breathing. somehow, it’s calming you down, but it shouldn’t.
“hyunjin, you’re heavy.”
“oh, sorry,” he chuckles and even without looking, you can tell his eyes are smiling too. with his remaining strength, hyunjin pushes himself up and rests on your thighs to pull his dick out of you, momentarily admiring the mixture of his juice and yours dripping down your cunt before fixing his eyes on you to study your face—also something he has never done before. 
“i’m sorry,” he mutters a few moments later, eyes now on you.
tilting your head, you sit up, resting your upper body with your hands on the bed. “all of a sudden? i came? you always make me feel good.”
“that’s what i’m sorry about. i— i didn’t mean to— i mean, i—”
you reach out to him, gently patting his thigh. “hyunjin, calm down. this isn’t like you,” you whisper the last sentence, knowing that perhaps, now’s the time to talk things out, to stop whatever is going on, and go back to how things are used to be, maybe? your heart’s just been restless for too long and apparently, hyunjin seems to be in a similar situation too.
“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to keep using you like this. i genuinely meant what i said. i only wanted to take you home, but we ended up here and—”
“isn’t that what fwb do?” you pull your hand off his thigh, and a frown painted across his face as if he’s questioning your question. “that’s what we agreed on. we have our fwb rules, remember?”
“one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking,” says hyunjin, proving he has memorized every words to the back of his mind.
nodding, you carefully bring back your hand to his thigh, repeating the same movement you did before. “exactly. so you don’t have to be sorry. don’t worry, i’m not feeling used at all.” you end it with a smile.
hyunjin mirrors you, he smiles too; his eyes fall to where your hand is. “but what if i’m breaking them? the rules,” asks the boy whose cold hand is now on top of your warm one. “what if i like you?” his eyes find their way back to you, and that’s when you know. the difference between your temperatures; the difference between your smile and his—the sadness that lies within.
that’s when you understand. everything finally makes sense; every one of hyunjin’s unusual acts. the constant texts and calls, the undressing, the pet names, the facial expression, the hand holding.
what happened to the rules? feelings. that’s what happened. to hyunjin, it’s his feelings over the rules.
but you, what about you? the butterflies, the irregular increasing heartbeats, the flushing cheeks, the overthinking, the disappointment at some point.
“y/n,” hyunjin calls out and you don’t get to get back to him because he’s already an inch away from you, momentarily eyeing your lips before he closes the distance. once again, his blonde hair falls down, brushing against his cheek before meeting yours and it tickles you, but not in the same way as how his kiss tickles your heart; giddy.
what happened to the rules? unwanted feelings. that’s what happened. to you, it’s the unwanted feelings against the rules. and for now, the unwanted feelings are too strong for you to push him away, so you pull him close instead. for now.
gen’s masterlist
repeating this!! special note: HUGE THANK YOU for my awesome bestie for the banner 🥺💞💞 ily, bish!! thank you for being my beta reader too 😽😽😽
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maatryoshkaa · 2 months ago
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the chance of love | bang chan
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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔
✑ Red pen, empty classrooms, and an overheard phone call:
The one where you’re determined to find one flaw about your seemingly picture-perfect class president, and he’s determined to make sure you pass the class—no matter how hard you’re trying to fail.
✑ PAIRING: student council president!bang chan x troublemaker!reader
✑ GENRE: high society/private school!au, retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, enemies-to-lovers, angst 
✑ WORD COUNT: 13.8k
✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying & family conflict themes, mentions of drugs/illicit activity. endless petty shenanigans (mostly from mc). y/n also has a bad relationship with her parents and a hard time facing her feelings in general (don’t we all). fortunately, chan’s patience—and tendency to use bad math pickup lines—could help with that.
disclaimer: levanter high is a private school only in this au. all the characters’ roles have stayed the same.
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“F. Again.”
Snickers erupted around the classroom as your teacher flipped the mock exam paper onto your desk, shaking her head. Sure enough, scrawled across the front page in ruthless red ink, was your latest score—a solid 29/100. Shrugging, you rolled up the test papers before stuffing them into your backpack like a dejected morning newspaper.
“See me after class, Miss L/n.” Your teacher clicked her tongue in disappointment. Whispers from the back of the class began pricking at your ears.
“Isn’t she the eldest daughter of the Yuhan family? The first in line to inherit a multimillion dollar business.”
“The spring exams are right around the corner. If she flunks those, she won’t even graduate—let alone inherit a whole company!”
Their giggles died down the moment you turned around, the huddle of kids scrambling back to their seats and burying their noses in their books. One girl even flashed you an innocent smile.
If she flunks, she won’t even graduate—let alone inherit the company! 
Despite their scornful tone, the words made you smile. Clasping your hands behind your head lazily, you leaned back in your chair and let your eyes fall shut.
Well. That’s the plan.  
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“I don’t understand.” 
Mrs. Koh was pacing back and forth the empty classroom while you sat, jiggling your leg up and down in your chair. Her dotted white dress and perpetually pursed lips made her look vaguely like a chicken—what with the way she kept clucking her tongue—and you stifled a giggle as she turned around.
“You graduated middle school with an awards list a mile long. Then you were at the top of your class—no, all of Levanter High—for the last three years. People even speculated you’d graduate early. Now—” she rifled through the stack of your test papers, “maths. English. All the sciences—the lowest scores in your grade! So—stop bouncing your leg like that, for heaven’s sake—what happened to you?”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. It was the same rant every time, and the same words left unspoken: You come from one of the most influential families in Levanter Hills. You were supposed to be a prodigy. “Maybe I’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you deadpanned, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Doing scary...delinquent things with scary delinquent friends.”
“You don’t have any friends, Miss L/n,” Mrs. Koh sighed, massaging her temples. Despite her blunt words, there was no contempt in her voice—since that bit was true. As the most prestigious private school in the city, Levanter High admitted only the children of the elites—and it was chock full of people so two-faced you’d nearly given up on making friends entirely. Some were down-to-earth and sweet enough—like that freshman, Yang Jeongin, who nobody could really hate, or Lee Felix, the cute art kid you’d had a fleeting crush on—but rumours flew faster than test scores fluctuated, and the more people speculated about your parentage, the more they seemed to keep their distance from you.  
“I don’t think you understand the severity of this situation, Miss L/n,” Mrs. Koh continued. “If you don’t pass the final exams, not only will you be held back from graduating—you’ll be expelled from Levanter High, and transferred to the city’s...public school.” She shivered then, as though she’d uttered a curse. “Imagine the shame you would bring your poor family!”
You scowled at that. “There’s probably more personality in one of those students than all of our class combined,” you muttered under your breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, ma’am. May I go?”
She sighed, clicking her tongue again. Chicken. “Fortunately for you, we’ve come up with a plan. It’s a guaranteed way to ensure you graduate, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
“What—”
“We’ve arranged a tutor for you.” Mrs. Koh’s eyes glinted behind her spectacles, as if pleased with her own brilliance. “One of our best in Levanter High, a star pupil.”
Your eyes narrowed immediately, nearly knocking your chair over as you jumped up in protest. “But— “
Mrs. Koh’s eyes were stern. “You start tomorrow—right after school, instead of your usual study hall period. Room 302, three-thirty sharp.” 
Mouth opening and closing in indignation, you finally sat back down with a glower. “Who even let you get all up in my business?”
She gave you a tight smile then. “Your parents.”
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 “Thank you for calling Yuhan Group. Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system. To leave a message…”
You sighed, jamming your finger into the End Call button before flipping your phone shut. Just like always. You didn’t know what you had expected—it wasn’t like your parents usually answered your calls anyway, always brushing it off as being “too busy.” As a matter of fact, they’d never even bothered to give you their personal numbers, leaving you with nothing but the company’s phonebook instead.
Swinging your legs lightly, you leaned back against the bleachers, their cool metal soothing your sun-warmed skin. The sky was darkening, the horizon thinning into a sliver of molten gold. Across the football field, you could spot Hwang Hyunjin and his teammates shooting hoops in the basketball court, loyal cheerleaders and lovestruck freshmen cheering by the chain-link fence. Reluctantly, you hopped down to begin the trudge home.
It hadn’t always been this way between you and your parents. Once, you’d been more than eager to win their approval in whatever you did—from letting them micromanage every aspect of your life to playing the model daughter whenever they paraded you around company dinners like a prize pony. It wasn’t until they’d forgotten your birthday the third year in a row that something in you had finally clicked. And now here you were—determined to flunk every class you’d once aced. 
Maybe it was plain spite. Or maybe it was something more complicated that you had yet to muster the courage to properly unpack. Either way, you weren’t ready to confront it right now. 
A couple of detours later, you turned onto a street you’d grown familiar with—on the narrower side and crooked like a nervous smile, the concrete caved in and pockmarked with potholes. Tortoise Alley—where the buildings looked like shoeboxes that had been packed haphazardly together, unlike the Upper End of Levanter Hills, with its academies and business firms lined up as neat as Monopoly pieces. 
Street signs flickered to life as minimum wage workers awoke and headed to their night shifts. Despite the drastic change in scenery, though, you felt yourself relaxing. Here, you didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone that knew you. After all—to people like your parents—Tortoise Alley was the poorest, most unsightly part of the city—and being seen around here would be nothing short of embarrassing. 
“Hey, Pippi,” you called out to one of the scraggly kittens dozing on the steps of the corner store. “Sylvester, Bowie!” You dropped into a squat as you greeted the stray cats one by one, feeling the first genuine smile today spread freely across your lips. “Shall I treat you guys to a fish sausage?”
They blinked back at you expectantly, Bowie giving a long, lazy yowl, and you giggled.
“I told ya, kid, your card got declined. ‘Ain’t nothin’ I can do about that.”
You looked up at the sound of the cashier’s muffled voice, and immediately ducked when you realized who he had been talking to.
Bang Chan. Student council president, head prefect, and probably future mayor of Levanter Hills if he kept at it, you thought, blinking in disbelief. He was unmistakable—his curly dark hair spilling over his downturned eyes, gray blazer pressed to perfection. 
What on earth was he, of all people, doing in a place like this?
Two packages of instant noodles sat on the counter: a thick packet of hearty beef stew boasting flavour and sliced sausages (which Bang Chan was eyeing so longingly you feared he might ask for its hand in marriage any minute now), and beside it, a dismal package of spicy cup noodles—the cheapest brand on the shelf.
Bang Chan sighed. “I’ll take this one, then.” He slid the cheaper option forward, digging out a coin from his wallet and handing it to the cashier. He tore off the packaging and filled the cup at the hot water station, propping a math textbook up against the glass of a window seat. 
You rolled your eyes. Goody-two-shoes. Pushing open the doors, you ducked in between the aisles before Chan could spot you. So his card had been declined—it wasn’t uncommon for spoiled kids to get their credit cards frozen by their parents after splurging ridiculous amounts on shopping trips and spontaneous vacations. Still, the thought of picture-perfect Bang Chan getting scolded by his parents after a scandalous night out made you smirk.
Fish sausage for Pippi, chicken for Bowie and Syl. Humming, your fingers flitted over the rows of deli meat, but the sound of muffled sniffling and heavy breathing made you stop. Peeking over the shelf curiously, you were met with the sight of the class president trying in vain to wolf the cheap noodles down, ears growing redder than the scarlet packaging itself. 
Bang Chan. You knew a decent amount about him—an over-achiever, friendly to a fault, and apparently, someone with a spice tolerance lower than your worst grade. You’d heard of him, of course—guys and girls alike couldn’t seem to keep his name out of their mouths. Bang Chan, cookie-cut from perfection. Bang Chan, the golden-all rounder. Bang Chan, the son-in-law your parents would like more than they liked you.
He’s smart, sweet, and genuine, your classmates had gushed. And ridiculously cute!  
You, on the other hand, had rolled your eyes. Genuine, my ass. Anyone with that many merits was bound to have a fatal flaw stashed away somewhere. You’d seen it firsthand, amongst inner business circles, in extortion and backdoor deals signed with warm handshakes and sweet smiles. You’d seen it with your own parents—both hailed business geniuses, hiding their torrid affairs from each other even though they both knew exactly what was going on. And so, the longer the praises got, the dirtier you were willing to bet Bang Chan’s secret was. 
Watching him wince with every bite, though, was making you fight back a laugh.
The high-pitched trill of a phone ringer nearly made you knock over the entire shelf, and you turned away as Bang Chan fished his cell out of his bag. 
“Hello? Yep, I’m on the way home, I just—what?” Worry immediately flooded his voice. “How did she scrape her knee? I’ll be back asap, just…”
Flinging the half-eaten noodles into the trash can and his books into his bag, Chan practically flew out of the door before you even had the chance to blink. You only realized you were staring after him when the cashier cleared his throat, and you snapped out of your bewildered stupor.
“D’you know that kid?” The cashier asked as he scanned your sausage packets. “He dropped his wallet on the way out. Might wanna return it to him.”
You stared at the worn tawny wallet as he slid it towards you. It didn’t take a look inside to tell it held no cash—Bang Chan really had been dead broke. Whatever he’d done, his parents were doing a fantastic job of grounding him. 
“O-oh, yeah, no problem.” 
Then a thought hit you, and you nodded at the package of ramen he’d been eyeing before. “How, uh, much is that?”
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 “Hey, Prez.”
Bang Chan whipped around, catching the wallet you tossed at him just in time. His eyes widened as they darted from you to the wallet, then back to you again. 
“Relax, I didn’t take anything.” Not like there’s anything in there, you wanted to add, but you held yourself back. He hadn’t gotten too far—and there weren’t many roads that lead out of Tortoise Alley—so you’d caught up with him in no time.
“I—thank you.” His face broke into a stunned smile. “Y/n, right?” Both his warm expression and your name on his lips caught you off guard. Slowing his pace slightly, Chan stuck out a hand. 
You eyed him up and down warily. Immediately, you could tell why people liked Bang Chan so much—the boy exuded a sincerity and openness that drew you towards him like a magnet. But it was this same crescent-eyed, toothy-grinned facade you’d seen on countless other adults and classmates—before they turned around and spread rumours about you—that made you roll your eyes and thrust the packet of beef noodles into his outstretched hand instead.
If Chan knew your name, he had doubtless heard the rumours about you, and you didn’t need  to find out any more than that.
“You don’t come here often, do you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going the wrong way, y’know.” You jerked your head in the other direction. “The Upper End’s that way.”
Not waiting for him to answer, you headed back up the alleyway, counting the sausages you’d bought for the cats. Bang Chan watched you carelessly skip over the cracked concrete, nearly wincing every time he thought you were about to land in a pothole and twist your ankle. 
He shook his head, chuckling. And though you would sooner slap yourself before acknowledging it, the same expression was spreading across your face, too.
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 “Did you hear? They’re giving Y/n one-on-one tutoring now.”
“The Yuhan girl? Some people really get their whole life handed to them and still aren’t grateful...”
You sighed, cranking up the volume on your Walkman as you pushed past the gossiping crowd huddled in the stairwell.
“I would’ve given up on her already, the attention-seeking brat.”
“Third floor,” you muttered, spotting the classroom Mrs. Koh had directed you to at the end of the hall. Room 302. You could feel the eyes digging into your back as you stopped in front of the empty classroom door. 
“First and last time,” you grit your teeth. Your words sounded more like a prayer. 
Operation: Terrorize the tutor so badly, he’ll never have the courage to approach you again. The way Mrs. Koh described him had made him sound like the typical timid bookworm, so a few raunchy innuendos would probably do it.
Just as you placed your hand on the knob, a force from the other side yanked the door wide open and you toppled forward with a surprised yelp. Flailing your arms with the grace of a dying swan, you collided into a rather solid...person standing on the other side. A burst of laughter echoed from the corridor—the girls from the stairwell had followed you out of meddlesome curiosity, you realised. Then, one of them made a muffled gasp—and as you peeled your face away from the chest of the person you were clumsily pressed flush against, you knew why everyone had suddenly fallen silent. 
Nose nearly brushing yours—and smelling vaguely of vanilla—the boy blinking back at you with a surprised smile was none other than Bang Chan himself. 
Eyes widening in horror, you immediately shoved him away. A glower settled on your features as you rapidly carded your hands through your hair. Why the hell is he here? You had been expecting stoic nurse’s aide Kim Seungmin, or even the student librarian, Lee Minho—and instead, you’d gotten the student council president himself. Stupid, smiling, infinitely patient— 
“Bang Chan?” The awed whispers behind you finished your horrified thoughts for you. “That lucky bitch—I want him to tutor me, too!”
“Look at the way she practically threw herself onto him. Doesn’t she have any shame?”
“D-don’t tell me,” you stammered in disbelief, “you’re the tutor?”
“Your tutor,” he confirmed, “at your service.” Chan leaned forward with a wink, and you took another instinctive step back. 
If you’d known it was going to be him, you would have never returned that damned wallet—let alone bought him that cursed ramen, for heaven’s sake. Terrorize the tutor? All your plans might as well have had lit themselves on fire and thrown themselves out the window. 
You heard Chan clear his throat as he pulled out a chair at a desk by the window. Reluctantly, you took a seat. 
“Can I see your mock exams first? We can figure out where to go from there.”
With each crumpled test package you fished from your knapsack, you could sense Chan’s eyes widening more and more. 44 percent. 20 points out of 90. And… 
“0/150?” He read aloud in disbelief, turning over your Advanced Functions paper as though looking for the missing points himself. X-marks littered the papers like a swarm of fire ants, and Chan raised an eyebrow at a question where you had scrawled, ‘It is against my religion to solve this equation.’ 
You could imagine what he was thinking—a year ago, the sight of anything less than a 90%, let alone an entire stack of failed tests, would have made you feel sick. Now, though, you felt strangely detached, watching with mild amusement as Chan perused your papers. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he furrowed his brow, one hand propping up his pale chin. Realising you were staring, you quickly diverted your attention to the window just as Chan stacked the tests into a neater pile.
“We’ve got lots of work to do, but it won’t be an impossible task.” He slid one of the mock exams towards you—the Advanced Functions paper, 0/150 emblazoned across the front.
Just you wait, you thought drily, tapping your fingers in a show of boredom.
“Let’s start with functions, yeah? Since it’s your lowest mark right now. Curve sketching and optimization, finding the asymptotes of a function.” You heard him flip open his textbook and prop it up. “To put it simply, you’re finding the derivative of the original function to solve for its limits.”
You peered out the window. “Why?”
“Well, it can tell you a lot about the graph of a function—if it increases, decreases, or stays constant on a given interval.” You could hear him sketching something on your test paper, voice low from concentration. “It’s important to identify extreme values by finding all the points where the derivative equals zero, and where it doesn’t exist.”
One of the girls that had sneered at you in class was standing on the field outside, and you quickly moved away from the window. “Why?”
“Because you’ll get a better sense of the bigger picture—especially in some special cases, like vertical and horizontal asymptotes that won’t even have limits.”
“Why?”
“Well...” You could hear the amused smile in his voice. If Chan had caught onto what you were doing, he didn’t say anything, only giving your bag a gentle pat. “Why don’t you get your notebook out and write all this down first, so you can remember it better?”
“Didn’t bring it.”
“You don’t bring a notebook to school?”
“Mhm.”
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at you, and for a second you thought you’d won—that maybe Bang Chan was capable of losing his temper, and you had succeeded in driving him to his breaking point. But to your dismay, he just chuckled and pulled out a lined notebook from his own bag. “You can have mine, then. It’s new.”
Taken aback, you accidentally made eye contact with Chan for the first time since crashing unceremoniously into him in the doorway.The downturned corners of his eyes gave him the semblance of a puppy—but unlike you’d initially assumed, they were completely rid of any naiveté or gullibility. Instead, there was nothing besides a calm, amused glint that seemed to pin you in place—like a flashlight that had trapped a thief red-handed.  
Bang Chan had definitely caught onto you. 
And yet he hadn’t made a move to accuse you of anything—but somehow, that made you feel even more exposed. 
Doing anything to break the tension in the room, you snatched the notebook from him and quickly flipped to a blank page. Sliding a pencil into your hand, Chan began explaining the concepts again. The session dragged on like an endless game of cat and mouse, both of you chasing the façade out of the other—and every time you thought you’d gained the upper hand, a lighthearted laugh from Chan reduced your efforts to smithereens. 
Vertical and horizontal asymptotes be damned—it was Bang Chan’s patience that seemed to have no limits.
By the end of the session, Chan had managed to wriggle three completed problems out of you, while you had gleaned absolutely nothing from him. If anything, he looked even more refreshed than before, and that frustrated you to no end.
“With that look on your face, people are gonna think you’ve lost a fight or something.” Chan closed his textbook as the clock hit 5:00 P.M. sharp, his eyes glimmering with a hidden laugh. 
You rolled your eyes, grumbling, “Yeah, right. You look like you couldn't throw a punch to save your life, Bang Chan.” 
He quirked an eyebrow again. You suddenly grew conscious of just how close together you were sitting—Chan resting his forearms over the closed books now, his bangs mere inches from brushing against your face. If you leaned in right now, a voice at the back of your head piped up mutinously, you’d be kis—
Chan leaned forward and you froze, eyes instinctively squeezing shut. After a few seconds of pitch-black darkness and your heart hammering in your throat, you heard the class president clear his throat. 
“What are you doing?”
Eyes fluttering open, you saw that Chan had been reaching for your knapsack behind you, and was now helping you tuck your papers and books back inside.
Oh.
Feeling the blood rush mercilessly to your face, you snatched your bag back, muttering, “J-just—a reflex.”
A wicked twitch of his lips. “Reflex?”
“Felt like the right thing to do. Y’know, when something scary suddenly moves at you?” You mumbled helplessly. Just let this damn day be over. 
“Hm? You’re the one who said I couldn’t throw a punch, and now I’m the scary one—where’s your fighting spirit now, Miss L/n?”
“We’re not in a fight, for heaven’s sake,” you threw up your hands, practically kicking the chair into place as you stood up. You had no idea why his words were making your face heat up so much, but Bang Chan sure had a way of making your blood boil. 
“Maybe not. But if it was, I have the feeling today’s score would be 1-0…” he leaned forward again, making your heart leap back into your throat. “Me.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Big Nose,” you bit back sarcastically. For the first time today, Chan’s eyes widened in stunned indignation, and you took the chance to turn on your heel and march out the door. 
“1 - 1,” you called back, feeling a satisfied smile spread across your lips.
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Beep.
Beep.
Be— 
The call connected right as you were about to hit End, and you were so surprised you nearly forgot all the words you’d mustered up the courage to say.
“Hello?”
“Uh—Mother?” The word felt foreign in your mouth, and your mind immediately went blank.
The other end was silent before she finally replied. “So now our daughter remembers to call?”
“I wouldn’t if I had the choice,” you muttered, kicking at the dirt at the edge of the field. The tutoring session with Chan had ended nearly an hour ago, but you never started to head home until the sun began to go down—when you absolutely had to.
You heard her give a condescending laugh. “We had to find out about all your failed tests through the principal, too. Do you have any idea how humiliated your father and I were? How long it took to cover it all up from the press? Not to mention the lengths we went through to make sure that Chan boy agreed to be your designated tutor.”
At this, your feet stalled their swinging. “You what?”
“They wouldn’t let us fake your damned spring exams, like all the others used to do—some new progressive policy about academic integrity, and all that. Naturally, we threatened to sue, but they insisted on finding you a foolproof tutor to make sure you pass.”
Your stomach churned unpleasantly. “So you and...Father agreed on him?”
You could hear the condescending smile in her voice. “Of course. You never appreciate anything we do for you, do you?”
You forced yourself to ignore her passive aggressive remarks, pushing down a biting reply. “Why Bang Chan, then?”
“They told us he was the perfect student—5.0 GPA with honours and awards, student council president, and star of the track team. Being your tutor is a prestigious position, you know, and we wouldn’t settle for less.”
Each word that came out of her mouth made it harder to resist the urge to roll your eyes, but a small spark lit up in the back of your head. “What if...he isn’t as perfect as they claim?” You began, choosing your words carefully. “The guy’s just another high schooler—and you never know what kids could get up to these days.”
Your mother chuckled. “We’ll have him disposed of immediately, of course. We won’t have any of that nonsense near the company name. But why—” 
That was all you needed. You clasped the phone shut, cutting off your mother’s lofty voice. 
Well, you had a new line of attack. 
You didn’t have to make Chan give up on you—and if today was any indication, that might as well have been a Herculean task in itself. You just had to stall his progress—long enough for you to dig up something on the seemingly picture-perfect class president that your high-and-mighty parents disapproved of. Hopping off the bleachers with a newfound determination, you dusted your hands off on your skirt and grinned. 
Time to get digging.
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 “The equations aren’t going to solve themselves, you know.”
Chan was watching you in mild amusement, one hand propped up against his cheek. You only crossed your arms stubbornly, the page of math problems he’d written out for you still blank. 
“You can’t just sit there forever,” he continued, chuckling.
“Watch me.”
“As much as I’m having fun doing just that, I was given instructions not to let you go until you’ve completed some practice.” Chan glanced up at the clock on the wall. It had been at least a half hour since the school bell had rung, and the school was nearly emptied out by now. The blinds were half down, letting only a warm, dim glow filter into the classroom.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me, then,” you answered drily, spinning a pencil in your hand. “Poor you.”
Chan felt his lip quirk as you began doodling on the corner of the page. It wasn’t his first time tutoring someone, and he’d certainly seen his fair share of girls who played dumb in hopes of spending more time with him. But if there was one thing in the world Bang Chan disliked, it was two-faced people—and he’d always felt that their batting eyelashes and extravagant dates stemmed from an idolized image of himself that demanded more than Chan could offer. 
Fake or not, though, he still treated everyone the same—it was in his nature—but no one had ever quite caught his attention like you.
Whether it was the indifference you seemed to emanate with every step, or the quick-witted sarcasm coating your scathing words, there was something about you that set you starkly apart from everyone else at Levanter Hills. For the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the city—and the heir to a conglomerate business, no less—you were one of the most genuine people he’d ever met, and your unapologetic attitude left Chan helplessly chasing after more. He had a feeling you were far from stupid, but he had yet to find out why you were so dead-set on acting like it. And each curveball you threw him just felt like another layer to an equation he was determined to solve. 
With a pace akin to that of pulling teeth, you finally finished two questions. As much as you hated to admit it, Bang Chan was a phenomenal tutor, and he made it nearly impossible for you to make the same mistakes twice. The two of you were engaged in a simultaneous race against time—Chan’s valiant efforts to finish tutoring you before the spring exams rolled around, and you searching high and low for any information you could use as leverage against him with your parents. 
You were running out of excuses. And the only thing really distracting you were those stupid dimples of his every time you failed to get on his nerves. 
Damn it, Y/N, focus.
Before you knew it, a month had flown by, alongside several more units. And you hadn’t found anything, no matter how hard you’d tried. From tracking him down in the hallways to eavesdropping on your classmates’ mind-numbing gossip, all your efforts had been fruitless.
The ‘bag of weed and pills’ you’d spotted Seo Changbin giving him one morning had turned out to be nothing but herbal teas and vitamin supplements. 
Chan had turned down the invites to all of Hwang Hyunjin’s wild parties with an apologetic smile.
And no matter how many times you watched him misplace his tattered wallet and go hungry during lunch, he’d never even stolen a single cookie from the cafeteria.
Even on the evenings after your tutoring sessions, when all the other student council members pulled out fake IDs to hit the snooker lounges and clubs downtown, Chan headed to the school garden to read instead.
“He’s literally a robot, Minho,” you groaned, burying your head in a pile of checked-in books. “I’m failing my mission, big-time.” The student librarian patted your back sympathetically, but you could sense his amused smile without even looking at his face. 
Besides Tortoise Alley and the football bleachers, the library was one of your go-to-places to linger after school: first, because the students there were usually too busy to pay you any attention, and second, because the only person that hadn’t stopped being friends with you after you’d sent your grades plummeting was the student librarian. Lee Minho didn’t pick sides or give away secrets, and that was precisely why he was the sole person you’d been confiding in.
“You lost the moment they set you up with the president,” he laughed, clasping a binder shut and filing it away. “That guy doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.”
“I know,” you mumbled glumly. “I need to figure out a plan. The exams are in three weeks.”
“I wish you weren’t so adamant about failing.” Minho was smiling, but his voice was sad. That was what you found refreshing about him—Minho was honest, but he never tried to force his opinions on you. “I’m going to miss you wreaking havoc in class.”
You snorted. “They won’t.” As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and you nodded in the direction of the jam-packed corridor. A gaggle of cheerleaders and upperclassmen excitedly waved for Minho to come outside before casting you looks of thinly concealed disdain. The student librarian sighed, waving them away with a polite smile.
“I have to say, though—you haven’t been searching as hard these days,” Minho remarked.
“What d’you mean? There’s nothing left to find.”
He shook his head. “You used to snoop around at every chance you got. Practically gave the FBI a run for their money. Now it feels...halfhearted, and all you do is mope around at lunch.”
It was true—you used to leap at every lead you got, scribbling wild theories in your notebook and forcing the amused librarian to listen. Then, the tutoring sessions had grown longer and longer, and you had felt the motivation slowly seep out of you.
“Well, I’m not exactly eager to ruin his reputation,” you finally muttered sheepishly. 
Minho had a strange glint in his catlike eyes. “Weren’t you, though? You used to be ruthless to anyone who tried to get in your way. So what makes Bang Chan different?”
“Because—” you gesticulated wildly, trying to unscramble the thoughts in your head, “if I fail now, they’ll punish him too, and the thought of that...” Somehow, the thought of that’s become more unbearable than my parents’ iron grip on my life. 
You stopped yourself before blurting out the rest, but there was a knowing grin spreading across Minho’s face nonetheless. Before you could reach over to smack him, he jumped to his feet, calling, “Library’s closing!” 
You pinched him and he yelped, laughing. “See ya, asshole.”
Truth be told, underneath the back-and-forth quips and playful sarcasm, being with Bang Chan had become one of the few safe places you had left in this city. Maybe it was because when the school bell rang, you no longer wandered the streets aimlessly until the setting sun eventually forced you to head home. Maybe it was because—despite his firm lectures and lessons—Chan had never forced any expectations on you. for once in your life, you didn’t feel like your reputation preceded you. Chan had never brought up the rumours that flew, but he’d never treated you differently, either. And in fleeting moments like these, when you reached the empty classroom and were greeted with Chan waiting expectantly against the doorway—dimpled smile and all—you felt yourself wanting to freeze time forever.  
“How was the probability test?” He asked, closing the door and pulling out a chair for you.
“Awful,” you declared dramatically as you plopped yourself down, and he laughed. The sound made something in your chest ache. “I didn’t understand a single thing.”
Chan didn’t reply, his smile faltering. His brow was furrowed, and before you could ask him what was wrong, you felt his hand gingerly reach behind you and peel something off the back of your jacket. 
Two pieces of torn lined paper fluttered onto the desk. SPOILED BITCH was scrawled across one in cursive red ink, FUGLY SLUT following closely on the other.
Oh. Your ears reddened, images of the whispering girls who you always squeezed past in the stairwell flashing through your mind. How long had they been stuck on your back?
Chan’s expression had darkened, and you nudged him lightly to ease the sudden tension that had gripped the room. “I—wish they’d come up with something more original sometimes. They’re just from—some of the people I used to be friends with, before all the, um—” you gestured to the pile of assessments, shrugging. “It happens all the time. It’s okay.”
The look on Chan’s face said otherwise. A part of you ached to tell him the real reason behind the botched exams—about your parents’ sky-high expectations, the suffocating feeling of having the public’s eyes on your every move; about the corporate world you both despised and were in line to inherit. Chan was watching you with eyes so soft you instinctively tore your eyes away, throat tight and face burning hot. Your hands quickly fumbled in your bag, pulling out your test papers.
“That’s the probability test, if you want to look through it,” you said, trying to change the subject. Chan eyed you skeptically as you handed it to him, and scanned the mark in disbelief.
“You finished all the worksheets perfectly. The questions here are practically the same. And yet…”
You shrugged, feigning innocence. The two of you had sped through five units in a week, but you didn’t have the heart to tell Chan that the only reason why you did all the questions so diligently now was to make sure you knew how to answer them incorrectly later on. And so, with every session you left with perfectly answered worksheets, you brought back more failed tests to a completely dumbfounded Bang Chan.
“And you’re sure you don’t want to review this unit again?” Chan asked uncertainly. You beamed at him.
“Nuh-uh. The exams are in two weeks. Just teach me the next one.” 
“As you wish.” He leafed through the pages, one hand sliding a pencil out from his front pocket. Flipping your test so the blank side was facing up, he quickly sketched two overlapping circles as you watched in confusion. After a moment, you realized that Chan was drawing a venn diagram.  
“Let’s compromise, because there’s one important probability review I think you need.” He tapped at the left circle, eyes studying yours. “Let’s say this is you—Event A.” Then he pointed at the right circle. “And that’s Event B. That can be—your classmates. Teachers. Parents.” He paused. “Ex-friends.”
He was still thinking about the notes, you thought, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure what he was getting at.
“You’re what probability theorists would call...mutually exclusive events. There are zero outcomes in common, because the events are independent of each other.” He lightly shaded in each side, leaving the overlapping centre blank. “Nothing one does—” Chan firmly scratched out Event B, “should ever affect the outcomes of the other.” Tapping Event A, which you noticed he’d labelled ‘Y/n.’ He pushed the diagram towards you now, a small smile on his lips. “You are your own phenomenon, no matter what the others try to make of you, see?”
You stared back at him, a thousand different thoughts coursing through your mind. 
It was incredibly stupid. Ridiculously cheesy. The metaphor barely made sense. 
And yet it was the cutest thing you had ever heard.
“You’re smiling,” Chan declared triumphantly, and your expression immediately soured.
“No, I’m not.”
“So you did understand it! And my metaphor worked. You’re my star pupil.”
Your cheeks flared redder than the markings on the paper. My star pupil. “No, I didn’t. It made zero sense. That was the nerdiest—”
Chan’s laughter made you slowly trail off, and you felt a stubborn smile tug at your lips, chest relaxing as you reluctantly broke into laughter, too. 
Yes—it was moments like these when you found yourself wishing you could stop time.
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“One week left until the spring exams! Take out your textbooks, we’ll be drilling some review problems…”
Time was ticking, and your search had grown more frantic than ever. If you didn’t find some viable excuse to have Chan dismissed as your tutor, you only had two options left—and you were no longer sure which one was worse.
If you still failed the exams, your parents would undoubtedly find a way to punish Chan instead. 
And if you passed the exams, you would be stepping onto a path that would seal the rest of your life in a world you wanted nothing to do with.
“There has to be something,” you muttered helplessly. You were bouncing your notebook up and down your lap anxiously, the page you’d titled Operation Bang Chan riddled with countless crossed-out ideas. Drugs? Nope. Theft? Nope. Party animal? Never in a thousand years. 
The doors of one of the school entrances swung open, boisterous laughter breaking through the still afternoon air. 
“You sure you don’t want to head downtown with us today? Loosen up a little before exam week.”
“I’ve got plans today.” Chan’s voice made you duck for cover, peering through the slats of the bleachers. It was the student council, having just disbanded their weekly meeting. 
His answer had roused a few whistles from the boys, and you could spot some girls’ jealous expressions from yards away. “No way,” a blonde girl exclaimed, “are you taking someone out?”
Another boy gasped theatrically. “Is it that girl you’ve been tutoring? She’s old money, you know—you’d be filthy rich if you scored.” He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.
Your heart skipped a beat, but Chan waved him off, shaking his head as they let him go. You didn’t realise how hard you had clenched your fists around your notebook until you felt the sharp sting of a papercut. Old money, spoiled brat, entitled bitch—you thought you’d long since grown used to the labels people liked to slap on your name, but hearing them thrown around Bang Chan somehow felt like ripping off a fresh bandage again. 
Shoving your books back into your bag, you carefully hopped down and started after Chan, hiding on the other side of the chain-link fence so he wouldn’t spot you. All the other sports practices had ended, leaving only a few stragglers batting on the baseball diamond or shooting hoops in the basketball court. Soon enough, though, you had stepped off campus and were weaving in and out of golf trails, still tailing him. Only as you passed stretches of freshly cut park fields and pruned flower gardens did you realize that Chan was heading in the direction of Tortoise Alley. 
Sure enough, he made a sharp detour—and you stepped onto paved concrete again, the familiar crooked road opening up before you. 
You lingered by the corner of the street, staring after the raven-haired boy curiously. Where on earth is he going? 
A mewl came from your feet where Pippi and Jimi had slinked over, and you shushed the cats, petting them distractedly. When you looked up again, Chan had disappeared. Frowning, you squinted down both ends of the alleyway before spotting him behind the windows of the corner store again. Another packet of cheap instant ramen was clutched in his hand, and you snorted incredulously.
If eating nothing but junk was a capital crime, you’d have hit the jackpot.
Chan emerged from the store, breaking into a light run to catch a crossing light. As if on cue, his wallet tumbled out of his back pocket and back onto the corner store steps. 
Sighing, you dusted your knees off—despite the cats nipping at your shoelaces in protest—and jogged over to the corner store to pick the tattered wallet up. Empty again, besides his cards, IDs, and numerous receipts—all for the same brand of cheap instant noodles.You shook your head in disbelief. With all that ramen, he’ll die of a stroke before he finishes exam week.
“Can I get two sandwiches?” You called over to the cashier, digging out your own wallet. You quickly slid the change over the counter, eyes not moving from Chan’s dwindling figure in the distance. “Two sandwiches, some sausages...and an iced tea, for good measure.”
Muttering a quick thank-you, you grabbed the items and dashed out of the store to catch up. Chan was heading in the same direction as the first day you’d bumped into him—where the roads slowly began cracking open so badly they became more packed dirt than paved concrete. The buildings, too, seemed to sag with every turn of the block—brick walls worn through until the scaffolding was exposed, and tangled telephone wires hanging low above your head like dozens of thin black snakes.
You finally reached the end of the uneven sidewalk, where Chan walked up to what could only be described as the most dilapidated house on the street. The yellowed lawn was littered with shingles, torn from the roof from spring thunderstorms and wear. The windows were so packed with grime you couldn’t see a single thing inside. Broken furniture and debris were piled in the driveway.
What was Chan, of all people, doing in a neighbourhood like this?
Crouching behind a stack of discarded lumber, you squinted across the darkening street. Chan pulled out a ring of house keys from his pocket, and your eyes widened.
Bang Chan lived here?
The screen door unlocked with a shrill squeak. Inside, you could hear children’s voices—younger siblings—shriek in delight, and a toddler tackled Chan’s knees from behind the door. He chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair just as another small girl jumped out from behind the door.
There’s no way. If Chan’s family came from one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the city, then how on earth did he afford to attend Levanter High?
Your body seemed to react faster than your bewildered mind, hands scrabbling for your cell phone. Flipping it open and fumbling for the camera function, you snapped a photo—instantly feeling a rush of guilt and self-loathing wash over you with each click of the button. It’ll be better than my parents threatening to ruin his life if I fail, you reminded yourself, gritting your teeth. But your reasoning did little to stop you from feeling as though you had stumbled across something forbidden. Somehow, this felt even more illicit than any of the wild ideas you’d written in your notebook, and you could feel your fingers trembling around the flip phone. Get yourself together, y/n. You forced yourself to poise the phone again, clicking the button—and froze when a bright flash burst forth from the camera. 
You instantly slapped a hand over the light as the street fell silent. Heart racing, you lowered the phone—and stopped dead when you realized Chan had turned around. 
He was now staring straight at you.
Your breath caught in your throat, heart plummeting into your gut. He was already ushering the children back inside, a thousand emotions flickering across his face visible even from across the road. He slammed the front door shut, leaving only the two of you standing on the darkening street.
Your mind was racing. Run. Stay. Hide. Walk towards him. Explain everything. Lie your way out. 
Once again, your body responded first, pulling you up and feet stiffly dragging you forward. Still, you kept your gaze trained on the crumbled concrete, knees burning from squatting for so long. When you had reached the steps to his house, you couldn’t bring yourself to move any closer, and instead, your eyes wandered up slightly, fixing on the toes of Chan’s shoes. They were clean but overworn, you realized numbly—to the point where even the tread on the sides looked smooth. Why hadn’t you ever noticed before?
Of course, you knew the answer to that question—it had simply never occurred to you. Everything that drew you to Bang Chan had always been beyond the surface, from the mischievous light in his eyes when he laughed at your stubbornness, or the way his soft smiles could feel like home.
Nothing, though, like the frigid stare he was fixing on you now.
“Have you been following me?” The unfamiliar flatness in his voice made you shrink back. 
“I-I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” The words seemed to jumble on your tongue. I got lost? That was my flashlight? I was just trying to ruin my own life, not expose yours? You could smell the lies in your words from a mile away, and judging from the look you could feel Chan giving you, he wasn’t impressed, either.
“I doubt you came all this way just to ask me about your homework.” Your eyes darted up to his face, and you almost flinched at how stony his expression had become. His piercing gaze was moving between the phone in your right hand, and his wallet in your left. Anyone could see that you had absolutely no reason to be in this neighbourhood—let alone with your cell phone out, camera poised and flashing.
This was definitely enough for your parents to demand a tutor change. You’d gotten what you wanted. So why did you feel like absolute crap?
“You live here?” You finally asked, your wavering voice making you wince.
He crossed his arms. “So what if I do?”
The obvious answer hung suspended in the suffocating air. Like all elite schools, Levanter Hills only admitted children from families with high-earning incomes or illustrious bloodlines. It was one of the many reasons why you despised its system to its core. Only a select few from “subpar” socioeconomic backgrounds were let in on merit-based scholarships that worked them to the bone—if they were lucky. Those kids either hid their backgrounds or else they wouldn’t last—tormented by the others to the point of dropping out. So you’re not supposed to be here.
“Delete that photo.” Chan’s sharp voice cut through your thoughts. “Now.”
“Chan, I—”
“Save it,” he growled. “So everything was true? What they all say about you?” You recoiled, and he gave an incredulous laugh. “You really don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself, do you?” He motioned towards the phone in your hand. “After all, everything’s just a punchline for you to use. And I thought you were different.”
Feeling a lump forming in your throat, your shaking eyes met his narrowed ones, and suddenly everything made sense. The long afternoons tutoring you without a single complaint. Why he could put up with every tedious trick you pulled with the patience of a saint.
“Give me the phone.”
“What if I sent it to everyone?” You demanded, striding up the steps defiantly until you were practically nose to nose.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Why?” You shot back. “Because you don’t want everyone to know you’re here on a scholarship?” 
Chan’s eyes widened as if he’d been slapped, and you huffed an incredulous laugh. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were just tutoring me to keep your scholarship?”
“Y/N—” 
“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, and the hand Chan had instinctively reached towards you stiffened. “All that—phenomenon crap and stupid mutually exclusive events—that was all just sweet talk, too, then?” A dry laugh forced itself out of your throat as you muttered, “You’re just like everyone else. Playing any role if it gets you what you want.”
“Play?” Chan spat. You wanted to hit a nerve, Y/N. Congrats, you did it. “Maybe this is all a game to people like you—from your grades to your parents’ money to the people trying to help you—but I’m not playing along. I can’t afford to.”
You could feel the hurt and anger rising in your chest now—that same, horrible, childish anger you’d harboured against your parents, classmates, and life for so long. It was from this anger that you’d crafted a mask of spite, stopping at nothing until the day you could tear the expectations the world had tied you down with to shreds. But with anger soon came tears, and the last thing you wanted today was for Chan to see you cry. 
Biting your bottom lip to keep it from trembling, you shoved his wallet—along with the bulging bag of food—into Chan’s chest so hard he nearly stumbled back. Jamming your hands into your pockets, you turned on your heel and stormed back up the street before Chan could open his mouth again.
An overwhelming silence seemed to swallow Chan the moment you disappeared from his sight, and he felt his fists clenching involuntarily. A timid click behind him made him turn around, his baby brother opening the door a crack and peering at him worriedly. 
“Hey, hey, don’t worry about me. Take—here.” He quickly opened the plastic bag, but his fingers stalled when he saw its contents. Huge deli sandwiches, sausage sticks, a full flask of iced tea—food he’d only been able to stare longingly at before, not daring to overspend even trivial savings on simple luxuries. He never even thought you’d noticed.
“You’ll do it, won’t you?”
The principal peered at Chan expectantly over his glasses. Before Chan could reply, the older man added, “It’s just a tutoring job, and I’ve noticed your extracurriculars have been lacking lately. You do remember you’re here on scholarship, and all?” There was a sly edge to his voice that gave his kindly gaze a sour twist.
Chan swallowed hard. “O-of course. But who…?”
“Y/n L/n.” The principal looked smug with Chan’s answer. “Her parents own the leading retail business in the country, and she’ll need a clean academic record to inherit that company without any complaints from its stakeholders. She’s bright, of course, but her marks have been falling drastically as of late. Nobody knows why, but that’s not the concern—your job is just to make sure she passes the spring exams, understood?”
Chan nodded absently as the principal prattled on, snippets of his words jumping out at him. Born into a million-dollar family. Used to be a prodigy, but now she seems determined to be a delinquent, instead. Everything about you should have put him off, but he’d spotted you around his neighbourhood. The first time, he had been astonished—there was no reason for someone like you to be in a place like that—and yet Chan had never seen someone look so at ease. He had seen the way you hand-fed scraps of sausages to the strays every day, and called each kitten by name. In those moments, you looked unguarded—tranquil, but unmistakably lonely, completely unlike the ugly rumours attached to your name. 
“If she fails, she’ll be dropped to the public school.” The principal fixed Chan with a knowing look, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the air between them. And you’ll follow her there. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Staring into the principal’s condescending eyes, Chan felt his stomach churn. He might not have known what it was like to be born into a million-dollar family, but he knew better than anyone how it felt to be held to suffocating expectations wherever he went. The reputation he’d carefully built was immaculate but fragile, and just looking at the principal was a constant reminder that the shadows of the life he’d been born into would precede him no matter how hard he worked.
You’re just like everyone else. Hell, maybe he was. Chan hadn’t missed the way your lips had quivered before you’d quickly turned away, and he’d fought the urge to pull you back. You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself, do you? 
His mind flickered back to the scholarship the principal dangled above him like a tantalizing dog bone. 
And why it felt like he had just lost something much, much more.
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It had been nearly a week since your encounter on Chan’s doorstep. 
You’d missed all your tutoring sessions since, ignoring Mrs. Koh’s harping calls after you as you stalked out of last period every day. Every time Chan spotted you in the hallways, you immediately made a sharp turn into the closest corridor, letting the other students drown you in their sea of pressed gray uniforms.
Why did it bother him so much? No rumours about him had surfaced. Even so, he found his mind wandering more towards you than the photos you’d taken of him that day.
“This is your last practice test before the spring exams,” his homeroom teacher called out, clapping her hands. “As usual, your rankings will be posted on the bulletin outside…”
He filled in the test absentmindedly, perking up when the sound of two teachers whispering worriedly in the hallway reached his ears.
“I don’t know how they could’ve gotten in! An answer sheet for yesterday’s test is gone!”
“Are you sure it was stolen?”
“Positive. I could’ve sworn I left it in the copy room...who would’ve done something like this?”
Chan was out the door the moment the bell rang, gut instincts propelling him down the hallways and up the two flights of stairs until he reached the third floor. Heart racing, he threw open the door to the tutoring classroom. For the first time in the past week, your bag was lying on the desk as if you’d intended to sit down, but you were nowhere to be seen. And sure enough—sticking out shamelessly from the front pocket, in broad daylight—was a crisp answer sheet, and one wrinkled test. 
Feeling the blood rush to his face, Chan snatched the papers out of your bag with a breath of disbelief. I knew it. He had to have been a fool for worrying about you all this time, for wondering if his words had been too harsh. Just as he thought—you had been making fun of him all along. Never had he ever thought you would stoop this low, but this was the final straw. As he turned over the papers, hands trembling with anger, Chan spotted something that made him stop. Furrowing his brow, he took a long, hard look at your test—then back at the stolen answer sheets in disbelief. 
You had purposely filled in all the opposite answers.
That was why you had stolen the answer sheet? That’s...unheard of. It can’t be. Dumbfounded, he shook your bag lightly, but nothing else fell out except for a chipped No.2 pencil and the black composition notebook he had given you. The pages flopped open, revealing a well-thumbed page riddled with pen marks and scribbles. Operation Bang Chan had been scrawled across the top, and Chan squinted curiously, trying to decipher  the scratched-out notes.
Operation Bang Chan, you had written in block letters, find out what he’s hiding!!!
Maybe he sells drugs? was crossed out furiously, followed by goes to HHJ’s wild parties? The crossed-out list went on, and the conspiratorial notes slowly turned into shorter, more miscellaneous ones: 
Takes way too many caffeine pills!! *Note: Tell him to sleep more. 
Does he ever stop reading?
Likes beef noodles. (flaw: eats too much instant ramen?)
Forgetful AF!! Gotta staple his wallet to the back of his pants sometime.
Despite himself, Chan chuckled. Finally, at the bottom of the page, he caught sight of a few barely-legible lines that hadn’t yet been scribbled out.
Mom says they’ll stop making him tutor me if he’s not as perfect as they say. Gotta get rid of him before they start blaming him, too.
He frowned, setting the notebook down carefully as words from his meeting with the principal rang in his head. She used to be a prodigy, but now she’s hell-bent on being a delinquent instead. All you need to do is make sure she graduates, understood? 
Chan glanced from your latest failed test to the notebook, mind wandering to all the ways you had tried to worm your way out of each tutoring session. He thought back to the night he’d caught you with your flashing phone camera, and the way you had looked like the ground had been yanked out from beneath your feet. You—someone who he’d known to always have a quick, witty response to anything he said, unable to form a single explanation.   
You had been purposely trying to fail, and you wanted him gone—that much was clear. But why? He scanned the empty classroom again. And where on earth could she have gone?
Chan dashed into the hallways, peering into classroom windows from door to door. A group of girls lit up and tried to stop him, but Chan brushed right past, search growing more and more frantic. After ten minutes of futile searching, he had reached the end of the last emptied corridor, and was about to give up when a strange sound made him stop.
Halting in his tracks, he pressed his back against the door he had heard it coming from. He was at the very end of the hall, everything silent besides the pounding of Chan’s heart—and, if he held his breath, the unmistakable sound of someone sniffling. Before he could debate whether or not to knock, a shrill voice he didn’t recognize pierced his ears—tinny and crackling, as though coming from a cell phone.
“Ungrateful brat—say that one more time, I dare you.”  
“I said,” the sound of your voice made Chan turn his head in surprise, peering through the tiny crack the wooden door had left open, “it’s not the tutor’s fault. I won’t pass, no matter what you try.”
You were standing with your back pressed against a desk, phone in hand. Your voice was remarkably steady, but Chan caught the way your bottom lip quivered violently.
“You stop your ridiculous whining right this instant—”
“It’s not whining,” you breathed a laugh, throat tight with frustrated tears, “it’s crying. But I guess you’ve never been around whenever I cried as a kid, so you wouldn’t know.”
“Why are you spouting all this nonsense now?”
Your free hand was clamped onto the edge of the desk, knuckles white from how hard you were clenching your fist. “Maybe I’m sick of you guys making every single decision for me. Maybe because it’s been s-suffocating me, and I just want you to listen for a change. And it’s not nonsense—I’m being completely serious.” You paused, trying to stop your breath from trembling. “But you’ve never taken me seriously, either, have you?”  
The older woman on the other end of the phone—your mother, Chan realised—huffed indignantly. “You don’t want us making the decisions for you? As if you could ever amount to anything if it weren’t for our help! Kids like you shouldn’t be making adult decisions.” She sneered, adding, “Without us, where would you even be? With those dregs in the public schools and slums, who’ll never accomplish even a fraction of what you could! Don’t get smart with me, young lady.” 
“A kid from those neighbourhoods has already done much more than I ever could at this damned school.” Chan’s head snapped up then, heart leaping into his throat as you continued furiously. “Yes—everything I have is because of you. Because of you, the only people who want to be my friend are people who want my money or social circles. Because you’re s-so great, everyone sees the power of your names before they care to find out who I am as a person.” You inhaled shakily, ignoring your parents’ protests on the other end of the line. “You want to know the truth? I envy those kids from those neighbourhoods, Mother. At least they can say they worked hard for what they have.”
There was a long sigh from the other end, and the sound of your mother shushing your father’s angry shouts in the background. “We just want you to be the best, sweetheart—we only want the best for you, see?” The fake sympathy in her voice made Chan’s stomach twist. “We want you to succeed, to lead the company like you were born to do—”
“But have you ever asked me what I want?”
A long silence fell, save for the sniffling you were trying desperately to muffle, and Chan’s heartbeat roaring in his ears. 
“What?” Your father demanded angrily.
“How could you possibly want anything else?” Your mother laughed, sounding genuinely confused.
“Stop calling me already,” you whispered. “You only call me when you want something from me. But you’re never on the line during the holidays, and you never call me on my birthday, either. You never wanted a daughter—you wanted a damn trophy.”
Your father sputtered angrily, “Who—who taught you to say all this? Get back here this instant, or we’ll call the school. You can’t just keep running away from this, you—”
There was a clattering crash as you threw your phone across the classroom, and you sank to the floor in an exhausted heap. Why were you doing all this? It was a question that had been thrown at you since you’d first let your marks drop, and now you knew the answer better than ever. Because it was the only way you knew how to shatter the mold you had been born in, to get back at the endless expectations your parents tied you down with like a tightening leash.
As you finally let the tears flow, shoulders heaving from the force of each muffled sob, Chan was hit with the sudden realization that somehow, you were just as trapped as he had always felt himself. By some sick twist of fate, you—a girl from Levanter Hills, a neighbourhood he both despised and longed after—had no more control over your own life than he did.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the classroom door open slightly. The creak made you jump like a startled cat, your tear-filled eyes widening. You instantly shrank away when Chan took a step forward, and he felt his heart break.
“What?” You muttered, flustered gaze falling on the answer sheets he still clutched in one hand. “You here to s-scold me, too?” 
Glancing down at the papers, Chan folded them quietly before stuffing them into his back pocket.
You were wiping at your tears furiously. “Fucking—hell. Damn it all,” you cursed, but no matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t stop falling—and so you resorted to turning your back to him. “Go away, Bang Chan. I hate it when people see me cry.”
“I won’t look, then,” Chan promised earnestly. You were now burrowed underneath one of the desks, and he sat himself down, facing away from you. You could feel his back brush against yours slightly with every inhale he took, the warmth radiating from his palms next to yours on the polished floor, and inexplicably felt another sob threatening to give way.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Chan asked quietly. You didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about the phone call. So he heard everything.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you shrugged, exhaling slowly. “Besides, you didn’t need to know. Who c-cares why a spoiled brat with everything handed to her wants to fail her exams?”
There was a beat of silence. Then came his soft reply. “I do.”
You turned your head at that, heart leaping into your throat. He really wasn’t looking at you, you realized—his knees were tucked in, mirroring you and staring at the other end of the classroom. Bang Chan, always a man of his word. You almost wanted to smile. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, y’know.”
At that, Chan did turn around, and you nearly flinched back at how close his face was to yours. “I’m not.” You looked away immediately, still trying to stop the damned tears from spilling down your cheeks.
“Alright,” you muttered, “now stop looking at me. You promised.”
You could sense a small smile on his face as he turned away again. His back was directly pressed against yours now.
“You didn’t tell anyone about the pictures,” Chan finally said after a couple beats of silence, and you scoffed. 
“Why would I?” Chan raised an eyebrow as you sighed. “Everyone has things they’d rather the world not know. It’s not like you did anything wrong, anyways. Not like me.” You mumbled the last part sheepishly, painfully aware of the photos still sitting in your battered phone.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you heard him reply, and before you could roll your eyes, Chan continued, “Well technically, you never did anything with the pictures. I’ll just assume that you were so...dazzled by my charms you were dying to snap a few photos of me, yeah?”
“N-no! I—” you wheeled around in protest, but gave up when you saw the mischievous grin on his lips. You sighed, settling for a light smack on his arm. Despite the heat rushing to your ears, you felt yourself relaxing. Sitting there in a quiet classroom and watching the sun begin to set outside the half-closed windows felt like a rare kind of intimacy—not the tales of intimacy from jocks and cheerleaders against locker room walls, or the intoxicated kind you used to hear your ‘friends’ boasting about after Hyunjin’s parties. It was an intimacy that demanded stripping off prejudices instead of clothes, one that washed away the fake bravado you had been using as a crutch for so long. You wanted to lean into Chan’s warmth, his steadying presence dissolving the tension that had seized up your body the moment your parents had called you.
“None of what they said was true, you know?” Chan spoke again, more softly this time. “All that crap about—never being able to get anywhere without their help, I mean. None of those marks from previous years were a scam, which means all your talents and accomplishments—must’ve come from up here.” He lightly tapped the back of your hair, then added thoughtfully, “You’re mutually exclusive events, after all. A phenomenon that—”
“Shut up, you big-nosed sap, just—shut up,” you cut him off, but there was no venom in your words—not even a hint of your trademark, biting cynicism, and Chan broke into a grin. “And don’t smile like that.”
He looked bemused. “Why not?” 
Your eyes flickered down to his lips only for the fraction of a second, but the words were already tumbling out of your mouth.
“It makes me want to kiss you.”
You half-expected Chan to laugh it off, or even roll his eyes like he usually did whenever you teased him. What you certainly hadn’t expected, though, was for him to cock an eyebrow at you, unflinching. “Then do it.”
His gaze was piercing—challenging, almost, any trace of the goody-two-shoes you’d teased relentlessly completely gone. Flustered, you tore your gaze away.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” You finally mumbled. You could tell Chan hadn’t anticipated this question, his expression turning pensive. I gave you hell during all those tutoring sessions. I filled in all the questions wrong on purpose. I spent all my free time trying to bring down your reputation.
Chan could guess all your unspoken words without even glancing at your face. He would have been lying if he said the same question hadn’t crossed his mind multiple times before. But the truth was, Chan had always seen in you what you didn’t see in yourself. 
Why are you being so nice to me?
“Because you deserve it,” he replied simply, and when you made an unconvinced noise, he continued. “Because I’ve seen the way you fight off the bullies for some of the freshmen. And the way you stop by Tortoise Alley every evening to take care of the abandoned cats on your way home. Because, despite all your biting words and bravado, you’re the only person I’ve ever seen not retaliate against the people who torment you every day.”
And when his eyes met yours for a split second, Chan finally found the courage to confess the last reason—the one that had trumped all the rest.
“Because—somewhere along the way, I think I ended up falling in love with you, too.” 
Your eyes widened, but Chan’s gaze was as soft as it was steady, holding you firmly in place as you felt your heartbeat quickening erratically.
“Are you blushing?” He nudged you teasingly, making you sputter in protest.
“Leave me alone!”
“But I like seeing you flustered.”
“It’s only because I’m embarrassed by your lame attempt at being cute,” you grumbled, the blatant lie making your voice sound pitchier than usual. No doubt Chan had picked up on this, because his grin had grown wider than ever.
“Mm. So you think I’m cute?”
“Speak for yourself. Prim and proper Bang Chan’s fallen for the heretic of the school,” you declared in a sing-song voice, smirking when his face glowed bright pink. Laughing, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder, feeling his hair brush against your cheek when he did the same.
“You’ll be rid of me soon,” you finally reassured him. “I’ll just steal the answer sheets again so they expel me for cheating or something. Then they won’t be able to blame you f—”
Before you knew it, Chan’s hands had locked around your wrists, forcing you to turn around and face him. His furrowed brow made your heart skip a beat, and you fell silent. In the warm shade, his dark pupils had dilated with a look so intense you almost thought he was angry—or was it because of something else? 
“Wh-what?” You stammered indignantly, trying to yank yourself free, but Chan didn’t budge—only sighing, and forcing you to look at him again.
“You know, there’s another way to get back at your parents without screwing up your own life.”
You were trying to to give him a skeptical look, but Chan watched your pupils dart nervously between his face and down to the floor. You had never liked attention, he noticed, but that had never stopped his eyes from instinctively searching for you amidst crowded classrooms and bustling hallways every chance that he got. He could focus throughout four-hour exams, monotonous council meetings, and he’d mastered every studying tactic in the book—but the moment Chan thought of you, his mind went all over the place. He couldn’t help it—there had just always been something else beneath the nonchalant façade you put on that drew him to you. Maybe you had never liked attention, but it just so happened that Bang Chan only ever had eyes for you.
“How?”
He didn’t reply, eyes only flickering down to your lips for a split second, and before you knew it, Chan was kissing you. 
Your mouth parted in surprise, and he pulled back slightly with the panic of one suddenly awakening from a dream, apology already tumbling from his lips. But your hands found his lapels before your head could make sense of it all, pulling him back down with a desperation you didn’t know you had. His lips crashed against yours like the final answer to an unsolved equation, a silent response to the question you’d asked moments before. When you tangled your fingers at the nape of his neck, you felt Chan’s self-control shatter, and he began kissing you back, harder than before, the kind of kiss that left your skin burning and all your nerves alight with a thousand tremors. One of his strong arms found your waist, pulling you impossibly closer into him as his other hand tilted your chin up to give his lips better access. Your teeth brushed against his lower lip and he groaned softly, low in his throat, mouth parting—and a jarring clang sent your eyes fluttering back open. Chan cried out in pain, and it took you a second to realize he had knocked his head against the bottom of the desk you were both curled up under.
There were a few beats of dead silence before the two of your burst into peals of laughter, Chan burying his face in your shoulder in embarrassment. You playfully rubbed the crown of his head.
“I think,” you began, still catching your breath, “I think I may like this plan of yours much better than my old one.”
Chan gave you a wicked smirk. “Well,” he murmured, nose brushing against yours, “we’d better get to it, then, hm?”
The flustered look on your face was the only confirmation Chan needed before he pulled you in for another—and much lengthier—kiss.
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 “Congratulations, congratulations!”
There was a chorus of echoed praises and applause as the numerous guests your parents had invited over to their house took turns greeting them.
“Our own Y/n—the highest exam scores in the country!” A woman exclaimed, clapping her gloved hands giddily, and your mother simpered.
“That Bang Chan boy must be a fantastic tutor, too,” another gushed, before dropping their voice to a furtive whisper. “But I hear he comes from a rather...shameful disposition.”
Several gasps were elicited from the gathered crowd, one of them murmuring, “Yes, so I’ve heard…his family’s from the Lower End, no?”
“Parents work minimum wage, too...how he got into Levanter, quite frankly, is beyond me!”
Your father cleared his throat irritably. Spotting you across the dining hall, he bellowed, “Y/n!”
You immediately cringed, trying to hide in the sea of other networking business families, but your mother was already waving you over. You had hated parties like these ever since you could remember, but your parents had insisted on throwing one to “commemorate” your graduation and the end-of-year exams. Everyone looked like a walking mannequin—all spouting the same smalltalk, their polite smiles hiding backhanded compliments, but you kept your head up like you’d been taught and forced a smile of your own just the same.
“There she is! My lovely daughter,” your father cried, hands clamping down on your shoulders like a vice the moment you reached him, and you resisted the overwhelming urge to shove them away. “We really thought she had no hope, you know—teenagers these days! But she turned it all around in the end, just like I knew she would.”
“A born genius, I’d say—just like her father, with her mother’s looks!” One older businessman chortled, raising his glass of champagne, and everyone made sounds of agreement. The man’s hand had found its way to the small of your back and you grit your teeth, remembering another one of the many reasons why you despised the company your parents insisted on keeping around them. Still, you willed yourself to stay put, knowing that there was a reason why you had agreed to it all so readily. 
“Ah, that’s right—we did say you could invite some of your friends today, didn’t we, honey?” Your mother chirped at you before craning her head around the room expectantly. “Where are they? Did you ask Jia? Or perhaps that Suho boy…” she went on, dropping the names of other socialite children, and you resisted the urge to laugh.
“I did, Mother.” You spotted a familiar head bobbing in the crowded hallway and immediately began to relax. “He’s right—there!”
Your parents’ colleagues chittered in anticipation, the crowd parting with gasps and murmurs, and you felt a genuine smile spread across your face as Bang Chan walked in. 
When you’d told him about the party, Chan had immediately begun searching for a black suit and tie before you’d insisted that he dressed comfortably instead. So here he was—practically parting a sea of socialites dressed to the nines, wearing simple black jeans and a loose dress shirt with the collar undone.
Even so, he was still the most captivating person in the room.
You could sense the horror on your parents’ faces before you even turned back to look at them. “Ah,” your mother managed, throat sounding tight.
“Your—friend, yes?” Your father asked, his tone sounding more like a plead than a question.
You beamed up at Chan before looping your arm tightly in his. “My boyfriend.” 
You could practically see the smoke billowing out of your father’s ears as you rested your head on Chan’s shoulder. Meanwhile, Chan had given the man who had touched you earlier a glare you’d never even thought he was capable of, and now everyone stood a good foot away from the two of you.
All the other guests were frantically reassuring your parents, who were slowly turning purple. “You know how high school sweethearts are,” one lady crooned, and the rest parroted along.
“They won’t last long, I’m sure...she’ll come to her senses soon...just let them be young...”
“Which university have you selected, Miss Y/n?” One of them asked you, trying to lighten the atmosphere by changing the subject.
“Miroh Heights,” you replied, and they gasped in delight, glancing nervously back at your parents.
“But—but that’s all the way across the world!”
“Well, she can take over the company once she’s done her studies all the same,” your father said gruffly, and the crowd chimed in agreement.
“Such a prestigious school, too!”
“If only my boys were as gifted.”
Your parents nodded in pride, slowly beginning to calm down, and the woman turned to Chan.
“What about you, er—young man?”
 He smiled. “Miroh Heights.”
Another deafening silence swept through the room. Chan’s fingers lightly intertwined with yours, squeezing reassuringly. This might as well have been your parents’ worst nightmare—as far as they knew, Bang Chan was the suitor from hell, eloping with their prized daughter—and the fact that the pauper had won the exact same opportunities as the trophy princess they’d spent a lifetime trying to perfect was enough to make your parents look completely stupified. 
You squeezed his hand back. Mission successful. “Thank you for coming, everyone—enjoy your night!” You flashed them all your most dazzling smile before making a beeline for the nearest door. Pulling Chan along the winding corridors, you finally made it outside, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool night air hit your flushed skin.
“I—thought your mother was going to flay me alive with those nails of hers,” Chan gasped, holding onto his knees as he caught his breath.
“I can’t believe you really self-sabotaged yourself in the end,” you mused, “spreading all those rumours about yourself.”
He grinned. Despite having helped him comb back his hair, a few stubborn curls still fell into his bright hazel eyes. “Worked like a charm, didn’t it? Word travels fast in tight social circles.” Chan cast a doubtful look behind him, where guests were still milling in and out of the extravagant manor. “Don’t you want to stay, though? It’s your party, after all.”
You sighed, kicking off your heels. “That’s just the excuse my parents like to use to show off their most recent triumphs. They couldn’t care less—especially after all that.” You threw a devilish smirk back at Chan before pulling out the pins in your hair. “Bloody hell, this shit’s uncomfortable.”
Chan watched as the locks fell around your face again, hands carding messily through them. To any of the other guests, you might have looked like a madwoman. But to him, you were nothing short of stunning.  
“You’re gawking, lover boy.” You elbowed him, feeling your cheeks heat up under his soft gaze. Chan just chuckled, shaking his head and pulling you towards the gates—where an impatient Seo Changbin was waiting, his beat-up Harley humming against the curb.
“Back in my garage, 6 AM sharp,” the dark-haired boy grumbled, chucking the keys for Chan to catch. He gave you a small nod, adding thoughtfully, “And use protection, lovebirds.”
“Changbin,” Chan warned, and he held up two gloved hands in mock surrender, stepping back and eventually disappearing around the curb.
“Since when does the respectable student council president know how to ride a motorcycle?” You quipped, amused.
“Since Seo Changbin dragged one back from the junkyard, and I had to make sure the kid didn’t kill himself learning how to work one,” Chan muttered. Before you could respond, he’d hoisted you onto the back of the bike princess-style, and you giggled.
“So,” he began, “I have one last probability question for you.”
“Go for it.”
“What are the chances that...I can take you out tonight?”
You rolled your eyes and groaned, fighting the smile that was tugging at your lips. “Depends on what we’re having for dinner, because all they gave me was bad champagne.”
Chan looked genuinely worried then, bottom lip catching on his teeth. “Well, if you want to eat around the Upper End, I’m sure I could—”
“I want ramen, Prez.” You snuggled against his back, knotting your fists around his waist. “Ramen.”
His dimples appeared. “Ramen it is.” 
Chan started the engine, speeding towards the familiar haphazard lights of Tortoise Alley, and you pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck as you murmured a quiet answer to his question.
“One hundred percent, by the way.”
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thevampywolf · 2 months ago
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Speakers
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Genre: roomates to lovers, smut
Warnings: unprotected sex, masturbation, voyeurism, auralism, bondage, degrading, praising, daddy/bbg kink, cursing
Request: No
Member: Chan
It's dark in Y/N's bedroom, the heavy curtains pulled taut across the window to block out the feeble rays of sunshine. It's nearly evening, and yet the summer sun still continues to spill its light across the neighbourhood.
Y/N herself is laying amongst the heap of pillows scattered across her silky bedsheets, her shirt unbuttoned and exposing the somewhat explicit lingerie caressing her curves. She scrolls aimlessly through her phone, her lower lip caught in-between her teeth as she delves further into the not so innocent side of her social media; one video in particular makes her stop her scrolling.
Rolling onto her stomach, Y/N clicks onto the video and her breath immediately catches in her throat. She's staring down at a black screen, but the lewd moans erupting from the device causes heat to rise up underneath the girl's skin. Her chest and her cheeks flush a dark coral as she squeezes her thighs together. Her soaked underwear sticks to her core, the fabric completely dripping from her body being turned on all day ... in a way she enjoyed the feeling, the thrill of having to wait until she's home - she could have slipped out of her work at any time to relieve herself, but in truth, she knew she'd be even more worked up and horny by the time she got home. So she waited, fidgeting her way through the painstakingly long day.
Now, Y/N crawls off of her bed and peeks outside of her bedroom; her roommate is still at work, leaving her alone in the house, and more importantly, leaving her with complete privacy to be as loud as she wants.
Shrugging her shirt off, Y/N crawls onto her bed again and resumes the blank video on her phone. Biting her lip, she slowly slips out of her underwear, her bra joining the lace on the floor before she sprawls against the soft silk of her bed. She leans forward on her hands and knees, her cheek pressed up against her pillow as her hand slowly strokes its way down her stomach, down to the heat pooling in-between her legs.
Letting out a soft moan, Y/N traces her fingers trough her dripping core, the muffled sounds of pleasure from her phone stimulating all of her senses. She gasps as she pressed the pad of her middle finger to her throbbing clitoris, swollen and tender from anticipation. The contact between her skin on her skin makes her gasp, and she whines, her moans mingling with the groans echoing from her phone's speaker.
***
Chan sighs, loosening his tie from around his throat. As he steps out from his company's ridiculously large building, he tugs at his collar to open the top buttons; it's been a long day of meetings, and his formal attire had begun to grate on his nerves. His crisp white shirt was annoyingly suffocating, what with it's too high collar and the need for it to be tucked into his pressed trousers; he impatiently yanks the material out of his waistband and allows himself to breathe and the wind immediately travels up his shirt.
Tilting his neck to the side, Chan stretches, a veiny hand running through his hair. He'd styled it this morning with careful bursts of hairspray and tiny bits of wax to tame his unruly curls into straight locks that fall to the side with his natural parting. Now, he aggressively rubs his hair, trying to get rid of the neatness. His freed hair springs up into windswept curls as he crosses across the busy main road, eager to get home.
The apartment he shares with his best friend is only ten minutes away on foot, and soon he's standing infront of the door, fumbling with the many keys jangling on the large keyring. Finally finding the right one with a curse under his breath, Chan pushes the door open. All he wants to do is strip out of his clothes and delve into his bed and -
"What the fuck?" Chan breathes, his eyebrows furrowing as a lewd sound erupts from further on in the house. He's not sure where it came from exactly, but his eyes widen as he follows the sound of constant moaning; it's unmistakably a man's voice, deep and breathy.
Chan frowns. He can understand hearing the moans, but why can he also hear that particular wet sound? He shouldn't be able to hear that ...
The groans grow louder as he reaches the living room, and he can't help but chuckle as he realises where it's coming from.
Creeping towards the TV stand, Chan crouches down to stare at the huge touch screen speakers. Tapping the screen, his face glows with the light as he reads the information printed on it.
"Y/N, you kinky little bitch," Chan whispers to himself, his cheeks flushing. "Maybe you need to check if your phone is connected to our speakers or not."
A smirk painted on the man's face, Chan stands back up and makes his way quietly up the stairs; he doesn't want to alert the girl that he's coming. No. That would completely ruin his plans. Biting his lip, Chan pauses at the top of the stairs. Should he?
Chan heads towards Y/N's bedroom, not quite sure what he's expecting to find. What he does find, though, has him widening his eyes and his neck reddening rapidly, his crotch straining against his trousers.
Y/N's bedroom door is ajar, as if she'd forgotten to close it, or as if she was positive that Chan would be returning much later. The girl is on her knees, the black duvet hiding her face from him; all he can see is her naked behind, high in the air, and her glistening fingers that slowly run their way through her plump folds. Her other hand slowly pumps a fat makeup brush into her hole on time with the audio's groans.
"Fuck," Chan's breath hitches as he moves out of sight, his back pressed flat against the wall. He turns his head to the side, one hand trailing to lower half. For some reason, the explicit sight of his best friend in such a position, pleasuring herself to the sound of another man, has his insides coiling with desire and lust. His lower lip twinges with pain and Chan gasps quietly as he realises how hard he's biting down to stop himself from making a sound.
Shifting position so the girl is in view again, Chan slowly slips his fingers into his trousers; his warm hand against the tight material of his boxers makes him squirm, and he's glad for Y/N's loud whimper that blocks out his own smaller groan. He could just stand here in the corridor and jerk off to the mixed sounds, to the combination of the audio and his best friend, and then head to his room - no one would ever know. But something in the way Y/N rocks her hips into her hand makes him want more, makes him want to pleasure the both of them at the same time.
Turning away from the wall, Chan leans against his roommate's door frame, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. "Nice view," he comments, smirking considerably when the girl jumps.
Chan watches as Y/N quickly sits properly, her thighs pressed together in an attempt to hide her womanhood. But Chan has seen all that he's needed to, and he slowly walks towards her, dropping his jacket on the floor as he goes.
"Chan ... I ... " Y/N stutters, her flawless skin a deep shade of crimson. She clutches at the sheets infront of her, leaving trails of wet patches along it as she gasps. Chan kneels onto her bed, the top third of his shirt opened and revealing the curve of defined collarbones as he inches closer to her the way a predator teasingly hunts its prey.
"Shush, princess," Chan breathes, cupping the girl's chin in his hand. "Don't try to get out of this. I saw you."
Y/N gulps loudly and Chan traces his finger down her throat, the very tip of his fingernail ever so slightly scraping down her skin. "Chan ..."
"Do you usually leave your door open?" Chan continues his teasing. "Did you want daddy to see you sprawled out on your duvet, listening to some random dude on the internet jacking off?"
"How - "
"Your phone was connected to the speakers downstairs," Chan explains, his fingers sliding around the girl's throat. He gently caresses her neck, aware that his crotch was painfully struggling to be set free. "If you wanted some sound effects, you could have just told me. I can give you plenty, baby girl."
At a loss for words, all Y/N can do is look up at the man's darkening face, his hands still smoothing over her neck.
Chan ducks his head and harshly bites on her nipples, pulling her body close to him. He relishes in the sweet moans that erupt from her mouth, her hands automatically gripping onto his hair as he licks and sucks against her breasts, swollen with desire.
"On your knees," Chan hums against her skin. "Daddy wants to see his slut's pretty behind."
As if completely under a spell, Y/N does just that; she tilts her face to the side and wriggles her bare ass towards Chan, who begins to strip out of his suit; his shirt joins her lingerie on the floor, before he slides his tie from around his neck.
"Put your hands behind your back," Chan instructs her. He grabs her wrists and ties them together, leaving them to rest in the small of her back; he places gentle kisses on her knuckles before he bites down onto the flesh of her behind. His lips travel lower and lower before he buries his mouth into her core, even wetter than he thought it'd be.
Y/N whines loudly, jutting backwards and pushing against Chan's mouth; the man continues to place slow, measured strokes with his tongue down the length of her wetness, just as he grips her sides with a startling force.
"Stay still," he growls, before sitting up. "You'll get what you want, if you listen to daddy. Be good for me."
Chan steps back and pulls his leather belt out from his trousers; he drops the rest of clothes to the ground, his large erection springing free and he makes a point of groaning loudly, waiting for Y/N's reaction. He's pleased when he catches sight of the near translucent liquid trickling down her thighs, her folds pulsing with anticipation.
"I'm going to use you like a little fuck toy," Chan hisses, leaning over the girl's body. He presses his chest into her back, purposefully letting his member slap hard against her folds. "I'm going to fuck you better than that brush of yours can, and I'm going to moan loudly into your ear when I do it. You're never going to go back to that audio after I've finished with you, baby girl."
Y/N moans loudly in response, and satisfied, Chan grabs his belt. He ties it over her wrists and around her waist, securing her limbs together by fastening the clasp. Then he hooks his fingers over the belt and pulls her closer, her ass slapping against his thighs.
Stroking his glistening length slowly, Chan sticks two fingers inside Y/N, stretching her walls; she moans out loud, and with a smirk, Chan pushes his large member into her, the huge girth stretching her out in a way that no make shift dildo ever could.
Y/N arches her back, rocking backwards with a cry as Chan slams into her. Then he leans forward over her back against, his teeth grazing over her bare shoulder. One hand stays firm on the belt, using it to pull her to meet his strokes, while his other hand grips her neck and pushes her down into the bed.
Chan lets out a breathy moan as he nibbles at Y/N's earlobe, the feeling of his wet tongue against her skin making her shiver. He grins devilishly as he thrusts hard into her, the tip of him brushing up against her sensitive spot with each stroke.
It's loud in the room, Chan's constant growls in Y/N's ear sending her into a frenzy, combined with her own whines and whimpers, the lewd sound of wet skin against wet skin echoing in the atmosphere. The heavy breathing and the sound of Chan's dick pumping in and out of her soaking hole makes Y/N cry out loudly into the bed, her fingers itching to touch the man who's touching her. She wants to grab at him, wants to tear her nails down his broad back, but the belt and tie wrapped around her leaves her completely helpless, and for some reason that turns her on even more.
"I want ... daddy ... daddy I want to hear you cum," Y/N manages, each, deep stroke from Chan making her body shake, making her breasts grow even more sensitive as the tips of her nipples brush constantly against the rough silk below her. "Daddy cum inside of me. Please."
Chan moans at her words, his breath hot on her neck. "Yeah? Is that what my little whore wants? Wants all of daddy's cum dripping out of her little hole? I expect you to lick it all up afterwards, baby girl."
The thought of her sucking off her own fingers covered in Chan's release makes Y/N more needy, and she wriggles backwards, her ass higher in the air. Her legs are spread out around Chan's legs as he pounds into her, his chest dripping beads of sweat onto the crevices of her back.
"Yes daddy," Y/N gasps, seeing white dots swim infront of her eyes. "Daddy I'm going to cum."
"Good girl," Chan praises her through gritted teeth, his fingers tugging on her hair. He tugs until she raises her head, and Chan bends down to leave a lingering, wet kiss on her shining mouth.
Y/N's release is groundbreaking after that, her moan getting swallowed up by Chan's mouth as she cums hard around him; she can feel the way it trickles down his length and onto his thighs - she's aware of the slick feeling as his thighs press up against her, making a mess on her skin.
Chan cums hard a minute later, his breath catching and his body shuddering as it presses into Y/N's; he moans and whines multiple times into her ear, just as he pulls out and his seed spills out onto the bed beneath.
"Go on then, baby girl. Be my good little slut and lick it all up."
---
Tag list ~ @koos-euphoria @es-kay-zee @ex-skz-me @raethethey @hugs4chan @hotmesshapa @manonblackbeak-trash @hendsernoodle @tahaing @sir3racha @donghyucksbutterfly @sunwooly @jl-micasea @nightshade-minho @water--gang @yourdaddychan @n-bokhari @stanskzseungmin @loving-unicorns106 @hanscheesecake @ateez-babygirl @dalamjisung @cuddlychrisbang @jisungsjheekies @freckledquokka @dinosdawn @cookiemonstermusic258 @strwbrryfroyo @gazelle-des-pres @qtieskz @airwaveee @rae-blogging @stigmvta @love-stays @necromancersupreme @visiblemisfit @jorgofthejungle @super-btstrash-posts (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed)
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pesiko · 3 months ago
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HYUNJIN ONESHOT RECS
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Double Trouble - to not be the perfect daughter [27.8k]
Sunrise - beauty and the beast AU [26k]
The Duke and I - marriage to be a successful writer M [25k]
Two Types of Fireworks - tangled AU [21.2k]
A Throne of Roses - king Hyunjin arranged marriage [16.7k]
Crown of Thorns - after ur marriage danger still lurks [14k]
Party Cup - your 1 braincell is heart shaped for him [12.2k]
Dandelion - second guessing everything but him [12.2k]
Four - they say good things come in fours [11.7k]
Backseat Driving - introduced to street racer Hyunjin [10k]
Coughing Up the Butterflies That Died in My… M [9.7k]
Forget Me Not - tingle that feels like a little hope [8.8k]
Love in Times New Roman - secret admirer [8k]
Define It - when your best friend stays home [7.8k]
Nobody Compares to You - constantly paired w Hyunjin [7k]
Because I Love You - stableboy Hyunjin and a princess [7k]
Purple Looks Good on You - soulmate pain bond [6.4k]
It’s Knot You - when the red cord of fate malfunctions [5.9k]
To be Alone - help bc she couldn’t sleep at night M [5.7k]
Drunken with a Sense of Love - caring in similar ways [5.5k]
True Love’s Irony - never just prince Hyunjin’s servant [5.3k]
Hyunjin’s Playlist - it all seems to make perfect sense [5.2k]
Pain in the Ass - soulmate tat & Taeyong’s xmas party [5k]
Story Told in Gems - star tears and the store owner [4.8k]
Heart Eyes and a Picnic Basket - bad boy Hyunjin [4.3k]
Shoot Your Shot - staring at him at basketball games [3.9k]
Apricity - heated argument worsens the separation [3.7k]
Never Take Your Eyes off the Target - to do his job [3.3k]
Heather - “you’ll always have me too” [3.1k]
Snacks and Snaps - bumping into someone [2.9k]
Who Let the Dogs Out - another reason to love dogs [2.8k]
Pizza Boy - the new delivery boy is super cute [2.8k]
Home - “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure” [2.7k]
Sweet Rivalry - everything was a competition b/w you [2.7k]
Sweet Tooth - united with your soulmate by taste [2.6k]
A Little Pick Me Up - worried after you faint at school [2k]
Limerence - “I want my best friend back” [1.9k]
Mario Kart - through the power of Mario Kart [1.9k]
The Visit - “watch another horror so you can cry?” M [1.8k]
Redamancy - with dance partner Hyunjin [1.6k]
Pretty Cute - a snatched unofficial confession [1.6k]
The Morning After - questioning your relationship [1.5k]
Tell Me Again (Why I Love You) - bad boy confession [1.5k]
Coffeeboy - only place cliches are allowed to happen [1.3k]
Strike - your best friend would do anything to win [1.2k]
The Nutcracker - he didn’t want to watch the ballet [1.1k]
As the Wind Blows - “am I your lockscreen?” [1k]
Back in Time & Forward in Time
❥ HYUNJIN NAVI
[main masterlist] [stray kids masterlist] updated 7-31-21
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sunnyville36 · 2 months ago
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Takeoff
Pairing: Bang Chan x female reader
Themes: established relationship, *first time for both*, subtle switch dynamics (if you squint)
Warnings: *discussion of body image and weight insecurity*, handjob, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), the lightest degradation
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 2.8k
A/N: This is actually part of a much longer fic I’m working on, but I felt it worked pretty well as a standalone piece and know some don’t love to read the longer stuff, so thought I’d share it as a one-shot! 💜 As usual, always happy to hear your thoughts, and thank you for reading!
>>>
“Do you want to…” he trails off, pulling back but keeping your bodies close and foreheads touching.
Of course you know what he’s implying.  His hands are resting on your waist, his thumbs just barely tucked under the hem of your shirt, rubbing slowly against your skin.  And you want to, you really want to.  You don’t want to disappoint him.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to do e-everything,” you start, feeling that familiar sense of disingenuousness overtaking you.  You talked about much filthier things with Chan over the phone all the time; why did you have to feel so naive and nervous when it actually came time to do something?
Chan’s watching your face intently, and you can see he’s picking up on the thoughts going through your mind.  “Y/n, this is new for both of us.  We can do as much or as little as you want.”
His words, his quiet but confident voice, his body supporting you, they all come together, make you feel safe and respected and loved, and your desire finally breaks through your nerves.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to do everything,” you repeat, more confidently this time, “but I want you.”
He’s pulling you closer again, mouth moving towards yours.  “We’ll stop whenever either of us wants to, okay?”
“Okay,” you respond, and then he’s kissing you again, even more desperate than before.  You return the kiss with equal fervor, parting your lips and feeling his tongue explore your mouth.  He reaches one hand up to your neck, pulling away from your lips and moving to mouth at your jaw and throat.  A breathy sigh escapes you when you feel his teeth nip slightly, sucking on your skin, butterflies exploding in your stomach knowing there will be physical signs of him on you tomorrow.  You decide you need more, pushing him back from you slightly and bringing your hands to the bottom of his shirt.  “Can I?”
“Yes,” he says quickly, raising his arms for you to lift his shirt over his head.  Finally, finally, your hands are on his bare chest, and it takes everything in you not to scream at how beautiful he is.  You want to touch every inch of his skin, but settle for bringing your mouth to the dip above his collarbone, leaving wet kisses and relishing the softest of moans your boyfriend is making at the touch.
Chan’s hands find their way to the hem of your shirt again, and he brings his head down to yours so his lips are near your ear as he whispers, “Can this come off too?”
You stifle a gasp.  In your eagerness, you managed to forget he would want to do the same, and the nerves are creeping back inside your mind.  But you don’t want to give into them, you want to keep going, so you breathe out a “yes.”
You break away from him and raise your arms, Chan easing the loose shirt off you gently.  This is the most undressed you’ve ever been in front of someone, and your hesitation is growing, but Chan's pressing gentle kisses to your chest, distracting you from thinking too much.  “I’m gonna take my pants off now, if that’s okay?” he whispers.  And god do you want him to, so you nod.  Instinctively, you feel like you should probably do the same, mind working on auto-pilot as you unzip your jeans and pull them down your legs, stepping out of them and looking up again.  You’re greeted with the sight of your gorgeous boyfriend, his lithe, toned body clad in only tight boxer-briefs, not leaving much to the imagination.  You’re nearly salivating at this point, until you notice him staring at you as well.
You’ve never been super comfortable with your body.  Over the years you’ve grown to not be so self-conscious about your weight or your imperfect skin.  But seeing the nearly perfect form of Chan, who has pretty much every quality you find attractive in a man, is making you hyper-aware of all the things you’re still insecure about: your large chest, your thicker thighs and soft tummy.  All things at odds with his own appearance, and you can’t help but wonder what he sees in you.  The man in front of you is looking at you like you’re the most perfect person he’s ever laid eyes on, and he tells you you're beautiful every chance he gets, but the negative voice in your head tells you it’s all just an act, a mean trick to get you to strip your walls down only to be told you’re not good enough.  Your breath hitches, and Chan is on you in an instant, arms pulling you close as you bury your face in his neck.
“Y/n, baby, what’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice is so full of concern it makes you want to cry.  “We can stop, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll stop, angel.”
You’re so frustrated with yourself, you can barely get the words out.
“N-No I - … I don’t want to stop I-I just… “  Your voice is so small when you finally ask, “Why do you want to do this with me?”
Chan tenses around you, and you curse yourself even more.  You’re fucking all of this up.
“What?” he asks, bewildered, looking down at the back of your head still resting on his shoulder.
“I-I mean why… I… I don’t have the perfect body like you a-and I’ve never done any of this before... and you could have any woman you want so…”
Mercifully, he stops your rambling, taking your face in his hands.  “Y/n, I only want you.  I want to do this with you because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.  Because I love your eyes and your hair and your smile; your thighs and your waist and your hands that fit perfectly in mine.  Because you have the kindest heart and the brightest laugh.  Because you’ve built me up countless times when I’m self-conscious about my own insecurities and support me in everything I do.  And if you don’t see in yourself yet how perfect you are, I will tell you and show you and love you until you do see it, just like you do for me.”
Your heart soars at his words, and there are tears in your eyes, but they’re no longer tears of uncertainty.  You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you tightly and he reciprocates, nearly crushing you in his hold.
“Thank you, Chris," you whisper.  I love you."
“I love you too,” he says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
Now that your fears have been assuaged, your need for him is higher than ever.  You unwrap your arms and start to kiss down his body, running your hands along the skin of his chest and abdomen.  He catches your attention, turning you to look at him.  “Hey... that was a lot right there. We don’t have to keep going.  We can stop now if you want.”
“No,” you say, voice confident, “I don't want to stop.  I want to make you feel good, Channie.”
His eyes blow wide at the nickname and his head falls back as you palm him over his boxers.  It doesn’t feel exactly like you expected it would in your hand, but you love the way Chan’s responding to your touch, beginning to strain against the fabric of his underwear and making your confidence rise further.  You bring your lips to his ear, voice dipping low as you murmur, “Can I suck you off, baby?”
He exhales sharply, nodding his head as he says, “Yes… yes please.”
You drop to your knees, face even with his crotch and begin slowly pulling down his underwear.  His hands are gripping your shoulders as his cock springs free, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the sight.  He’s big, length slightly longer than average, with a single vein running along the bottom to the flushed pink tip.  You place a single kiss over his slit, earning a moan from the man above you, then move your hands to his hips, bringing your mouth to his V-line.  You're not sure exactly if he'll like this, but you know it's what you've always wanted to do. Starting on the right, you lick your tongue from the base to the top of his pelvis, working your way back down with 3 small kisses.  You repeat the same on the other side, and by this time Chan’s hands are tangled in your hair.  You hear him whimper out a “please baby,” and reward him by licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock, finally taking as much of it into your mouth as you can.
The weight of it on your tongue is incredible, and you push your lips further down slowly, feeling the tip hit the back of your throat as your nose brushes up against his hips.  It’s slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t mind the pain when you hear the sinful sound that leaves his mouth.  Pulling back until only the head is on your tongue, you quickly hollow your cheeks as much as possible and slide down to the base again.
“Oh fuck.  Fuck!  Your mouth is like heaven baby, please don’t stop.”
His words spur you on even more, taking him in and out of your mouth as his grip on your hair tightens, and you can’t help but feel proud at how good you seem to be making him feel.  He’s practically whining now, his hips starting to thrust forward the tiniest bit, and the feeling of it is so arousing, causing the wetness between your legs to grow.  You feel Chan’s legs start to shake slightly and hear his voice again, trying desperately to get the words out.  “Y/n, I’m gonna cum, please, let go baby.”
You loosen your lips a little and he pulls out, hands gripping his length, but you curl your hand around his wrist.  You know some people might not want to do this on their first time, but you’d been fantasizing about it for years now.
“I want it in my mouth.”
Your words bring him over the edge, and he gives a slight nod before his hand goes slack and his eyes roll back.  You have just enough time to wrap your lips around him again before he cums, dick twitching slightly in your mouth.  It’s a strange sensation, but so fucking worth it as you raise your eyes to look at him, see him staring at you with the most blissed out expression as you take his cum down your throat.
You remove yourself from him, standing and feeling proud that your legs only wobble a little.  As you swallow, he brings his thumb to your mouth, wiping a drop that had slipped out when you pulled off.  You go to take his finger in your mouth, but he moves his hand to his own lips and sucks the liquid off, a devilish glint in his eye.  You feel yourself soak the rest of the way through your panties at the sight, reaching for him and crashing your lips against his, the taste of him on both your tongues.  He’s backing you towards your bed, fingers fumbling with the clasps of your bra.  He releases them just as your knees hit the edge and you let the straps slip down your arms, your chest exposed.  “You’re so beautiful,” he says before ducking his head and taking a nipple into his mouth, making you gasp.  The warm, wet heat of his tongue around your breast is intoxicating, and you think you would let him do this to you for hours.  He removes his lips from you with a loud pop.  “Can you lie back for me, angel?”
You feel yourself nod, and crawl backwards on your bed, spreading your legs for him to slot himself between them.  Your underwear is still on, but the feeling of his knee rubbing against your clothed heat as he wraps his lips around your other nipple has you moaning, earning a satisfied hum from your boyfriend that only stimulates you more.  He releases your breast, hungry eyes running over you.  “God I love your tits,” he growls, kitten-licking each of your nipples until they’re red and swollen and you’re wriggling in his grasp from how good it feels.  Finally, he moves down your body, kissing you all over until he reaches the apex of your thighs.  “Love these legs too, but I think I’m gonna love this pussy most of all.”
You’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life, feeling more and more wetness between your legs from his filthy words.  He wraps his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, glancing up at you with a look of silent permission.  You nod, so he begins to gently pull them down your legs, and you feel your cheeks heat up as Chan watches your arousal leak out onto the sheets.
“Shit, Y/n, you’re this wet and I’ve barely touched you.  You get this worked up over sucking cock?  Looks like my baby isn’t such an angel after all.”
You love this, love his perfect balance of the lightest of degradation mixed with admiration.  Love that he’s found just what makes you tick from your late-night sessions over the phone and isn’t holding anything back now that he has you with him.  You feel a pulse between your legs and you whimper, “Please Chris.”
“What is it baby?  You want me to taste you?” he asks, voice just this side of patronizing.  You look at him with wide, pleading eyes and he nods contentedly.  “Well we wouldn’t want all this to go to waste, now would we?”  Then he spreads your folds open with his fingers, brings his tongue to your pussy, and licks.
You’re convulsing against him from the first touch, his other hand reaching up to press your hips to the bed, keeping you in place.  He’s dipping his tongue inside you, and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt while getting off by yourself.  You let out a cry when his nose brushes against your clit, and he catches on quickly, bringing his tongue up to flick over the bud.  You should have known he’d be a fast learner at this too, Chan being good at pretty much everything as it was.  You’re fully grinding against his tongue now, and on one lift of your hips you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, your back arching as it does.  “More… please…” you beg, and he complies, adding a second with no resistance.  His hands are far bigger than your own, meaning his fingers are reaching deeper than you ever have before, filling you so well.  You’re almost crying at this point, the pleasure unlike any you’ve ever experienced, and your boyfriend just keeps going, steadily bringing you to your high.  You feel your legs tense around his head as you throw your own back against the pillow, barely holding in a scream as your orgasm takes over you.
When you finally feel it begin to subside and can open your eyes again, Chan is kneeling between your legs, one finger still slowly pumping in and out of you to ease you down.  “You’re fucking incredible,” you say as you sit up slightly, letting his hand fall to the sheets.  He gives you a smug smile before hissing slightly, and that’s when you see his cock is fully hard again, bobbing against his abs.  You’re excited that apparently eating you out got your boyfriend so riled up he was ready to go again, but you’re emotionally and physically exhausted, and you don’t think you’re in a place to go all the way tonight.  Luckily, neither does he.
“I… uh… don’t think we should go any further tonight, but umm…”  You chuckle silently at the blush that’s climbing up his chest all the way to his face.  “... I would love to feel your hands on me, instead of my own.”
You smile, pulling yourself up on your knees in front of him.  “I would too.”
You finish him off in a few short minutes, your lips never leaving the other’s.  When you’re done, you both decide you need a shower, which you manage to keep surprisingly innocent, washing each other’s hair and giggling while laving loofahs over each other’s skin.  You somehow find the energy to change the sheets, then fall into bed beside him, arms wrapping around one another.
“Thank you for loving me,” Chan whispers, kissing your temple.  “And thank you for being my first.”
“Thank you,” you whisper back, tugging him closer and letting the lure of sleep take you away.
396 notes · View notes
tenderfrailty · 26 days ago
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the feelings collection: smut.
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the collection | SKZ
— DIRECTORY
THIS COMPILATION CONSISTS OF SOLELY EXPLICIT CONTENT, MINORS SHOULD NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST.
[ FYI ] - : mxr | &: mxmxr
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SCENARIOS
taking your virginity | 1﹕2
sex with them
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THROUGH THE DAY
─ in the a.m.
01:53 | CHANGBIN ⨾ 1:58 ​| FELIX ⨾ 2:03 | CHAN ⨾ 9:47 | JISUNG
─ in the p.m.
3:30 | HYUNJIN - JISUNG ⨾ 4:41 | MINHO - JISUNG ⨾ 11:47 | FELIX
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27 | CHANGBIN | 0.7k [ kinktober ]
06 ; 02 | CHAN - MINHO | 7.7k
a young night | CHAN - FELIX
chokehold | JISUNG | 474
cockwarming | JISUNG
consort | MINHO | r | historical, arranged marriage | 8.3k
dinner | CHAN
feel something different | CHAN | car theft | 1.4k
find me in the backroom | HYUNJIN | 2.4k
friends? not really | 3RACHA
gloss | HYUNJIN | 576
halloween hookup | MINHO | coworkers2l | 4.9k
inexperienced | MINHO | dilf | 6.2k
kitty | FELIX | 4.1k
lights, camera, action! | JISUNG | f | camgirl, bf2l | 13.1k
mister wolf | MINHO | little red riding hood, CW: abduction, cnc
move | FELIX | 2.3k
restless  | CHANGBIN | CW: slight age play ? size kink, slight somnophilia
someone in the crowd | CHANGBIN & JISUNG |4k
sugar | CHANGBIN | 2.8k
steady | HYUNJIN | 795
spend the night | JISUNG | fwb, bbf | 1.5k
three's a party | CHAN & FELIX | a - f | 9.3k
the fwb rules | HYUNJIN | 4.9k
under the bleachers | CHANGBIN | bad boy | 1.8k
untitled | CHAN | 2.4k
untitled | CHAN | f2l | 2.4k
what does the prince desire? | HYUNJIN | medieval setting | 4.4k
297 notes · View notes
popisdead · 4 months ago
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of floral lace。(m)
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→ ʰᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᵇʸ: @huenjin​​
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader genre: strangers to lovers, wedding planner au word count: 11.5k summary: when chan agrees to be the best man at his friends wedding, he knows it comes with certain expectations: time, money — and falling hard for the cute wedding planner hired by the brides family? well, it certainly wasn’t an anticipated portion of it, but he’s more than happy to play the part.
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a/n: big thank you to @sleepylixie​ for the idea for this! longer authors note at the end ^^ enjoy.
→ smut warnings under the cut
sexual content warnings: none, vanilla sex.
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in february, the weather is still cold. bitter and icy, some days. windy, with occasional snow – and it's days like this that make it feel as though the warmth of spring and summer may never come. sometimes, it's the small reminders that life – the world itself – is ever changing. spring will always come, winter will always end.
such is life, isn't it?
walking up to the glass and platinum plated front doors of the expensive building, chan muses the thoughts. despite it not being for him – simply being an accomplice, of sorts – being involved in the wedding party tends to bring about the thoughts of ones own, personal love life. life in general. cycles of love and loss, all encompassing. a tall, white, building in a busy and upper class side of town – not where chan is from, but where the bride-to-be was from. completely foreign while simultaneously being familiar in proximity. stepping forward and reaching for the door with his dominant hand, opening it for the couple and attempting to push his long, blonde hair out of his eyes with his other hand, the woman that his best friend would marry looks towards him kindly and chuckles – a comment about knowing the struggles of women with long hair versus the wind, and chan smiles in response to her.
he likes her. always had. nothing romantic, but he was proud of the choice that his best friend of many years had made in a life partner. chan often found himself hopeful that he, too, may one day make such a choice for himself.
the three enter the building as he continues the attempt of wrangling his hair – best friend in question, lee minho, laughing under his breath as to not disturb the quiet ambiance of the room they had just entered.
“are you gonna cut it before the wedding?” he asks, lightly nudging chan in the arm, and chan looks at him in a slight state of shock, as if the thought had never even dawned on him for a second previously.
“should I?”
“you don't have to.”
looking around, briefly at their surroundings: white furnishings, carpeting, walls – gold accenting mostly, with hints of forest green among the well-kept plants and coming together along the counter outline of the desk – he feels wholly out of place. it was much too expensive for him, and if he ever were to be planning a wedding in the future, it likely would not be here.
he brings himself back to the conversation, “does she want me to?” referring to the bride in question, and minho only shakes his head. “no, she doesn't mind.”
“i'll be with you in just a second!”
a woman's voice calls from another room – back behind the desk they stand before. beige envelopes and paperwork lightly strewn across it – it's somewhat messy, but nothing completely unmanageable, and the phone begins to ring at that moment.
chan hears the same voice that had just called to them curse lightly under it's breath. he cracks a smile at the break in character, as it were.
it's in that moment that he finally lays eyes on you – beige pant-suit and hair in a ponytail, pen in mouth as you fly around the corner and attempt to answer the phone with the item still snug between your teeth before you realize that that simply will not do, hurriedly tugging it from your lips and lightly tossing it on the desk in front of you. you look up to the party of three in front of you, waiting patiently, and smile.
“just a second.”
“no problem, take your time.” the bride insists.
chan can only watch on in awe, though.
it's a relatively quick phone call, confirming an appointment for flower arrangement the following week and then it's all eyes on the individuals in front of you. you look at the bride, the groom, and then chan – quite obviously not the one getting married. messy, wind-swept golden hair and beady brown eyes – but in jeans and a hoodie with a small spot on it that looks akin to a child who had accidentally spilled some sauce on himself and forgot to clean it up.
it's a little charming, due to the fact that he's good looking. turns out that can get one pretty far in and of itself.
“right so,” you begin, taking a deep breath before continuing, “what can I do for you?”
minho and his soon-to-be wife begin the discussions that they had gone there for, chan listening on and truly as if he were playing the part of the son that had been dragged along for the ride due to no childcare being available. your eyes can't help but creep towards him every now and then – watching the way that he looks around the room, almost as if in awe of the sights – not that the interior was anything to call home about. you found it charming, his simple appreciation for...white, you supposed.
calling for them to come into the back with you, the group sit at a table filled with thick binders with numerous labels atop them. things like “reception,” “flowers,” “lighting,” anything that you could think of and even many that you hadn't lined the table, and chan considers for a second that maybe he won't get married, after all.
he brings his attention to minho, who happily dives into one of the binders – evidently delighted by the prospect of wedding planning. a complete disintegration from the stereotypical male response – the response that had just immediately come to chan, himself.
he figures that maybe you have to be there, then.
“these are the more basic, common options up at the front on these pages, they're labeled with this color,” you point out towards one of the binders displayed in front of minho's fiancee, “the further back, the more expensive and intricate the options become. it's good if you have a budget in mind so that we can plan accordingly, of course.”
and of course, chan is listening. of course he is. but he can't help but get lost in his own thoughts, as well as he watches you work. taking notice of your smile and how pretty it is, the few loose strands of hair that have fallen away from the rest that lie bundled up into a tie at the back of your head. chan watches your eyelashes when you blink and notices their length, and how pretty the color of your eyes are. your earrings – expensive looking, hopefully not expensive in price, he thinks to himself as he loses himself in wishful imaginative thought – because if the two of you were to date, he wouldn't be affording anything of the sort, and chances are, that if they were expensive, then you wouldn't be interested in dating him, anyways.
chan had a habit of romantically getting ahead of himself, that much was evident.
“chan?”
a sudden, vocal intrusion once again pulling him back to earth, it's the sound of his best friends voice calling towards him. “you okay?”
“oh,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting himself up in his chair properly. “yeah, sorry, was spacing out. what's up?”
“what do you think of this color? we need an outside opinion, that's what you're here for.”
chan leans himself forward and out of his chair to look over the shoulders of the couple. napkins. they forced him to stop fantasizing about dating the cute wedding planner for napkins.
because obviously what he had been doing was of much more importance.
“um, I like the lavender.”
“see, I think I like the pink, actually.” the fiancee replies.
“keep in mind you don't have to commit to anything today,” you remind them, “this visit is really only to get an idea of where we want to go, we're not setting anything in stone.”
“says you, i'm planning our own wedding.” chan thinks to himself in response.
with pinks and roses decided among numerous other items, it's a couple of hours later that the four of you bid farewell. you shake the hand of minho, and the bride-to-be hugs you – much to your surprise, but with chan, it's a bit more awkward of a goodbye – due to the necessity of his being there in any capacity being up for discussion. however, you smile, thank them all for coming, and wish them well on their day.
little do you know, however, the plans that the airhead friend have already set into motion.
according to him, of course.
the sound of the doorbell rings through the room as you look up from your paperwork in the back office. gently pushing things aside in an attempt to find your schedule book, you gaze on in confusion to find that you have nothing on the agenda for this hour – and with the firm not taking walk-ins, you fail to guess what it could possibly be.
it does, however, make more sense upon finding out what the wind had blown in today.
“hey!”
you're shocked to find chan standing at the door. less the shock of it being him, and more the shock of him looking just as disheveled as he had the few days prior when you had met him. how could an adult man be so not put together, and especially on this side of town? it's something you contemplate but only for a moment, as you are forced to address him now that he is presented before you.
“uh, hey, so we don't take walk-ins—“
“oh no, it's not like, a thing, I was just asked to drop by to relay some information.”
“why you?”
“was in the area.”
“you were in—“ and you pause, trying to think of a polite way to carry on with the thought, “—the area.”
chan sort of realizes that the gig is up at that moment, in his shorts and his hoodie in twelve degree weather, and smiles gently. “yeah.”
you roll your eyes, but motion for him to follow you into the back office with you nonetheless in order to take notes about whatever it is that he had gone there for – chuckling to yourself about the fact that he showed up to a very expensive office in winter, wearing shorts.
you don't even want to do the soul searching it would take to figure out why you find that endearing, perhaps best left for therapy.
sitting down in your chair, you pull out the file for the bride and groom in question and pick up a pen. “has the client changed their mind about something we had discussed the other day?”
“yeah,” chan begins, but it's slow, as he looks around and takes in the sights of the somewhat chaotic back office space that you call your own. you gently, playfully, call out a “hey” towards him to bring him back to the topic at hand. “oh uhh, yeah, so instead of the pink, they decided on the lavender after all.”
“interesting, your choice,” you respond.
“you remembered?”
realizing what you had done, that you had, in fact, remembered what his input had been, you feel a bit of the heat of embarrassment rush into your ears – but attempt to play it cool.
“of course, you were a part of the planning.”
he doesn't respond, and only smiles down at you, shoulder holding him upright against the wooden frame of the doorway.
“and they decided on lilies instead of roses, also.”
“good choice,” you answer, scribbling onto the paper in front of you and quickly penning something over the mark to replace it. “i preferred the lilies, myself.”
“i'll keep that in mind,” chan answers, and it's so smooth it sounds as if he never said anything unusual at all.
you know he's flirting with you, you simply choose to ignore it.
“is there anything else?”
“no, just those two things.”
you stop, furrowing your brows in confusion and taking a moment to truly consider the oddity of the scenario before you. “why...didn't they just call me, why did they send you in person? these sorts of matters can be dealt with over the phone.”
but chan merely shrugs and continues smiling at you. “dunno, didn't ask.”
you don't take yourself for much of a detective, but figure it's pretty simple to see what's going on here. it's cute, but you're not interested.
you stand, motioning out towards the main lobby of the building and walk ahead of the man.
chan takes it upon himself to view all of the ways in which you exist before him. your hair, your eyes, your clothes.
perhaps a moment where most men would objectify you, chan is merely finding all of the intricate details, all of the little things – tiny ways in which he can talk himself into falling in love with you.
and you're just trying to get the work day over with.
“i think if it were my wedding,” chan begins, elbows on the desk and chin placed into his palms as you sit at your swivel chair and gently look up towards him as if he's somewhat of an inconvenience to you. “i think, forest green and gold, a bit like this.” he says, pointing towards the detailing of the marble just under him. “what about you?”
“you think about wedding planning?” you can't help but ask, unusual for a presumably straight man. you consider for a moment that you had been picking up all of the wrong vibes from him. maybe he wasn't into you, after all.
“yeah, well,” and he pauses, thinking again, “well, truthfully, I hadn't until the first day we all came here. I have been since then.”
“that's cute.”
“so what about you?”
“i have work to do, if we're done here.” you respond, ignoring his question entirely and instead meeting him with a tonally cheeky reply, avoiding eye contact as to not laugh.
“answer me and i'll leave then!” chan whines in response, and you really wish you didn't find this sort of behavior endearing in any way.
but you sigh in defeat, putting the pen that you had just picked up back down in a huff and looking up at him in gentle irritation, “fine.”
“burgundy,” you start, pushing papers around to find a tablet of color swatches beneath them, and you point to a color on it with a freshly manicured nail. “similar to this, more blue-toned. and then—“ you pause, pushing the present swatches aside in favor of different ones that you had located in the meantime. “gold accenting, like this. and yellow roses.”
“why yellow?”
“i just like them.”
chan knows that he responds to you, although if you asked him just after he had left what he had said, he wouldn't have been able to tell you. instead, the man loses himself immediately in thoughts of a quickly developing crush. he watches your fingers dig through papers and point to colors – watches the way that your lips move with the words that you speak and the way the corners of them pull up when you talk about the things that you like in particular. it's all in the way that you so matter of a factly say that you “just like” yellow roses – no other thoughts, no other reasoning. just because.
chan wonders if this is love – an absolutely, mind-numbingly, all-encompassing smittenness for another person that you barely know anything about. juvenile and reckless and for all of the wrong reasons. love at first sight. the honeymoon period that hadn't even begun yet, and chan was full swing all the same.
and you wish it had been different for yourself – a child-like innocence to him that you found so charming and disarming in so many ways. a cute crush that surely would never develop past the phase in which it had already reached – you found yourself daydreaming about cute dates and picking out colors with him regardless, before shaking yourself out of it and returning back to your work.
bad idea, dating the clientele – even if only tangentially related as such.
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“hey.”
the smile on his face carries through the simple, verbal notion and you manage to pick up on it, even with all of the hustle and bustle going on around you.
that doesn't stop him from having scared the shit out of you, though.
you watch chan grin in response to your sudden yell and turn, “jesus christ,” escaping through your lips in exasperation and he still only carries a hopeful, happy curl of his lips.
“bad time?”
the irony of the question being, of course, that he is asking it all the while you pick up the numerous sheets of paper, spools of lace, and other such items from the floor – items that had been suddenly relinquished from your grasp at the ill-timed intrusion of a man, a man not even getting married.
“yes, you could say that—“ you respond, an attempt not to sound rude but perhaps failing ever so slightly. he was being irritating, after all. “—if we're going to talk, then we've got to talk and walk,” you say, finally pulling everything into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder just before hurriedly rushing out from behind the desk and past the man before you – nearly dumbfounded in appearance at the way you move about in the middle of the day – even if for work. “i've got places to be, so make it quick.”
rushing down the sidewalk, heeled shoes clattering against it, chan watches in amazement at his inability to keep up. he wonders how you muster up the strength and ability to do this day in and day out – and with a smile on your face, at that.
“you need to take this,” you finally say to him, stopping only briefly enough to push some of the things in your hands, into his own. “make yourself useful.”
“happy to—“ he begins to respond, but only to watch as your back turns towards him again – ponytail in full swing, rushing back towards where ever it had been that you had been roped into stumbling towards.
chan stops to smell the flowers – literally. as a few of varying different types had been thrown into his arms – but it's quickly off to the races again, as to not disappoint.
and he can't help but watch in complete, smitten, awe of you as you dart in and out of shops and doorways as you go. he never goes in with you – waiting patiently out front of where ever it is that you end up in the next moment, but he finds that he is never waiting long – that you work quickly. and he knows that he doesn't know the workings of your job, your career, really at all, so maybe this is normal, but he smiles to himself at the way that the details of the situation don't even really matter to him. chan makes sure to watch you in a sort of make-shift slow motion that he crafts himself from scratch in the moment – capturing you and your essence and all of the things that he finds himself oh so quickly becoming enamored with – even just the way the wind some times catches your coat, it feels like a movie to him...the way his heart seemingly gets swept away in the same gust.
you step out of a building, as chan is mid-thought, watching your every movement as he does. you don't even notice it. notice him. not really.
he knows that.
smiling, you bid the client farewell and give a sigh of relief towards the man that had aided you in your short, but fast-paced journey. “thank you, sorry to make you—“
“go out with me.”
the question arrives as a shocking on, albeit looking back on the situation, perhaps it should not have. you actually do give it some thought, as well – which in and of itself comes as a bit of a surprise to you, as well.
and you're almost disappointed when you have to turn him down.
“tonight, let's get a drink.”
“chan, that's nice of you but—“ pausing briefly, you consider how to word the dismissal delicately...and sort of in a way to not shut down the possibility of going out in the future. “i have too much work to do tonight, and tomorrow. I'm sorry.”
you don't want to talk to him like a child. like someone to pity, but the refusal always finds a way to come out that way anyways. you watch chan smile at you all the same, nodding to himself and simply saying “okay” as a response.
“you have a good night then, alright?” he adds, turning to head towards where home would be, and you're not sure which part it is that's yelling – the head or the heart – but one of them certainly is not being quiet about it's desire to change it's mind about the drink matter.
but you stand strong. there's always more men.
“i will, you do the same.”
“i will.”
chan loves watching you work. hell, suffice to say chan fell in love watching you work. and perhaps it's too much, too quick — something he tells himself from the logical part of his brain. you don't even know her, dude. which is true and he knows it, but the truth is that chan has sort of taken it upon himself to fill in all of the blanks in the most shining, beautiful ways that he can. a man that lives on the precipice of a romantic comedy at all times — he's always only been waiting for this moment. for someone like you. someone to come in and sweep him off of his feet, as it were.
just a hopeless romantic, that bang chan.
“now's not really the best time—“ you manage out towards him, mouth full of safety pins and fingers attempting to fumble through loads of white, shimmering fabric.
dress fittings, the best part of the whole getting married gig, to some.
he doesn't reply, carefully discarding himself from the doorway as to not be an obstruction physically in the same way that his presence is in every other way. he does smile, though. halfway. a sly curly of the lip that you catch before pressing more pins into the bodice of your client.
chan watches the whirlwind before him — feeling like the exaggerated display of floral lace and shiny shoes being tossed up and around like in the cartoons one sees when growing up weren't actually that far from the truth — he smiles all the same, because he's charmed by it all.
he especially takes note of your tied back hair and the way your jacket had been discarded probably long before he had arrived. how it appeared as though your day had already been a long one, despite it only being the early afternoon.
it's the first time that chan thinks to himself that you might really be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
but his attention is pulled back to reality, a woman gently leaning towards him and softly addressing him — as if she had known that his thoughts weren't there with them at the time.
“are you with the bride?”
taken by surprise, chan shakes his head — hands up in submission. “oh, i'm with her!” he says, and points towards you as you continue diligently working on the fitting before you.
“oh my god,” the client suddenly exclaims, turning towards him so suddenly that it sends you reeling. “you're getting married, too!?”
fuck sake.
“wow, what a coincidence, huh?” the staff smiles towards chan, before heading towards the small cooler behind the counter and pulling out a bottle of champagne. “we certainly have to celebrate this!”
it's a roller coaster, for sure — and as hilariously charming the confusion is, chan's eyes can't help but stay glued to your figure. scanning your reaction. a chance you don't hate this? a chance you might be willing to play along? play pretend? just for him, just for today?
the staff member comes back over to chan without any time wasted, handing him a glass of bubbly gold liquid before sauntering over to you and handing you the same. drinking is pretty strictly against the rules while on the job — except in situations where not drinking could cost you the job, of course. it's up to your own discretion, case by case basis.
suppose we're pretending we're getting married today. just another check mark off of the list of completely insane things that the job every so often required of you.
chan finally makes his way to the back and towards you, gently smiling — it says sorry that this happened, but it's kind of fun, right? and you wish that you could deny him the pleasure of being right.
“so, have you started dress shopping yet?” the bride asks, eyes sparkling and excitement lacing her voice. you found it so lovable — the absolute delight that she seemed to receive from just the mere prospect that someone else might be just as happy as she was — who were you to ruin her day, then?
“n-no, not yet,” you stutter out, bashfully smiling towards chan and then quickly away from him, because what the fuck? “i'm quite picky.”
you can see chan trying to reign in the curl of the corners of his mouth at the response. he's enjoying it way too much for your liking, possibly more than the client before you.
“you should try something on with me! oh my god, please!” she gasps, grabbing at your free hand and shaking it gently. “please! it would be so fun!”
“oh, i—“ suddenly looking up towards chan — full on smiling, now — and back at the client, you feel a bit outnumbered. “i shouldn't, i'm working...”
“yeah, for me!” she answers, hands on her hips in a playfully authoritative way, “so I think if I want you to try on a dress with me, that you should probably do it!”
it's a mischievous threat, not backed by any actual ill-will, but you do have to consider any possible implications behind it — she is a big client, an expensive client.
you should probably just do what you're told, right?
running your hands down the front of the beaded bodice, it's sort of an impulse to avoid your own reflection in the numerous, angled mirrors before you. set up to show you every inch of yourself — you find irony in the fact that you wish to see none of it, because it feels wrong. it's out of place, and not how you had dreamed your first dress try on to be — to appease a rich, pushy client and for a man that for all intents and purposes, you don't even know. playing dress up and pretend at your big age, it wasn't the ideal outcome.
you hear the woman call out for you — indiscernible words that you know the meaning of all of the same. hurry up, come out, become a spectacle. but you had already agreed, and the faster you begin, the faster it will end. you look up, finally making eye contact with yourself in the reflection, and your heart drops — but not for any of the aforementioned reasons you had expected. in a flash, all of your previous concerns simply melt away, just like that.
you looked beautiful. ethereal.
and in the moment, you became painfully aware of all of the years that you had spent attending to the romantic wants and needs of everyone but yourself. seeing yourself in the dress became an acutely stark reminder that maybe — just maybe — it was time to allow yourself to focus on you.
and despite barely knowing the man before you, watching the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you as you gently strolled into the room — as if he had never seen a sight more beautiful in his life — you think to yourself that if this guy can look at you this way, then imagine the way that someone who loved you would look at you.
irony
/ˈʌɪrəni/
noun
a few hours later into the evening, the sun setting and air cooling, the four of you say your goodbyes as the staff locks up the shop and the client joyfully heads off and on her way. when only the two of you are left — you and chan — you let go a heavy sigh of relief, one that feels as though it had made a happy home in your chest, never to be evicted or removed in any way.
“what a horrifically stressful day,” you start, as to set the tone of the conversation and not let the man before you get any ideas that you may have actually enjoyed any part of the goings on of the day. “but she was happy, that's all that matters.”
“is that so?” chan replies, a hint of doubt in his tone. “you really hated it that much? you looked pretty.”
the compliment sends heat rushing to your face. since when was that a side effect of engaging with this gentleman?
“i guess it's good that you played along,” you say, pulling your messy ponytail out and beginning to put it back up into a more well-maintained one. “it'll be a really positive memory for her, and that's my job, after all.”
chan simply watches you, taking in every moment as if it'll be the last because really, who knows.
“anyways, since she was so happy, if you don't have anything going on tonight—“
“yes.”
“you don't even know what I was going to say!” you respond in a playful-yell, slapping at his arm, but chan only laughs.
“i do know what you were going to say! you were going to ask me out! I said yes!”
“i wasn't going to ask you out!” you quip, slightly embarrassed by how transparent you had seemingly been. “i was going to agree to going out with you, since you had asked me before, they're different things, actually.”
“ah, I see,” chan replies, only playing along with your asinine explanation but not willing to push it any further because in the end — he was getting precisely what it was that he had wanted all along. “well in that case, I know just the place.”
only a few blocks down the street and a quick right, chan stops and holds his hand out as if you usher you ahead of him. grey, stone steps trailing down into what appears to be a basement, hole in the wall type establishment — you're almost a little concerned. this is an upper class area of the city, and this is where he takes you? and it's as if the man just behind you is capable of reading your mind, chiming out “just trust me, you'll like it.”
you open the door, holding it for him to follow, and the dimly lit atmosphere almost sweeps you just off your feet. a beautiful, antique adorned establishment, decorated as if to appeal to numerous generations before; but in the most swanky, high class, way. the type of surroundings that just about anyone from any walk of life could find charm in.
so shocked, you forget that you had stopped to take in the sights.
“come on, let's not linger in the doorway,” chan says as he passes, cheeky-toned and knowing that he had caught you.
shrugging your coat off, you hang it on the rack and take a seat next to him at the bar. drinks are ordered and quickly served due to it not being a busy night, and chan wastes no time getting into the nitty-gritty of what it was he was interested in: you. everything about you. where you're from, where you live now, where you went to school and what you studied and your hobbies — it's all things that he, of course, has a genuine interest in — but that doesn't change the fact that they are but stepping stones to the meat and potatoes of what it was that he really wanted to know.
your relationship status. are you single. are you looking. are you open to the possibility of falling in love, and not just with anyone, but with him, specifically.
although, perhaps he would not be one to lean so hard into the tail end of the obvious.
“truth is,” you begin, shimmering glass of red wine pressed delicately to your already stained-red lips. “i've been single for a while. sort of on purpose, I suppose. I wanted to focus on work and really get my career going for a while before I put time and effort into adding another person into my life.”
“is that serving you?” chan questions, his own glass mirroring yours against his mouth.
you pause for a moment to consider the answer — remembering how you felt in that fleeting moment back at the dress shop, seeing yourself in that dress. was it serving you?
“yeah, I think so,” you finally answer in an accompanying nod, “i think it's important to be able to be happy by oneself before attempting cohabitation of some sort.”
and chan chuckles in response, much to your surprise. “'cohabitation' makes it sound so clinical, like the concept of dating someone is a science experiment.”
“isn't it sort of?”
“yeah, suppose it is, in ways.”
“what about you?”
and now he pauses, thinking himself through the slew of potential replies that bounce through his mind in an instant — some more insane than others, admittedly.
“happy single, but always open to the possibility.”
“i think that's a good way to look at it.”
chan takes a slow sip from his glass and eyes you intently, as if trying to gauge your interest in his answers based purely off of a single, minute, change in facial expression. hell, he wanted it so bad he was willing to make it up himself.
it's the gentle curly of your lip at his reply that catches him off guard — burned into his memory forever and always — or at least until a moment were to come that the two of you would have made enough memories together that such an insignificant one need not be held onto for so long anymore.
drink glasses emptied and coats slung back over shoulders, the two of you head back out and onto the chilled sidewalk to head your own separate ways. you can't help but take notice of the way chan looks at you — eyes shining in the florescence of the street lamp just behind you — the first time that you acknowledge to yourself that you think he is handsome, as well as the first time you acknowledge that feeling in your chest that you get when he happens to come around.
it's a bad time.
“look, I had a nice time but—“
chan rolls his eyes in response already, and you haven't even finished the sentence.
“what? you're a client...kind of.”
“i'm not and on top of that, I can assure you that they would not care at all! they'd probably think it was cute, actually. i'm sure minho would already have so many stories to tell at our wedding from the first consultation.”
“well that's not reassuring,” you snort, “telling me I was already so memorably unprofessional from the beginning, huh?”
“only in my eyes, don't worry, they loved you.”
“chan!”
“come on, i'm kidding,” he replies again, “it's not a big deal, they wouldn't think anything of it. you're making it into a bigger deal than it would be in your head.”
you know that that is likely the case. you also know that it's just so easy to say one thing — like that one is ever so willing to look for love — and then construct the simplest walls given to you to avoid it at all costs.
the two of you still in silence for a moment, as if in a stand-off of sorts, but you more than capable of breaking the silence and constructing just one more wall — for good measure, of course.
“i don't think it's a good idea,” you say, with finality. “thank you for tonight, I had a nice time.”
chan thinks to himself as he watches you walk away, that if it were any other woman, in any other circumstance, he would have already live and let live. that even in watching the way you turn him down and walk away, that you're still simply the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. musing about every word that you said and the way in which you said it — how your glass of red wine stained your lips just the perfect amount that it made it nearly unbearable to not kiss them, how pretty your hands looked around the wine glass and how cute your smile was every time he said something that — purposefully, of course — you found mildly irritating.
making his way to his empty apartment again, and standing just outside, chan knows that there is progress made.
but what are you running from?
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when you hear the jingling of the front door, and look down to your planner to find nothing having been scheduled for that time, you know that trouble is awaiting you in the lobby — trouble in the form of a kinda beefy, 171cm handsome gentleman by the name of bang chan.
eh, suppose things could always be worse.
lazily buttoning the deep maroon button of your vest as to look presentable, you look up and lock eyes with him as you come around the bend and into the front of the establishment. chan — in all of his glory — a fitting pair of jeans for once and a shirt to match, you're a little surprised. had he made the effort all for you? charming, if not for the fact that you told him you weren't going to date him only a week prior to now.
some men have a problem taking 'no' for an answer, unfortunately, sometimes it's kind of charming when that's the case, as well.
“honey, i'm home!” chan chimes, and you roll your eyes as you make your way to the front desk and seat yourself down.
“yes chan? can I help you?”
“always.”
“with something involving my job in some capacity.”
“oh, right, that!” he answers. you know that he knows what you mean, he's always just doing his utmost to be as much of a problem as possible. you're not happy about how charming you find that, either.
“so, rehearsal dinner is in two weeks, on thursday.”
“i know that, it's my job to know that, I already talked to the bride two days ago.”
“well I'm not here to tell you about it, i'm here to ask you to be my date to it.”
the brazen admission takes you off guard. it wasn't really the first time chan had ever asked you out, but this felt...different. perhaps because of the night at the bar not too long prior.
you weren't particularly fond of the way it made your stomach flip, either. down, girl.
“i'll be there, but for work, not for fun.”
“for pleasure, I think is how they call it,” he corrects, and you're not proud of what the implications of that do to your mind.
you clear your throat, chan watching all the while with a grin, and avoiding eye contact altogether, you stand again — pulling some items from the counter top into your arms and heading into the back from where you came.
“right, well,” you say, attempting to play off how flustered you've now become in his incredibly flirtatious presence. “i have work to get back to, so, I will see you at the rehearsal — because it is my job and I suppose that you will also be there in some capacity.”
with a smile on his face and eyes never leaving your form, before you're able to scurry off to freedom, one last thing leaves his lips — because of course it does.
“do a little something nice with your hair, it's an occasion, isn't it?”
you had never felt the need to keep a pillow to scream into in the back end of your office prior, but perhaps now were as good a time as any to invest.
on rehearsal night, catching your reflection in one of the mirrors of the wedding venue, you sort of wish that you had been a stronger person. you wonder how it was, exactly, that this man that you truly, barely knew, had managed to wear down your resolve in such a way that you were playing dress up for him. no, your attire not different than a typical work day — you were still on the clock, after all.
but your hair. and you can't stand the way chan looks to the floor with a smile when he first catches glance of you. well, can't stand it, and also sort of adore it.
“so, the brides mother, father, and sister we're thinking of having here — but if there's something that i'm missing, let me know so I can arrange it in a way that—“
“hey there.”
frozen in place, you don't have to turn to check who it is anymore, and meeting eyes with the catering planner you had been speaking to, you smile gently before motioning that you need a moment, and turning towards chan. “i'm working, can you give me a moment?”
“we need you to sit in for rehearsal, we're missing someone.”
“absolutely not, are you crazy?”
“come on, you only have to pretend you have a crush on me, you don't really have to have one.”
turning back to the caterer in an instant, you insist that you'll email the finalized plans over to him right away in the morning before finishing your conversation with chan.
“if you keep interrupting me at work, I might not have a crush on you, real or make believe.”
“i think it'll take more than that,” he replies with a cheeky grin, and nodding his head over towards the table, “now get over here and pretend you're in love with me.”
it's sort of sick, how easy it is for him to talk you into it. all of it. any of it.
when the seating plan goes smoothly, and all of the wedding participants stand to take in slow views of the rest of the venue ahead of the big day, as you finish off some notes, chan saunters over towards you with two glasses of wine in hand. “come out with me?”
stepping out and onto the large, white stoned balcony, you sigh in relief at how smooth the night had gone. you explain to chan that — even in spite of having done the job for years, there's always parts of every new client experience that feel brand new, that you feel as though you've never done before. chan gazes on intently as he watches you speak with vigor, with self-respect, and with love and adoration for yourself. he thinks, in that moment, it might truly be the sexiest thing about you — at least, thus far.
when the gentle wind blows your lightly curled hair to one side and sends a shiver down your spine, chan reaches out and pulls you towards him — into his warm embrace.
“it's still chilly this time of year, yeah?” he says, and it's almost a whisper. perhaps the quietest you think you've ever heard him.
you opt out of responding verbally, and silently enjoy the warmth the man brings to you.
“hey,” he says again, suddenly, and pulling you from him ever so slightly. again, you choose not to reply, assuming that there were to be more words following up such a statement.
but you were soon to find that to not be the case — as chan leans down and into you, plush lips gently pressing into your own.
the warmest you had felt all evening, you think to yourself — and perhaps interested in more where that came from, after all.
a short drive in chan's car lands the both of you in front of your apartment building — a gentleman, having offered his services of bringing you home in one piece — albeit, the thoughts of being torn apart by him figuratively becoming more and more of interest to you as the moments near him pass. surely, one glass of wine wasn't enough to throw all caution to the wind.
unless...?
“can I walk you up?”
grabbing your belongings from the floor of the front seat, you chuckle. “not much to walk, my building has an elevator.”
“wow, fancy,” he replies smugly. “didn't know you had elevator money in this sort of economy.”
“go to hell, yes you can walk me up, sheesh.”
his playfulness was what really had you, and you hated to see it. broken down by the childlike innocence and joy of someone who was becoming more intriguing, more desirable, and more sexually attractive by the second. truly, what had happened to your resolve?
manicured finger pressed into the up arrow button, the elevator is silenced completely — no indication of it ever having registered the button being pressed at all. you press it again, and still nothing.
you sigh.
“broken?” he chimes.
“probably just asleep,” you quip back, “yes it's broken. have to take the stairs I suppose — you don't have to come, I live on the fourth floor, i'm sure I can make it.”
“better safe than sorry, really.”
rolling your eyes, the both of you head towards the stairwell — all the while you hoping the slamming beating of your heart against your chest won't reverberate through the echoing halls of the winding concrete cave that you are about to enter.
floors two and three go without a hitch — well, mostly. it's between three and four, that you realize there was never any chance of you getting out of this stairwell unscathed. or un-somethinged, at least.
he had plans all along.
“hey,” chan quietly calls towards you from behind, a hand reaching out and snatching your wrist from behind. it's gentle, but enough to have you stumbling ever so slightly. he catches you — turning and pressing your back against the cold, white, wall — and them himself even harder against you.
hot breath ghosting against the skin of your face, chan's lips fail to make contact with your own — instead opting to press into your jaw, and then your neck — and not without the direct contact of his hard thigh wedged into the apex of your own.
you're a little ashamed of how little it took for him to pull from you a verbal response. it wasn't much, but a breathy whine all the same — and you can feel the curling of his lips against you in affirmation that he had, in fact, heard it.
“i want you,” he whispers into your flesh, and the admission makes you dizzy with desire, pressing yourself down and against his leg for friction even more — as if to say that you felt the same way.
“do you want me?” he follows up, mildly irritated at the fact that he's asking, given the physical cues, but you still manage the breathy “yes” that he had been waiting oh so long for.
chan thinks that it sounds so much better than he had ever even imagined it would. unfortunate that this was not to be the time nor the place.
pulling away, the loss of body against your own leaves you confused and frazzled — chest heaving and eyebrows furrowed, but you choose not to speak, because surely he would.
because what the fuck?
and right on cue, “not now, I mean—“ he pauses, looking down at the tenting in his own pants and adjusting as for it to be not as obvious in the case of running into other people. “not here, or now.”
“my apartment is right there—“
“i know,” he nods, “trust me, I want to — obviously — but I like you, so—“
“you can't have sex with someone you like? are you one of those madonna-whore type guys? I knew there had to be something wrong with you.” you spiral off, adjusting your pants and trying to gather yourself properly. chan merely laughs in response for a moment.
“no, it's nothing like that, i'm perfectly capable of fucking you,” he answers clearly, and with decisiveness. “and I will, presumably. but let's get to know each other a bit more first, yeah?”
“oh my god,” you exclaim, a little annoyed at the games that chan seemingly loves to play with you, and yet, willing to continue playing them on his terms all the same. “fine, I guess i'll get to know you or whatever.” playful sarcasm dripping from the tail end of your response.
he laughs, gentle smile taking his features — and in his mind, all of the ways he plans to have you when the time is right.
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when chan shows up to your place of employment only three days later, it's bad timing. the truth of the matter, is that it's always bad timing, that's the nature of a fast paced job such as your own, though. shoving items into a bag and slinging it over your shoulder — followed by desperately trying to free your ponytail from the confines of the sling as you run towards the door, you only manage out with a “let's go, move, move!” as you rush past the man in the doorway.
by now, chan knows better than to ask very many questions. he's quick on the uptake. he knows what he may sign up for upon arrival. today? a handful of miscellaneous binders — sticky notes and fabrics sticking out of the tops, bottoms and sides of them.
“already comfortable with bossing me around, huh?” he says, a brisk stride catching him up to you on the sidewalk as the both of you hustle down the concrete path.
“you know how it is,” you say, “if you're gonna be here then i'm gonna put you to work.”
“i kind of like it,” flirtation lacing his voice. “being told what to do by a beautiful woman definitely isn't the worst way to spend the day.”
“that's what you like? i'll keep that in mind.”
“maybe, can't give everything away on the first date, i'm not easy.”
“so I noticed.”
you take notice of how easy it is now to engage in these types of conversations with him. cute, curly blonde hair flowing in the breeze as you both run-walk towards the destination a couple of blocks away — you'd be lying if you said that it wasn't a charm point — his absolute willingness to go above and beyond already. carry things. help you at work. hell, he had sort of already showed up for you better than a lot of the guys you had dated in the past.
and now the flirting — playfully toying with each other in tone and topic that borders, if not fully crosses, the line of appropriateness — especially with you being on the clock.
not that anyone is with the two of you to monitor the conversation. or know that he took you home the other night. or any of the other misdoings of that particular evening.
“place is up here, did you come by for a reason or do you have a sixth sense for when I need help carrying things?” you ask, finally slowing down when the time on your phone insists that you have perhaps a minute or two to spare extra.
“yeah, actually—“ he starts, slowing down next to you and stopping to face. “i wanted to ask you to be my date to the wedding.”
and you're floored. that's your immediate, gut, response anyways, but the more you grant a second to it, the more unsurprising you become.
he either genuinely does not understand how your job works and what proper boundaries are, or he just truly does not care. you're fairly certain you know which it is.
“chan, i'm working the event—“
“no, I know!” he interrupts suddenly, and for the first time it appears as though he had actually put some thought into it, and the inappropriateness of such a situation. “it can be our little secret. just between us two.”
looking down at your phone to check the time, and following it with an exhausted sigh, you roll your eyes. “then what's even the point?”
one corner of chan's mouth pulls up, and now you know he put thought into this. which may or may not be advised, after all.
“the real fun would be after the event, obviously.”
visually, you give off no tells, that of which you're sure, but inside? screaming, at the top of your lungs.
you're not entirely sure if he means sex, or a date, or sex and a date or what he means at all. a man with something sly constantly up his sleeve, you simply had to assume: all of the above.
and so, you agree.
weeks pass, and you're surprised by the fact that when the night of the wedding comes around, chan is actually no where to be found all of the time prior. the man that could not resist the urge to bother you at work, suddenly ghosting you? were you being ghosted? did he lose interest? perhaps the allure of sleeping with the cute wedding planner had worn off all just before the big night itself. tragic, you think to yourself, you didn't even get to sleep with him, after all.
but when he meets you for the first time at the reception near the open bar — a smooth hand brushing the small of your back — so brief that no one nearby would ever catch it, the glimmer in his eye is enough to let you know that the plan is, in fact, still on.
and through the sound of a private bathroom door slamming against the wall, and your back up against it — met once again with the enticingly crushing weight of him against you as his mouth meets your own in fervent, needy kisses — you forget why you thought it was ever off anyways.
“w-we have to go back out there, chan—“ you manage out between mouths and gasps of breath, fingers curled into the white coat of his blazer. “you wore white? that's so tacky.”
“not my choice, bride wanted it,” he answers back in similar neediness and much more expressed disinterest in the topic. “i want you.”
“last time you said that—“ and chan kisses you on the mouth hard again. “—last time you said that you didn't do anything about it.”
“and I can't again, not yet anyways.”
“not into exhibitionism?”
“i don't perform well under pressure.”
you laugh as he pulls away from you, allowing you to straighten yourself up to go back out into the public eye. “you'd be terrible at my job.”
“i know, just the most soft-dicked wedding planner ever, it'd be humiliating,” chan chuckles, leaning back to check himself in the mirror as well before reaching forward and placing his hand on the door knob. “good?”
“good.”
as the reception carries on, you stand back to watch from a distance — available when necessary but for the most part, out of the way. for all intents and purposes, the large portion of your job was finished. the clients were happy, and the night a beautiful one — dimly lit fairy lights and silver plating along white, linen tables. you watch as minho and his bride share a dance together, smiling into one anothers eyes. truly and madly in love.
a moment later, you catch chan's from across the room — a look held in time longer than it would typically be held. you feel it in your chest more than anything, and more than that, you're hopeful that he might be catching the same.
when the night festivities finally come to a close — shaking more hands than you remember ever having mingled with in all of your time working with the client, chan finally makes his way over towards you as the crowd dissipates — two glasses of wine just as he had offered on the rehearsal night, and you grin at him knowingly.
“remember what happened the last time I had a glass of wine on the terrace with you?”
“nothing much, as far as my recollection goes.”
following him out and looking out towards the view, a breeze passes by the both of you — warmer than the last time, inviting, almost. your gaze pulls from the trees and the buildings before you and towards the man next to you — handsome and charming and seemingly full of love and passion.
had he...all of the things that you were looking for in a man?
feeling your piercing gaze, he turns towards you — ashamed at your gawking, you chuckle lightly and bring your wine glass to your lips, but chan only smiles in adoration of you.
inhaling, chan begins to speak.
“i'm not going to sleep with you—“
it's sudden, and sends chan visibly reeling — so much so that you feel the need to amend the statement in earnest.
“what I mean is like, like a one night stand...hook up sort of thing—“
eyebrows gently furrowing, chan remains silent as he watches you talk through your thoughts in real time, not wanting to interrupt where ever it was that you were intending on going with this.
“I— I have feelings, so,” you stutter out, avoiding direct eye contact and instead, choosing to speak to the golden liquid in your glass. “so I don't think it's a good idea, is all. sorry.”
silents takes the balcony briefly. seconds that feel like years to you, but in real time, chan responds quite immediately. to that, you are thankful.
“what? of course I'm interested in you. i've always been interested in you,” he says, “i don't carry around binders full of color swatches just for any ol' woman I want to sleep with, are you kidding me?”
“chan shut up! i'm being serious!”
“i know, I know—“ he giggles, avoiding your playful slap to his arm. “i am, too. i'm serious.”
and taking a step forward, chan leans down into you once again. it's not the first kiss that the two of you have shared, and hell, not even of the night.
but it was different. it was new in all of the ways that love is and can be. the blossoming feeling of being seen and held by the one person that you wish to perceive you.
walking back inside as the catering staff begin cleaning up the remains of the evening, chan turns to you and takes a deep breath, as if somewhat insecure about where to go now.
“so,” he begins, the word exhaled through his mouth as if attempting to mask it to be as unheard as possible. “want to come back to my place, then?”
you look at him with feigned surprise before replying, “aww, look at you. you look so shy now. what happened to tough guy in the bathroom a few hours back?”
“tough guy has to perform now, if you say yes. remember what I said about pressure?” chan laughs in response.
you lean in to whisper, as to not allow any passerby into your banter. “are you warning me of something?”
“doubtful, but imagine how good it's going to be if you go in with low expectations.”
“you're so annoying.”
turning off his car, you take a deep breath before grabbing your bags and moving towards crawling out of the passenger side of the vehicle.
“nervous?” he asks. it's obvious, after all.
“a little, I guess? kind of silly since i'm a grown woman.”
“not really, pretty normal,” he says, opening the car door and ushering himself out as well. “on the bright side, you don't have to climb any flights of stairs, my building elevator works.”
“elevator? after everything you said about mine! jerk.”
finally stepping foot into the mans apartment, you realize in the moment that you had never given even an inkling of a thought to what it would look like prior.
nice furnishings, a clean kitchen area, and a bed that's made — despite a relatively small apartment, it was well kept, and if you didn't know any better you would think that he weren't a single man at all.
“want anything to drink?” he asks from behind you, rustling around with keys and coats by the door. you hum in response that you don't need anything.
the next thing you know, you're being hauled off towards the bedroom, in a set of arms much more muscular than you ever remember them being.
dropping you back first onto the mattress, chan wastes no timing climbing up the length of your body and nestling himself between your legs — mouths making contact yet again, and more needy than ever before — chan only stops long enough to pull his own shirt off and over his head, thrown across his bedroom before settling back down and against you.
it lasts only momentarily, however — the heat of the moment quickly over taking him as he becomes acutely aware of how much clothing you are wearing and how much he desperately does not want that to be the case. ushering himself up and onto his knees, he begins fingering at the buttons of your blouse, and smiles as your own hands reach down towards the buttons of your slacks.
“can I take this off?” chan asks hurriedly, already gently pulling you up and off of the mattress as if he anticipates the affirmative response. he receives it, of course, and slings the fabric along with the previously discarded of his own.
“in a rush?” you giggle, lying back down and watching his hands work in a rush against all of the confines keeping the distance between his skin and your own intact.
“a little bit, should I slow down?”
“no, it's okay, we have more time for slowing down in the future.”
“that's what I was thinking,” chan responds, motioning himself in reverse to create space to pull your pants from your legs. “that reminds me though, be my girlfriend?”
“you're asking me now?” you laugh, the only clothing remaining on your body a pair of panties.
“should I wait until i'm in?”
“you should shut up.”
“i'll take that as a 'yes' then.”
chan makes fast work of his own jeans, kicking them along with his boxer briefs off before climbing back onto the bed, and you realize that you're staring.
and unfortunately, that he notices, too. a cheeky grin, followed by a bright redness to his ears. it's not often that you see him shy, but you can't help but enjoy the sight.
well, both sights.
reaching down and hooking fingers into the remaining fabric, he pulls them from you and wastes no time pressing two fingers against — and then into you. a dull stretch, relieving in a sense — the feeling that this is finally going to happen, and apparently you had desired it much more than you had thought going in.
chan leans down, pressing his mouth against yours only to trail his lips down your jaw, up and over towards your ear. gently pressing his hand into you, you exhale a whiny — and you can hear the way it makes his own breath hitch.
“i want you.” he whispers into you, and if not for the fact that you knew it would finally happen, you might be annoyed by the admission.
“please,” is all you can groan out, but thankfully, it's all that he needs.
pulling back and off of you again, chan leans over to his dresser, opening the small wooden drawer and fishing out a plastic packet before ripping it open with his teeth and gently motioning it along himself.
as chan leans back down into you, you feel the beginning of his gentle intrusion — guided by his hand in the beginning, then by the sharp inhale of your breath at the stretch. forearms flat against the mattress on either side of your head, biting into your lip and eyes screwed shut — chan groans under his breath as he presses himself all of the way into you, fully buried in your warm, wetness.
“god—“ he exhales into your mouth, you swallow it down happily, his admission of submission to you. “you feel amazing.”
“you feel—“ you begin, feeling as though it necessary of you to meet him halfway in the discussion. after all, no one likes to be left hanging all alone. but it's the slow, drag of his pull out, followed by another velvety push inside that catches the words in your throat and only allows them out in the form of a groaned out “fuck.”
only a few more strokes before chan is able to get his head screwed on properly again — enough to make use of himself at least — and settles into a slow, strong pace against you. bringing a hand up, he finds your hair and wraps fingers into it — not pulling, but as if you keep you grounded, keep you in place for him — for the both of you, in a way.
“ch-chan, i—“ you whisper against his cheek, voice shaky and seemingly already fucked out. he snaps his attention to, albeit a bit surprised by the fact. “already?”
you nod quickly. followed by a sigh of relief from him.
“oh thank god, i'm so cl-close—“
digging your nails into his strong shoulders, you feel your abdomen tighten in impending release, and it's only a few more strokes before he's pulling it from you — teeth gritted hard, unsure about the potential of a noise complaint from any neighboring people and not wanting to risk it — you groan loudly into the flesh of his arm, only causing him to meet you the same — three, four especially hard, rough pounds against you before he's clenching his eyes shut and emptying into the barrier between you.
rolling off of you to lie in next, chests heaving even in spite of the short session, chan tosses his arm across his face and chuckles to himself after only a minute or two of silence between you.
“i've been waiting to do that for weeks.”
you giggle, snuggling up towards him. “yeah? I could tell.”
“hey, hey, hey!” he snaps back, bringing his closest arm to you up and around you. “give me time, it's been a while, alright?”
tying off the condom eventually and getting up for glasses of water, he hands you one as the both of you sit at the edge of the bed.
“burgundy and gold, right?”
the sudden thought catches you off guard, because what does that have to do with anything?
“wh-what—?”
“your wedding colors, burgundy and gold, was it?”
and now you're really caught off guard, because he...remembered that?
“yes, how do you remember that?”
you watch him smile, looking down into his glass of water before turning back towards you with his grin never diminishing. chan leans in and kisses you on the forehead delicately before answering the question.
“gonna be important,” he begins, “can't hire you to work your own event, now can I?”
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a/n: hey guys! hope you enjoyed reading this one ^^ i had a hard time but a good time writing it, and i think it’s quite cute. 
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staysuki · 22 days ago
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the best friend code | han jisung fic
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pairing: reader x han jisung | bestfriends to lovers
genre: fluff, non idol au
word count: 1.6k
warnings: suggestive remarks
synopsis: you and your best friend have a set of rules you follow to maintain your boundary of friendship. it's always been easier that way, but rules have always been meant to be broken.
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back when you two were young and impressionable pre-pubescent children, you've always been left to your own devices by your parents. both trustworthy kids who just like to play with each other and not cause any trouble.
by the time you two got tired of playing house, you remember lounging on the couch, turning on the tv and snickering to each other whenever you'd switch to the "adult" channels.
and no, not that kind of adult.
the kind of "adult" channel filled with boring news segments and wacky game shows— but the part you and jisung always waited for were the primetime shows: the cheesy afternoon dramas and the angsty telenovelas about broken families that had plot twists per episode.
because of this, your young minds had been plagued with unrealistic standards of how relationships work.
what scarred the two of you the most were the never ending reruns of classic romantic tragedies.
you guys always see two people start as friends then fall in love then end up breaking up, hearts broken, friendship no longer mended.
you remember finishing a certain movie and the two of you cried for minutes before deciding on a pact:
don't fall in love with each other so that you'd stay together.
as you grew up side by side, you kept true to the rules, though as you started developing mature minds, you realized how ridiculous that pact was. it was a contract written by two 7 year olds, it was bound to be childish.
nonetheless, it ended up with the two of you being a bit awkward when having to navigate through these rules as adults.
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rule number one: no cuddling at all whatsoever, touching is gross and weird
"wanna huddle up on the couch while we watch rick and morty?" jisung asked, spreading his arms over the couch, urging you to sit beside him.
"that's not even a cuddle-together type of show."
"bitch, who said we were cuddling?"
you rolled your eyes, plopping down on the empty space right next to him and he immediately wrapped his arms over your shoulder, pulling you into his body. though jisung was naturally affectionate, the times he'd do this kind of thing was closer to being rare— not that he didn't like cuddling, you two just grew up not ever touching each other at all.
"this is cuddling."
"really? i couldn't tell."
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rule number two: don't cook for each other, only husband and wife do that!!
"y/n~ when are you gonna make me ramdon?"
"jisung, they're literally just two different kinds of instant noodles mixed together, i think you can make that on your own." you replied, barely looking away from the tv as he whined beside you.
"you sure about that?" he challenged, making you pause for a bit. you knew how abhorrent he was in the kitchen and god-forbid he tries to burn down his apartment.
that night, you found yourself grumbling to yourself as you watched han jisung devour an entire plate of ramdon in front of you, not bothering to offer you some as you see his cheeks getting stuffed full with the noodles.
out of spite, you grabbed a fork and took all of the chopped steak that you added in, doing so in an insane speed that even your best friend couldn't stop.
he started to protest, "yah! that's mine!"
"i'm literally the one who made this."
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rule number three: don't do anything to each other that you'd do with a love partner
"happy anniversary!!" jisung appeared from the door, a conniving smile on his face as he gave you a tight hug, spinning you around as if you haven't seen each other in years— it's only been five hours.
"w-what?"
"it's our 21st anniversary, since we started being friends."
"don't we already celebrate this. twice a year. on our, you know, birthdays." you remarked, knowing that you were one of those rare people that have been together since you were born. quite literally so.
"well yeah, but y'know."
"how do you even know the exact date of our friendship."
"i asked my mom when they started introducing us and apparently it was a few months after you were born, specifically today."
"ahhuh, and you chose to start celebrating this today because?" doubt dripped from your voice as you addressed this question.
"can i have some money for subway."
"fuck you, no."
"but it's our anniversary!"
you ended up ordering subway sandwiches and binging netflix together on the couch.
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rule number four: dates should come first before friendship
you walked out your room for the first time after 12 hours, cramming on procrastinated studies although mostly just taking power naps to keep your motivation for school going. you weren't sick, but you were definitely stressed out.
you see a well-dressed jisung raiding your kitchen, watching him snack on your groceries.
you knew this routine of his, it's his 'eat first so that i don't look like a slob during a date and also i don't have to pay for an expensive meal for myself'—also known as jisung's life hack to dating in college.
"special night?" you asked, catching the whiff of his special perfume reserved for date nights. he's the kind who gets different scents for different occasions. one time, he even had a different cologne for hook-ups.
"yup. someone from a different department. you good?"
you shrug, feeling meh. "yeah, just stressing out with homework and projects."
"how you holding up?"
"after one day, i've done an admirable job with two out of thirteen assessments."
"bitch, this is why i told you to like, stop procrastinating, mate."
you flipped him off, thoroughly ashamed with being caught in 4k at being bad in school.
"get your laptop, i'll help you out." he says, making your eyebrows shot up in surprise. you know that jisung had always been the smarter one between the two of you, and the more hardworking one at that.
"wouldn't you be late for your date?"
he shrugs off his jacket, waving you off nonchalantly. "i'll reschedule, it's fine."
it wasn't rare that he'd help you out, but it was the first time he'd blow off a date to do so.
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rule number five: no sleeping on the same bed
it was a cold night, the storm booming outside your window as thunder sounded every so often. you cozied up on your blanket, finding comfort in the warmth before you slowly start drifting back to sleep— until you heard the door creak open, footsteps following the sound and a shifting of the other side of your bed as the figure had finally approached.
you knew exactly who it was as your bestfriend always crashed on your couch whenever he felt like it. however, you didn't know why he suddenly cuddled up next to you.
"jisung?"
he let out a small hum as you felt the vibration from his speech behind your back as he snuggled up closer, big spooning you, "mm."
"is the couch too uncomfortable for you now?"
"no. i just thought you wanted to be next to someone, you're afraid of thunder right?"
all drowsiness seemed to drain away from your brain as you sat up to turn around and face him with a confused expression, slightly taken aback with how he forgot something about you, "i— what. i stopped being scared of thunder ever since we were ten, idiot."
"is that so? oh well, i'm here now anyways, too lazy to get up." he shrugged, pulling you back to your sleeping position, though this time, you were now too wide awake to attempt going back to sleep.
"whatever, dork."
—rule number six: always be together forever
the noise of the storm was drowned out by the sound of your beating heart. wild and fast as it treaded on uncharted territory— cuddling in bed during a storm with han jisung.
you felt like you needed to say something to ease the awkwardness but quite frankly, you didn't want to embarrass yourself in case he was already asleep. but you were proven false when he decided to speak up instead. "i lied."
"what now."
"i know you're not afraid of thunder anymore." he said, and you could almost hear the cheeky grin on his face.
"if you wanted the bed, you could've just said so."
"no, i wanted to sleep next to you."
"w-why?"
"i wonder why."
"i don't know, idiot," you rolled your eyes, though with your back turned to him, he wouldn't even be able to tell. instead, you felt his arms wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you even impossibly closer to his space.
"because i love you, that's why."
"well, i love you too, i mean, we've been together since—"
"no, y/n, i'm in love with you."
"wha— b-but the rules—" the confession making you sit up and turn towards him, your eyes almost bulging out of it's socket as you stumbled over your words. you felt like if you spoke any more, you'd feel your heart be thrown up from your chest with it's erratic beating, you swear it's moving out of place.
"y/n, screw the rules, we made those when we were literal children. i think we're enough of an adult at this point to know what we both want and how to make it work."
"i guess?"
"pshh, please, i know you want me too." once again, he pulled you down towards him, but this time, you were facing each other, your noses inches apart from touching as your breaths mingled in the small space between.
if you kept the eye contact with him, you were pretty sure you'd lose your composure more than it already is so you opted to roll your eyes once again because this time he could actually see you do it, "well, maybe, but if you keep being cocky about it then i might change my mind."
"i'm kidding~ can i have a good night kiss now."
"you can kiss my ass."
"patience, y/n, we'll get to that."
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a/n: just writing the short one-shot fics while i'm on break ^^;
mastertag: @leagreenly @geniejunn @90s-belladonna @loveliebri
networks: @ficscafe
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ch4nb4ng · 7 days ago
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Extra Care
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pairing: dilf!chan x milf!fem reader
warnings: switch!chan, oral (m receiving), praise, semi-public sex, cum play, dirty talk, orgasm (m and f)
word count: 9.8 k (woops lmao)
Tagged: @sailorhyunjinz , this was a fic written as inspo from an ask you received a little while ago, hope you enjoy reading it !
summary: after leaving your piece of shit husband and moving across town with your beautiful little son, life was stressful. Lucky your son easily adapted and made friends easy, but you had to pat him on the back, because the newly divorced dad that accompanied him was like a gift, and boy, were you in need of some stress relief.
A large smile spread across your face as your beautiful son ran out of the automatic doors, running full speed as you kneeled down, opening your arms wide and embracing him fully.
“Hello my beautiful son,” you beamed, “how was your day?”
“It was so good mom,” he replied, reciprocating your grin of warmth, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course my little pumpkin.”
“Can Felix come over? His dad said it was okay.”
The smile on your face was far from fading as you lifted a hand, ruffling it through the little boy’s hair.
“Of course he can! Is he going to come with us?”
“I can follow behind you to your house.”
You heard a deep voice coming from behind you before you could speak. Turning around, you gasped, greeted by a taller man with black hair, glasses, and a black suit. Holy shit was all you could think, mind going dumb as you realised you were on your knees right in front of this dashing stranger. The heat rose to your cheeks immediately when you realised how filthy this would have looked out of context. The man held his arm out, knocking your thought back into motion as you stood, accepting his kind offer and gripping his hand for a handshake. Your eyes bulged for a moment, noticing how firm his grip was.
“I’m Chan,” he beamed, resulting in a cocked eyebrow of confusion from you, “Felix’s dad.”
A wave of relief came over you after he had given some background information as to who he was.
“Oh,” you giggled, “it’s nice to meet you Chan, I’m y/n, Seungmin’s mum.”
“Beautiful,” he chuckled, dimples popping out.
Your heart began to race at the adjective. Was he saying that you are beautiful? Or that Seungmin was beautiful? You shook your head, snapping yourself out of such ludicrous thoughts. There was no way he was talking about you; this was the first interaction between the two of you.
“Sorry?”
“Oh uhm” he coughed, breaking eye contact with you for a brief moment, “Seungmin uhm, he’s a beautiful kid.”
“Ohh,” you coughed, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck, “I try my best.”
You both stood there, a slightly uncomfortable feeling filling the air as you ran out of things to converse about. You knew it was wrong to think this way, seeing as it was the first friend Seungmin had made since moving to a new school, not wanting to ruin things for your son; but you couldn’t help it. Felix’s dad, Chan, was super attractive. Although he had clothes on right now, you could see how well he took care of his body, largely due to the fact that it was becoming somewhat difficult for you not to admire the way the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone, the third one barely holding on. His dark hair pushed up, forehead out in full view, his smile, dimples; his teeth. He was so hot. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks once more the longer you noticed yourself gawking at him.
“So uhm-”
“So-”
You both giggled, talking in unison. God, why was he making it so hard to act like a cordial school parent?
“You go first.”
“Oh uhm I was just going to say, did you want to follow me to my house?”
“That sounds like a great idea, Felix, get in the car and daddy will take you to Seungmin’s house.”
You coughed, saliva getting caught in your throat as he bent down to ruffle the already messy hair on top of Seunngmin’s head.
“How does that sound, buddy?”
“Mom, let’s gooooooo!”
Seungmin dashed to the car, tossing his backpack in the back sweat first before jumping in. All you could do was grin ear to ear. He was a resilient kid.
After your extremely long and excruciating divorce, and having to move across town to get away from your poor excuse of an ex-husband, you were nervous that he would find it difficult to adjust to such drastic changes. Nevertheless, all he did was beam with joy, not easily discouraged, but easily adapting to his new life. You were so proud, the look on his face brought tears to your eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
Your smile faded, looking back at Chris’ face of worry. Oh shit, the tears forming in your eyes accidentally spilling over and silently dripping down your face.
“What? Oh,” you gasped, quickly wiping away the wet residue, “yes I’m fine, shall we get going?”
“Sure.”
He smiled politely once more, not wanting to invade your privacy by asking you why you were crying. Instead he turned on his feet, opening the car door and sitting in his car, the engine revving somewhat loud as he began his journey to your house.
***
“Wow Seungmin, your house is so cool!”
The sound of Felix’s sweet little voice erupted as soon as he stepped out of the car, running to the front door. What was up with kids and sprinting everywhere like their life depended on it? You couldn't complain though, you were very happy to see that Seungmin had made a friend just as enthusiastic and energetic like himself.
They were both already standing at the door, waiting eagerly to be let inside. You were struggling, trying to multitask getting your house keys out, as well as dragging Seungmin’s backpack in your arms awkwardly. You were grateful when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders, gently lifting the heavy mass and taking it upon himself to take the weight off of your hands.
“Oh,” you smiled, “thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he chirped, happily following you to your front door.
The sound of the key turning in the lock was successful, busting the door open and letting the little ones run free. Your feet, now tired from being on them day, were taking you to the kitchen, dragging a very handsome father behind you. He stood behind you, unsure whether to sit or stand. You were completely oblivious, sloppily discarding your jacket and throwing it onto the couch. Turning to the sink without hesitation, filling an empty glass with water as a sigh of relief after taking a sip of the cool substance. After what seemed like a lifetime to Chan, you turned around, eyes going wide after completely forgetting that you were not the only adult in your house.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, quickly swallowing the lump of water in your throat, “please have a seat on the stool. Would you like a drink?”
“Ah, yes please, water is fine for me thank you.”
He was super polite, bowing slightly as he pulled out the chair under the bench. He smiled, whispering a small thank you as you handed him a glass of his requested beverage. Silence filled the room once again as you both sipped on your waters. You had no idea how to converse, and the fact that he was making you sweat with just his presence alone was stressing you out. His suit jacket was now off as well, exposing even more of his superb physique, the bottom half of his sleeves were already rolled up, veins on full display as he lifted the glass to his lips, observing the way they pulsated with each small move he made.
“So,” you began, making Chan snap his eyes up to you, a shiver running down your spine, “what do you do for work?”
For work? You wanted to slap yourself across the face. This wasn’t a job interview, but it was like you had set it up to be that way after your line of questioning had begun.
“Oh uhm, I work in finance, stock for entertainment companies, nothing special.”
“Oh wow that’s great, seems like a very stable job, financially.”
Really? Now you sounded like one of those people that work out how much someone’s life is worth for insurance. You were trying to be personable, friendly. But due to your previous life as the stereotypical trophy wife, only to be seen on the arm of your ex partner to make him look good. It took away from your ability to make friends and have genuine social connections. So much that your social skills suffered in the process. Your anxiety grew the longer he waited to answer.
“Well yes, it’s enough to get me and the family by.”
Right. His family. Of course he had a family. You were lying if you said your heart didn’t sink at the idea that he would be going back to his beautiful life full of marriage and children, maybe pets. You began to chug your water, finishing at reaching for the cupboard full of liquor. A look of excitement flashed in your eyes for a moment as you happily took out two wine glasses from the upper cupboard, red wine effortlessly pouring into the cup. You attempted to cup the glass in a sophisticated way, sliding the other one across the bench.
But that was literally the worst idea you had ever thought of, seeing as the glass travelled way too far, spilling off of the edge and all over Chan.
“Oh my god,” you cried, falling to the floor and rummaging underneath the kitchen sink, desperate to find any kind of paper towel to clean up the mess. Finally successful, you scurried over, falling to your knees as you rubbed back on forth up and down his pants in a hurried manner. The way he was super polite and apologetic towards you was making it worse, the guilt clouding you the harder you scrubbed.
“Oh my god, Chan I’m so sorry-”
“It’s fine y/n,” he chuckled, wrapping his hand around your wrist to prevent you from wiping anymore, “it was an accident. It’s cute the way you're frantically trying to fix the situation though.”
Cute? Did he just call you cute? Your heart fluttered at the compliment. You bit down on your bottom lip, attempting to suppress the grin that was yet to be hidden on your face, but it wasn’t until you realised why he stopped you from cleaning any further. You gasped as you looked up, quickly swiping your palms away and out of his grip. You now knew why, seeing the way his crotch was hardening by the second against your delicate palms.
You felt so guilty. So guilty that you found this satisfaction deep within your body coming alive the closer you kept to him. He ignored your flustered state, lending a hand to help you stand up in front of him. You take up the gracious offer, but receive a shock as he caught you in a moment of weakness. This moment turned into seconds, then minutes, then what felt like hours as neither of you backed away or created any kind of space between your bodies. If anything, he was pulling you closer, like an invisible magnet was attached to your body: like you were the protons to his electrons.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhh,” he whispered, the grip of his fingertips on your palms, snaking around your wrist once more as he moved back to its original position, a dark chuckle escaping his lips when he felt the softness of your palm gently pushing against his bulge. A gasp of shock parted from your lips at his boldness. What the hell was he doing?
“We shouldn’t do this Chan I-”
“Why not?”
“Because the kids could come down any minute, and you have a family at home and-”
The look on his face was priceless, the previously polite and kind man returning as he let go. He grabbed his jacket, quickly fixing himself up. God this was so awkward and embarrassing. Unsure what to do, you panicked, quickly grabbing your phone and obnoxiously sticking it out in front of him.
“Could I have your number maybe? You know, incase the boys want to hang out on the weekends, or you need me to pick Felix up, or if I need a hand with picking up Seungmin or-”
“Oh,” he nodded, taking the phone out of your hand and punching his number in, “that sounds great.”
The guilt was now truly eating you up inside. This had been the first opportunity to get yourself out there, explore the sexual fantasies that you had been oh so desperate for. To finally get away from the lacklustre, soul sucking sex life, the memory of your ex husband finishing in two seconds etched into your brain. Never paying attention to any of your wants or desires. One part of you felt relief because there was no way you wanted to be a home wrecker for someone you had quite literally just met half an hour ago, however, that was just a mere part of you. The much, much bigger part of you wanted to rip your phone out of his beautifully sculptured hands, push him on the kitchen bench and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. His fingertips roaming all over your body, the soft moans that would escape his lips; the possibilities were endless. The longer you stared at him, and the way his face was now fixated into a look of concentration on your phone as his tongue was stuck out slightly, the quicker the intensity of your sensual thoughts became. It wasn’t until you felt someone a lot smaller than you tugging at the side of your pants to bring you back to the real world, that’s when you realised how totally fucked you were.
“Mom, mommy, mommy-”
“Yes baby, what is it?”
“Felix has to go home now, but can I go after school tomorrow?”
“Oh baby,” you smiled, the feeling of pain behind it as you had to tell him because he had forgotten, “you have to go to your dad’s house tomorrow, did you forget?”
The look on Seungmin’s face made you want to sob on the spot. The combination of hurt and anger mixed into his features truly made your heart break. He was always happy and resilient when he was with you, but he genuinely loathed having to visit his dad, mainly due to the fact that there was little interaction when he was there. He didn’t matter. Your ex husband did not take him anywhere, or he would be confused when his dad would bring home different people, late in the night, throughout the week. It was a lot for a little kid to handle.
“But I don’t want to go mom,” he huffed, crossing his tiny arms across his chest, “I hate him.”
“Now Seungmin, I know you don’t like going there, but you have to see your dad, it’s what we agreed on.”
“No, I hate you!”
His yell was so loud, but the way he ran up to his room and slammed his door was ear shattering. It didn’t even matter to you that Chris and his son were still there, witnessing all of this. If it was anybody else, you would have felt extremely humiliated. But there was no chance, not even the slightest of anger could be felt in your body, because you understood his reaction. You refused to look at the guests in your house, the chance of Chan seeing tears well up in your eyes again was just too shameful for you.
“Felix, here are the keys, why don't you get in the car and lock the doors until I come out, okay?”
“Okay daddy.” He smiled, taking the keys and disappearing from the house.
Your sadness suddenly accompanied by a flash of empathy across Chan’s features as he rubbed his hand on the crook of your back soothingly.
“I’m sure I've made quite the first impression on you today, haven’t I?”
“You have?”
“Ha ha,” you chuckled, quickly wiping the tears away, “very funny. I’m sure you think I’m a complete mess, crying twice, pouring red wine all over your clothes which will be impossible to get out. Rejecting your advances on me? God I’m so pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic at all, y/n.”
Your sniffling came to a halt, teary and congested eyes looking to meet him once more. There was something about him that was super comforting. You suddenly felt so safe and secure when you looked into his eyes. His aura was so gentle, so kind and sweet, it was almost like he was a vampire; compelling you to spill your deepest and darkest secrets to him.
“I’m not?”
“Of course not. It must be so difficult trying to coparent a kid with your ex partner, and from what it sounds like, he’s not the most helpful person.”
You laughed sarcastically, “that’s an understatement.”
“I mean, it’s not like he’s going to win father of the year award anytime soon, hey?”
The giggle that left your chest was so loud, but you simply did not care at this point in time. You needed a good laugh. Life had become so stressful that laughing seemed to be the best medicine. As corny as his jokes were, you appreciated the effort Chan had gone to in order to make you laugh, and not feel uncomfortable about all the previous stuff you had done today.
“What I’m saying is, don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? You’re doing great as a single parent. You also have my number now, so if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call, okay?”
“Sure Chan,” you sniffled, leading him towards the door, “you better go, Felix is waiting for you.”
“Ah yes of course that little trouble maker, I’ll see you around.”
You nodded, watching him run to the car, waving back at the adorable duo as he beeped his horn to say goodbye. You closed the door, a heavy sigh of sorrow filling your chest remembering Seungmin’s previous words. You knew he didn’t mean it, but it still hurt to hear your child say such a thing to you.
Regardless of your hurt, you wanted to make it up to him. Fill him up with as many happy memories as possible to reflect on until he had to go to the devil’s house. You walked up to his room, knocking on the door lightly before entering, seeing a pouty Seungmin in his pyjamas in bed. Your heart soared at the sight. His anger still made you smile because it was so adorable, how could it not?
“Seungmin, it’s time for dinner, what do you want to eat?”
He said nothing, completely ignoring you. You huffed, playfully as you sat on the side of his bed.
“Come on pumpkin, we have to eat before we go and get ice cream!”
No response. You leaned in closer, poking your index finger into his squishy cheek. Still no response.
“Hmm but! Only good boys get ice cream. Do you know what bad boys get?”
You lifted your hands, shaping them into two paws as you attacked his sides, a leaping Seungmin from under the covers as he squealed, fidgeting at the ticking fingers eating up his sides. A mixture of screams and laughter filled the room as he begged you to stop your attack on him.
“Mommy, please stop!”
“Not until you tell me what you want to eat!”
“Okay, Okay! I promise I’ll tell you.”
You took them away, letting him sit up and give you a hug. A quiet gasp escaped from your lips at the surprise of his willingness to embrace you, considering the fact that he basically spit in your face moments before. Regardless, anything Seungmin did, especially when he was being affectionate made your heart melt and thus, falling in love with him even more.
***
Loud music blasted through the car as Seungmin sang his little heart out, getting you to join in as you were on the way to drop Seungmin off for another day of school. Today was a new day, and you told yourself that it was going to be a good one. Yes, Seungmin was going to your ex husband’s house, but no, today was going to be a great day. Nothing could bring you down.
“Okay my little angel, we are here!”
“Yayyy,” he shrieked, somewhat piercing your ear as he opened the door and patiently waited for you to open the boot. The smile on his face was unbeatable. Grabbing his backpack and placing it on his shoulders, he giggled, gripping on to your hand as you walked him to the front gate.
“Seungmin, wait up!”
Your head turned to see a beaming Felix that happened to have even more energy than yesterday, but you paid him little attention, eyes unconsciously drifting to Chan, wearing a completely different change of outfit. Cosy, comfy and casual, hot, was all you could think as he watched his son run through the gates in his black t-shirt that was way way way too small, and his black shorts that were way too tight. His skin was glowing, hair relaxed and resting across his forehead, those dimples lighting up as soon as his gaze became fixed on you. You nodded politely, heart rate increasing as he soon as you realised that he was heading towards you.
“Good morning sunshine,” he smiled, causing you to look down at the door and pretend to acknowledge what he said.
“Good morning Chan,” you beamed, matching his gaze for a brief moment, “long time no see.”
“Aha yes it is. Do you have work today?”
“I do, unfortunately, but it’s only a half day today, so I can go home early and just relax by myself tonight with a nice glass of wine and Netflix.”
“Make sure you don’t spill it this time, hey?”
It really wasn't that funny, but you’re not sure if it was because you were extremely close to him and his dimples were flashing inches away from your face or not, but the way you just snorted at his below average joke was astonishing.
“I’ll try my best, but you know me, clumsy mcclumbsy!”
The way he was now basically dying at your retaliation to him was beyond you. Your humour was the same. If anything, it gave you butterflies in your stomach at how smooth the dialogue really was.
You both settled down, finally in a stable way to continue your conversation.
“So I’m not sure if I heard correctly, but did you say you were going to be alone tonight? No Seungmin with you tonight?”
The high from your previous moment of comedy dissipated quickly, the idea of your ex popping in your brain doing the trick with that. You coughed, ridding the phlegm out of your throat as you changed to a serious tone.
“You heard correctly, Mr…?”
“Bang.”
“Right, Mr. Bang. Seungmin is getting picked up by his deadbeat dad after school, so the next couple of nights it’s just me, myself and I.”
Chan chuckled politely as he brought his hand to the back of his neck. You both stood in silence, but you could tell that he wanted to say something.
“Did you want to maybe, I don’t know, hang out tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, I am cooking and I think it would be nice to hang out. I also know you're new here so it may help if I gave you some advice for some of the people around here because,” he paused, leaning closer, breath fanning on your ear as he spoke softly, “because some of them can be a lot. Look at the parents over there, 3 o'clock, staring us down like we are supposed to melt into a puddle.”
“Yes I can,” you chuckled, a shiver running down your spine as you poked a quick glance at said parents he was talking about. He pulled back, placing a hand on your bicep as he spoke once more.
“Come by at 4:30, dinner will be ready at 5:00. I’ll text you my address.”
And without even waiting for a response, he left without a word, leaving your flabbergasted and completely flustered. Why the hell was he inviting a single woman to his what seemed to be a very married household. Any logical and rational person would have said no and just flat out rejected it. But you were already too far gone, under his mysterious spell, to think it was a bad idea. Was it a bad idea? Absolutely. You crossed your fingers, praying that his partner was a very nice, carefree human being. Still, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face as you got into the car, driving to work that you usually would be loathe, but how could you? Knowing you would get to see Chan after was a gift in itself.
***
The heat of the water droplets cascading onto your body was extremely relieving. Even though you had only completed a half day, your feet were still sore. Being a retail manager was a lot of work, and seeing that you never worked a day in your life before, it was tiring. Nevertheless, the ache of your soles were almost non-existent, the thought of seeing Chan again for the third time in two days motivating you to be the best version of yourself.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, gently slapping yourself across the face at your very, very unrealistic epiphany. You had literally met this man less than 24 hours ago, but the grip he already had on you was unreasonable.
It was fine; that was what you told yourself. It’s just the fact that you haven't had action in years, that’s definitely what it was.
The shower was a time of isolation that you enjoyed, letting your body soak in the steam, that was, until you heard your phone light up, sound ringing through the echoed walls of the bathroom. You huffed, turning off the water and wrapping a towel around your naked body quickly, eyebrows furrowed as you saw Chan calling you.
“Chan?”
“Hey y/n,” he answered, tone laced with concern, “I’m with Seungmin here, and he seems to be a little upset, did you wanna talk to him?”
Your stomach dropped, the worst thought coming into your head at Chan’s words.
“Put him on,” was all you could say, and he understood completely, knowing that wasn’t a time for small chat and mediocre dad jokes.
“Mommy?”
Your stomach dropped even further, hearing the sniffles cracking through the speaker.
“Hey baby, is everything okay?”
“Daddy didn’t come.”
“For fu-, he didn’t come and pick you up?”
“No,” he cried, his voice becoming weaker as his cries turned into sobs, “he forgot about me.”
“No, no sweetheart, he didn’t forget, he just, he just texted me actually, he’s stuck in traffic!”
The panic, frustration, and just pure rage began to bubble in every inch of your body. How could he forget?
“Y/n, it’s me again, did you want me to take him to his dad’s? He can sit with Felix in the car and calm down a little, could you text me the address?”
The kind gesture was making the boiling blood in your body decrease. Honestly, if you could, you would just say yes and let him do it. But it was one thing to have a stranger interact with your ex, it was another to get him involved in your marital problems. There was also no way you were letting him get away with this so easily.
“Thank you, Chan, really, but no, if you could wait for me to come and pick him up, I'll only be 5 minutes.”
“Yes of course, don’t worry.”
You quickly took the phone away from your ear, wanting to curse extremely loudly as you checked the time on your phone. How the fuck was it already 4:00?
“I’m afraid the only problem will be that I’m going to be late for dinner.”
“Y/n please,” he sighed, “we can push dinner back, I’m sure that’s the least of your worries.”
“It sure will be after I drop Seungmin off and give him a piece of my mind. Anyways, I’ll put some shoes on and head to the car, see you soon.”
The Guiness world record book had nothing on you. From the way you threw clothes on, chucked on shoes and did the laces, got in the car, and most likely sped to your destination. You dashed out of your car, knocking on the window of Chan’s back door. You plastered a fake smile, not wanting Seungmin to be exposed to the anger you had for his father. And at the end of the day, it was his father, and you'd rather allow him to form his own opinions than be influenced by yours.
“Sorry Chan, Felix,” you smiled, swiping the door open and grabbing Seungmin out, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta go. I’ll see you a bit later anyway.” You winked, shutting the door behind you as you scurried your less upset son to the backseat of your car.
The ride was short, well too short for you, not giving you enough time to formulate the absolute whipping your ex husband was about to receive. Before you knew it, your legs had already taken you to the front door, hearing the ridiculously long and obnoxious doorbell as you held Seungmin’s hand, tight. The door was opened, rolling your eyes when it wasn’t him on the receiving end.
“Y/n?”
“Hi, Yeji, is Changbin here?”
“Yes, but he’s busy-”
“Great!” You chirped, the fakest of fake smiles on your face when you were greeted by Changbin’s assistant. Without asking, you barged in, Seungmin being forced to follow. Your jaw was clenched, observing your said ex husband prancing around his living room, a random person in a robe spread across his lap. All was smiles and laughter, that was until his eyes laid on you.
“Y/n, what a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, hey Changbin. How are you? Looks like you’re having the time of your life while your beautiful son was waiting for you to pick him up from preschool today.”
The arrogant smirk on his face was wiped away at an extremely fast pace when his gaze lowered to a puffy-faced Seungmin. He ran over, lifting him up and spinning him around, making him laugh in excitement.
“Hey buddy, sorry I couldn’t come and get you! I was on the way but, but I-”
“You got stuck in traffic, didn’t you?”
He looked up at you, a look of annoyance hijacking his features whenever he laid his eyes on you.
“Yes, now buddy, what do you say about having a shower and going out for some ice cream?”
“Yayyyy! Thanks dad.”
Yeji took Sengmin’s hand, leading him upstairs to help him get ready. But as soon as they left, Changbin reached out his arm, signalling his ‘new partner’ to come and join him by the hip. You scoffed, not even surprised anymore by his typical behaviour of his seductive ways.
“Can I talk to you for a second, without your new sex toy?”
He turned to them once more, placing his fingers underneath their chin as he placed his lips on theirs, capturing them in a grossly sensual kiss, before she disappeared into the kitchen.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?”
“What? You fucking forgot our child? Like what the fuck were you thinking? What could you have possibly been doing that is more important than picking your son up from school!”
You hadn’t planned on your voice becoming this loud this quickly, but the way you had to pretend for the past 30 mins was too much to handle.
“I was busy with a guest.”
The shortness of his answers only made your blood boil more.
“So having sex is more important than your kid? You know he told me he hates me after I told him he had to come here today. You said you want custody and you wanted to see him and let him have his dad in your life. I agreed to it because I don’t want him to resent me for not having a relationship with his father, but how am I supposed to take you seriously when you can’t do such a simple task?”
He didn’t even say anything which, honestly at this point you were not even surprised by. There was no use in trying to tell him because nothing ever got through to him.
“You know what, I can’t do this right now. I’m late. I’ll see you in two days.”
It wasn’t until you turned on your heels that he decided to speak.
“I’m not sure why you’re acting all high and mighty when you didn’t even want to have him in the first place.”
His words crushed your heart. Usually you paid no mind to any insult that he could come up with, but this was deep. His words were so hurtful with every intention to cut you deep, and man, did it work.
“I know what you’re trying to do, and yes, you’re right, I didn’t want to have kids, but I knew you wanted one, and I thought maybe having a kid would help our marriage. But it didn’t, and it’s not because of me, it’s because you never respected me, or thought of me as your equal, I was just a chess piece to you, making you look good. I’m a good mom, and you're the pathetic dad/husband, neglecting the people who really cared about you the most. That’s something you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. Good luck with that.”
You didn’t bat one eye, storming out there and slamming the large door behind you. An exasperated sigh of relief escaped your chest as you got in the car and punched in the GPS location to Chan’s house. Everything that had been brewing on your chest was finally out and in the open. It didn’t matter anyway, the sole thought of Seungmin having to stay there, his father full of empty promises, multiple people of different purposes to him frolicking around the house.
You had to increase the volume of the music in your car to distract yourself from any thought of your sun possibly suffering in your house. Driving today was a blur for you, because before you knew it the loud music and open windows had led you to your destination. You checked yourself in the rear mirror, realising that you had no makeup on, a hoodie and sweatpants as your attire. Fuck. Fucking Changbin. He always found a way to indirectly fuck up your life. Even so, you walked out of the car and knocked on the door with confidence. It’s not like you had any other option.
The comfort that you felt when the door was opened to Chan’s face, and not your ex husbands was immediate. He smiled, slightly confused at the way you had barged into his house.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, everything’s fine, just walked into my ex husband dancing around the house with a stranger in my old robe, throwing it in my face that I didn’t want to have kids, solely to get back at me for yelling at him about forgetting to pick up Seungmin and I-”
“Woah woah,” he gasped, closing the door behind him ,”slow down, you’ve barely walked into my house.”
“Oh shit,” you choked, covering your motor mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry, your partner must be so confused.”
Chan didn’t say anything, instead leading you to his living room. You were puzzled, firstly at his reaction to your statement, but secondly by the fact that you walked into an obviously empty house, not another adult in sight.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he smiled, “could I get you a drink, some wine perhaps?”
The grin that was begging to arrive on your face was bursting at the seams. The wine jokes would never not be funny.
“Sure, uhm, just wondering where your partner is though.”
He didn’t reply straight away, pouring your drink instead and handing it to you before you spoke.
“Listen, y/n, I just want to be honest with you, because I haven’t totally been yet.”
“Oh my god please don’t tell me you know my ex husband somehow and-”
“You know you shouldn’t assume what someone is going to say before they explain things.”
“Oh,” you wallowed, “sorry, again.”
“I’m just joking. Anyways, I feel like I have given you this impression that I am married, or have a partner or, basically, that I’m not single.”
Your ears perked up at his statement. You tried to stay calm, not showing your eagerness towards the idea that sir Chan Bang might be as single as you are.
“I am not any of those things.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m actually recently divorced.”
“Oh,” you nodded, taking a sip of your wine, “you’re recently divorced?”
“Well, about 6 months actually. Felix is actually at theirs tonight.”
“Oh.”
The tension in the air had become thick from a small moment. There was an implication, you could tell. The tone in his voice had suddenly changed from friendly and kind to deep and seductive. You could have been reading this completely wrong. But the cues were there. The smirk on his face, his body language, the way he was drifting closer and closer to you. It was becoming very hot, very tumultuous. The whites of his knuckles holding his glass ‘accidentally’ brushing against the blush on your face, arm wrapping around and interlocking with yours as he took another sip.
“So, how was your visit?”
“Awful,” you scoffed, trying your best to ignore his proximity, “he’s just such a fucking dick.”
He let go, realising that you weren’t in the most playful mood he was giving. Chan was a good listener, and he could tell that you just needed someone, another adult, to talk too. The stress that was oozing from you was almost overwhelming in a way. He moved you both to the couch, bringing the bottle with him, sensing that you probably were going to need it.
“Oh yeah? What happened?”
“Before I start, can you please fill up my glass? And not in the polite way, but to fill it up because I want to get a little drunk.”
A small chuckle left his lips, Chan doing as you pleased as using almost a quarter of the bottle to complete your glass. His gaze was careful, leaning into you slightly as you began to speak.
“He just, ugh he is just so carefree and lives such an easy life drowning in his millions and billions, but life isn’t like that, you know?”
“Of course,” he replied, placing his hand on your knee.
“We don’t live like that as adults. You have a kid and you don’t care? You can’t live like a playboy for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not, you have to work with me and make this work, and he just doesn’t.”
“I totally understand what you mean, my ex isn’t the easiest to deal with either.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, they just, were we really happy? Well I thought we were, until I found out that there was an affair going on for over half of our marriage.”
Your heart sank at his words. You could relate to him, especially since you had known about multiple different partners that would come in the house, sometimes even when you were there. But it didn’t matter, you could see the hurt in his eyes. It made you want to be closer to him, be the safety blanket he had been for you in the last couple of days. It was like he was someone you knew for a long time the more he spoke.
“I found out soon after that Felix wasn’t actually my kid either.”
“Oh, shit,” you blurted, unaware that your wine glass, which was filled up to the brim in case you forgot, “that’s fucked up.”
“It is what it is, I guess.” He sighed, swallowing his drink down in one gulp to catch up with you.
What felt like hours, but really, was only minutes had flown by, the drinks hitting both of you as you fell to the floor, alcohol induced laughter taking over your bodies simultaneously as you talked about the most ridiculous of things. Yes, you were having fun, but the more he spoke, the more attracted you became to him.
“God,” you cried, laying flat on the floor, “our lives are so stressful and fucked up.”
“You’re right about the one sweetheart.”
He smiled, crawling over to you. But when he tripped over in the process and accidentally landed on top of you, that was when things were getting real. Chan giggled, hands cupping your face. He said nothing, eyes stuck on you as he lifted his leg, now fixed on top of you. His closeness made you gasp, his crotch barely brushing against your core as he moved in closer, and closer, and closer.
“Can I tell you a secret,” he whispered, lips milliseconds away from your own.
You nodded, quickly wanting to hear what he needed to say.
“I really, really wanna fuck you right now.”
It was like he had just run a marathon, because his breaths were hard and heavy. His hands began to grasp onto your sides. Your palms moved in unison, slowly wrapping them around his neck as you pulled him closer to you.
“What the fuck are you waiting for then?”
Nothing needed to be said as he smashed his lips against yours. It wasn’t the smoothest, desperation taking over as he nipped your teeth, small groans and moans erupting as you tried to find a comfortable position. He was clumsy, making you somewhat frustrated, but it was endearing.
An idea popped into your head. You pulled away, wiggling yourself from his grip and standing up. You pointed your index finger, curling it up as a signal for him to come your way. You grabbed him by his shirt, licking your lips as you pushed him onto the couch. Your mind was becoming hungry for him, partially from the alcohol, but mainly from the way his legs were so deliciously spread for you. He patted his left thigh, his lap calling your name as you settled yourself atop of him, legs wrapped around his waist as a small groan left his lips. Your hand began to roam once more, dragging them heavily up and down his arms as you let him take in what he interpreted to be the most beautiful sight.
“Oh baby,” he chuckled, roughly gripping your sides, “you’re so eager, aren't you?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He liked your attitude: blunt and straight to the point. It is not like you were looking to get into a new relationship, or get engaged and enter into another marriage anytime soon. You didn’t need the softness or love or affection that came with love making. Hell, you hadn’t felt wanted or desired for a long time. Changbin, by the end of your brutally long enduring marriage, your sex life was non-existent. It killed you inside. All you wanted was to be tossed around fucked like a toy. To feel something other than hurt or anger is what you longed for, and if chan could fulfil those urges and make you feel like the sexiest person alive, you could die a happy life.
“Fuck okay,” he scoffed, hands snaking to your back as he pushed you forward, lips now full of desperation and arousal as they reattached to yours. The second kiss was much smoother. His tongue was eager, yes, but the way he controlled it: not too rough nor too shallow and he moved in rhythm with you. Your hands now wrapped around his neck as you moved your hips slightly his, eager to provoke him but also, chase the tingling sensation that was now forming as a result of this heavily sensualist kiss that you shared. You moaned into his mouth, pulling away, sucking on his bottom lip, a small pop bursting as you completely disconnected from him. His chest was tall, heaving intensely as you dragged your fingertips across his waist and down to the hem of his shirt. He took notice, quickly, lifting his arms as you took off his shirt, gasping at the exquisite physique that he was hiding underneath.
“Oh wow,” you gasped, leaning down to press a kiss on his left pec, “so this is what you're hiding from me Mr. Bang?”
“You like what you see?”
“Oh I like it,” you purred, dropping to the floor on your knees, “but I want to see more.”
Chan angled forward, soothingly rubbing his digits against your arms as you advanced to his jeans. You couldn't help but bite down your bottom lip to try and suppress the moan that wanted to escape from your lips as soon as his zipper was down. God, did his hard on look delicious. Hands on his knees, you smirked, tip toeing with each finger tip on his inner thighs. A shaky gasp came from his lips the closer you got to where he preferred you to be. It was cute. The way he reacted so quickly from such little sensation. This was going to be so easy.
“Tell me baby,” you whispered, face at eye level with his hard on, “tell me what you want.”
“T-touch me,” he whined, puppy eyes looking down at you, “please touch me.”
A devilish chuckle escaped from your lips. You looked up at him, teeth marks under his lip from biting down on them too hard as your digits barely slipped under the waistband of his straining boxers.
You were having too much fun teasing his poor man. The sexy, powerful, in control person you had just met yesterday had become all puddy in your hands. The power you felt over him was turning you on to new heights.
You sat up, sinking your teeth into his boxers, eyes hell-bent on seeing the pleasure on his face as you pulled them down, his cock hitting you in the face as it sprung out.
“Oh baby,” you cooed, placing a hand at the base of his cock, “you’re so big.”
A giggle of embarrassment came from Chan when you gave him such a compliment. He was dying for you to touch him now. To wrap those pretty little lips he has been thinking about on a constant loop around his throbbing cock. It was so close. The look in your eyes, full of dark and lustrous ideas that could make him cum right now, on the spot.
Eyes still fixed on him, you smiled, pushing a light thumb over the tip of his pulsating cock, slowly bringing your lips to a similar spot. The sounds that escaped from Chan’s lips were heavenly, enjoying the way he became louder and louder the more you took of him in your mouth. You hummed against him, vibrations trembling through his body and adding to the pleasure he was receiving from them.
“Oh my fucking god,” he growled, digging his hands into the base of your scalp, “so. Fucking. Good.”
You looked up at him, a sense of pride coming into your bones at the way he was straining against the backbone of the couch, eyes rolled completely to the back of his head, only the whites of his eyes visible as you moved along his shaft. He was enjoying this so much. The way your hands were placed on his hips, you on your toes as you quite literally sucked the soul out of him. He had never felt so alive under someone else’s touch, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, across his arms, down his legs, inside of his chest. Your touch lit him up, igniting him and ways he could not describe.
The way you were able to make him forget about the realities of the world, brain fixated solely on the pleasure he was receiving from your mouth was having an effect on you also. You were so used to receiving things. Expensive gifts, unwanted advances. It was true that you had a lot of things handed to you in your lifetime. It gave you no power, no control. This was the first time you could truly say that you had the power you desired over a man. As sadistic as it sounded, it truly made you so wet. A hand that was previously on his hips now moves to your own body, palming yourself against your clothed core. You looked up to check on him, eyes wide open and jaw completely strung out as he looked down, nothing but admiration in his expression at the way your head bobbed effortlessly on his cock.
“Shit, y/n,” he huffed, “I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”
You froze for a moment. There was no way that this was how the night was going to end. You were just as needy as him to feel the sexual touch of another man as much as he was eager to feel the touch of another woman. He gasped for a moment, slightly annoyed at the pop sound that came from your lips as you took them away from his angry cock.
“We can’t have that yet,” you cooed, “what about me?”
“I wanna fuck you.”
“Oh you do? How come I’ve still got all my clothes on?”
The way you stood in front of him, hips swaying gently to the non-existent music as you began to rid yourself of your pants, twirling around as your hoodie hit the floor; thank god you wore nice undergarments at least. He was starting to feel lightheaded. Your presence being so arousing to him. You were enjoying yourself, he was enjoying himself, there wasn’t much more you could ask for. Being able to have fun without any consequences after the fact was the perfect idea of fun in your mind.
“You’re having fun, aren’t you baby?”
His voice took you off guard for a moment. The dark, sultry tone returned to his voice as he stood up in front of you. The way he was completely naked made your creep back into a position of intimidation. For a moment you had forgotten how broad this man really was. Shoulders overshadowing your figure the closer he got to you. He leaned in, lips attaching to your neck as his hand spiralled down your body fingertips cupping your core as he began to speak.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already huh?”
Only a stifled moan could be heard from you, the delicacy of his touch not being enough, yet driving you crazy simultaneously. The gentleness of his touch, mixed with the callous texture of his pads was so good. A filthy chuckle escaped from Chan’s lips as he saw the look of despair etching onto your face. His cock twitched, truly getting off to the way such little touch had such a diminishing impact on you. His eyes were on your lips, then your chest, then your lips again.
“May I?”
“Please.”
He smirked once more, reaching a single hand around your back and unclasping the beautiful black lingerie that previously hugged your chest. All of his movements were so slow, so seductive, so sensual. You couldn’t help but breathe heavily, anticipating what was yet to come. Keeping his fingers on your soft spot, he groaned, other hand tweaking at your left nipple. An animalistic groan escaped his lips at the way your body continuously gave into him. Buds hardening instantly. He pushed himself closer to you, your body shuddering once you felt his prominent member twitching against your inner thigh.
Although you enjoyed this tantalising tease and pleasure his fingers gave you, your impatience was growing. The only thing you really wanted right now was for him to fuck you into oblivion. Be as rough and unapologetic as possible as he put you at his mercy.
“Chan this is, this is r-really good,” you shivered, grabbing him by the wrist, “but I-”
“Are you gonna stop me again?”
“No,” you huffed, “god no I was just gonna ask you to do more.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” you chuckled, swiping your tongue across your top lip, “more.”
“Oh yeah,” he purred, gripping your at your sides once more, “use your words. Tell me what you want.”
And so you began, lips smashing against his as he moved his hands down to your ass, squeezing them for you as a sign to jump up and wrap your legs around him, which you did, gladly did as he continued your playful assault with your lips. You giggled against his touch, gasping at the way carried you up his stairs, opening his bedroom door and tossing you on to the mattress like you were barely anything. Chan continued his animalistic behavior, crawling on top of you, viciously standing over your frame as he gripped your now destroyed panties, stripping them swiftly off of your legs and to the other side of the room
“Talk to be baby,” he whispered, lips rubbing across your lobe with each word, “what do you need me to do for you?”
“I want you to fuck me.” You growled, surprising yourself by your own forwardness. Chan stood on his knees, eagerly grabbing his cock and swiping it across your folds. The sudden contact made you jolt, an evil cackle, mixed with a gasp of shock came from your chest. He kept it there, enjoying the way your hips bucked against him, relishing in your anguish to be stuffed by him.
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you huh?”
“Yes,” you whined, pushing your hips closer and closer to where you wanted, no, you needed him. He wanted to keep teasing you. Make you beg for his cock, beg for you to fuck him, but at this point, he was too impatient to wait any longer. Stroking himself a couple of times, he smirked, ogling at the way he plunged right in, your pussy so wet and so ready for him as his cock was buried deep inside of you. Your eyes fluttered shut, solely concentrated on the way his hand firmly gripped your sides, hips rolling towards you in such a gentle rhythm.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, absolutely lost under Chan’s control, “C-Chan.”
“Yeah baby you like that? Let me hear you.”
“Chan,” you moaned, sitting up and wrapping your hands around his neck, pulling him against your body, “h-harder.”
“Oh you want it harder huh?”
He didn’t even wait for a response, hips already picking up in pace as your skin collided, lewd sounds of heavily slapping filling the room. He growled, overpowering the mumbling breaths and moans that feel from your lips with each thrust. It felt so good, he felt so good. The perspiration on his forehead was gathering, back screaming at the way your nails dug into his skin. He enjoyed the pain, a sadistic streak of his own; he moaned at the burning sensation. Your head turned to the side, jaw broken open and eyes screwed shut as he became ruthless, animalistic almost.
“Fuck,” he growled, “you feel so fucking good around me.”
You couldn’t reply, the only thing coming from your lips was the sound of coming into a state of pure bliss. His pace was starting to become inconsistent, yet you still melted into his touch, the pit at the bottom of your stomach starting to churn. The pleasure was slowly starting to overwhelm you, and you could tell he was close. You clenched around him.
“Don’t do that, don't do that,” he whined, slowing down his pace, “I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.”
“I’m s-sorry,” you moaned, spreading your legs even farther apart for Chan, “you feel so good.”
Chan was giving it his everything to you, hips now slamming against you as he stood back on his knees, wrapping his hands around your legs, pushing them back to maximum flexibility as he was able to pound you from a new angle. Your eyes opened wide, mouth agape as you looked at him, veins popping out of his chest and across his forehead as he was finally hitting you in the perfect spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your head and you whimper mercilessly.
“Right there,” you cried over and over, “right there Chan, fuck.”
Another unholy growl came from Chan’s chest as his pace slowed, but the roughness of his thrusts gained strength each time, baseless screams coming from your lips the harder he went, cock pushing against your g-spot every second. Before, you tried to keep your pathetic noises to a minimum. Knowing yourself previously you tended to be on the louder side, but at this point, you were too fucked out to care. Your brain was slowly shutting off the closer and closer you came to the brink of your orgasm. Chan wasn't far either, you could see it in the way his lower abdomen started to spasm against you.
“Please, don’t stop,” you whimpered, “p-please I’m gonna c-”
“You’re gonna cum are you?”
“Yes baby, yes I want to cum.”
“Just a little longer.” He purred, knowing that you were at your wits end. You had no control over your body; you belonged to Chan at this moment. Everything he did felt so right. It felt so good. Being at someone else’s mercy and letting them use you for their own personal satisfaction made you so hot. It made Chan hot. The temperature in the room was high, and you knew that your body would sob with climactic pressure at any moment.
“Please” you whined, “please let me cum Chan.”
“You wanna cum?”
“Yes.”
“You wanna be a good girl and cum for me?”
“Please.”
“Go on then baby,” he snarled, “cum for me.”
It only took a few more powerful thrusts for you to be clinging onto him for dear life, moaning his name over and over as you came, legs shaking, eyes clouded in a starry haze. Your body felt like it was on cloud nine. The intensity of your orgasm was something you had never experienced. It was so powerful that you barely noticed Chan’s high hitting him just as intensely, cum spilling down your left leg as he collapsed next to you. Your bodies heaved in unison, completely out of breath and exhausted. You began to chuckle, looking at the way his body was now covered in sweat. He lifted his head, wrapping his arm around your head and under your neck as he pulled you in closer into his chest, burying you in his perspiration frame.
“Wow,” he sighed, “that was, uhm,”
You rolled over on top of him, smiling at him before pressing a quick peck to his lip.
“That was great, but I’m starving, when’s dinner ready?”
559 notes · View notes
fizzydrink698 · 3 months ago
Text
touch | chan
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pairing: bang chan/reader
word count: 7.2k
genre: romance, werewolf au, frenemies-to-lovers
warnings: swearing, dirty talk, hot and heavy making-out, reader is a capital-B Brat, blood (chan’s got those gnarly-looking claw-marks on his back and chest), yes this was entirely inspired by that wolfgang performance
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summary:
Then, he finally notices the first-aid kit in your hand, and he changes.
The corners of his lips turn up, twisting into a smirk. He raises his chin, one eyebrow arching at the sight of you. It’s a smug, quietly dangerous look from Chan that you’ve never seen before. One that sets your nerves on edge, has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.
“Why?” Chan asks, and his hand drifts up to undo his top button. “Are you here to play nurse?”
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There’s something wrong with Chan.
You notice immediately, trying to stay discreet as you watch through the window at the boys as they wander out of the forest, stretching limbs, ruffling dishevelled hair.
You’re still getting used to the whole werewolf thing.
It had only been a few months ago that you had returned from a semester abroad to find that your life-long best friend, Felix, had been bitten by some sketchy creep at a beach bonfire.
There’s no…lingering guilt about not being there. Or anything.
You’re fine.
But Chan isn’t. That’s what you’re so focused on right now.
His expression is guarded, shoulders tense as he walks just a few steps behind the rest of the group. You watch Felix hang back a second, talking to him, saying something you can’t hear through the window. You see Chan shake his head, patting him on the shoulder, and when Felix says something else, he moves his hand to the back of Felix’s head, scratching it affectionately.
You know objectively that Chan taking in Felix was one of the best things to happen for him. From the little you’ve gleaned about werewolves, you know that packs work like a support network. A new family. It’s good for him.
It just…chafes a little that you’re not a part of it. It feels unfair that the only way to regain that position you once held in Felix’s life would be to get bitten too, suffer through the painful transition, disconnect from society, spend days and weeks and months of your life as a mindless animal ready to attack and maul any living thing in sight–
Chan’s limping.
You catch it. Just barely.
You don’t think anyone else has noticed. You think you only caught it because Chan hasn’t noticed you looking.
Hasn’t noticed you.
You were surprised when Chan approached you a few weeks ago with a proposition. It was a simple enough request – staying at their cabin while the full moon happened, house-sitting while they spent the better part of three days doing their wolf stuff. You could catch up on your schoolwork, spend a few days alone to collect your thoughts.
It was nice. Quiet. Maybe a little lonely. But still nice.
You just didn’t see why you were needed. And Chan didn’t really do much to make you feel wanted either.
The other boys like you, you think. Felix obviously adores you, and the others joke around with you and share smiles and try to give you teasing little compliments when they think they can break you down, make you blush. It hasn’t worked so far, but it’s cute that they’re trying.
But Chan’s different. So warm to his boys, so committed to the role as pack leader – but there’s something off in the way he acts with you. Being a wolf, being a leader, is so intrinsic to his being and it’s all meaningless to you. He has no authority over you. He has nothing in common with you.
And he’s intimidating as fuck.
The first of the group finally make it to the door, filing in as they laugh raucously about some inside joke Felix might catch you up on later.
“Is there anything to eat?” Jisung asks, eyes alight.
You scowl. “Why are you asking me? You think I waited around all weekend, cooking you guys dinner?”
You had made it clear from day one that you weren’t going to be some house mother to these guys, some kind of Wendy to their Lost Boys. You had your own life, and you were doing them a favour just by agreeing to stay in such an isolated cabin, miles away from the rest of civilisation.
But as Jisung’s face slowly turns guilty, his gaze shifting to the floor as he is undoubtedly recalling this same conversation, you can’t help but sigh. “…I tried following Felix’s cookie recipe yesterday. There’s some left in the fridge.”
Jisung’s face lights up, and you try hard to keep your expression neutral when he leans in and kisses your cheek. “Cute.”
You shove him away, scowl firmly back in place. “Only the burned ones are left. Fucking help yourself, asshole.”
Jisung just laughs, already heading for the fridge.
Hyunjin, who had followed right behind him, gives you a smile as he takes a seat at the kitchen counter, attempting to tease out a stray twig knotted in his hair. “Thanks for staying.”
You shrug. “Eh. I got some quiet time. Managed to finish outlining my dissertation. It wasn’t the worst weekend, I guess.”
Seungmin is the next to wander through, and you notice the rips in his shirt, the way his right sleeve hangs off his arm in tatters. Felix has informed you of the perils of clothing as a werewolf, how easily things can rip and snag when you don’t quite have the transformation under control yet. It’s hard to undress when you’re literally in the middle of turning in to a big scary man-sized wolf, you suppose.
Jeongin’s shirt is open, every single button apparently a casualty of transforming, seams along his sleeves and sides burst. He passes you by with a sheepish grin, hair mussed, shoulders straightened out just a touch at the sight of you.
Felix throws his arms around you as soon as he walks through the door, shouting his greeting in your ear. He’s practically vibrating, still on the high of adrenaline from whatever wolfy things he did this weekend. Chased deer? Howled at the moon, maybe?
“-so cool, he just pounced on this bear, you wouldn’t believe it. Our Jeonginnie’s getting so strong!”
You close your eyes, burrowing your face in Felix’s shoulder for a second as he recounts the weekend’s escapades in breathless excitement.
Definitely lonely, you think. This weekend has definitely felt lonely.
When you open your eyes, you catch sight of a pair of thick black boots, marching past you. By the time you glance up, you only catch the barest glimpse of Chan’s back retreating from you as he heads up the stairs in silence.
“What’s up with Chan?” You ask, blinking.
“Huh?” Felix pulls away from you to turn, following your gaze to the now-empty staircase. “Uh, nothing much. He always gets kind of quiet after we transform back. It’s kind of intense, especially for him. He’ll be fine.”
You think back to that limp, the way Chan’s body had faltered when he thought no one was looking.
These boys are tough. You know that they’re strong, resilient and heal supernaturally fast. You’ve maybe seen them hurt once or twice, with bruises or scrapes that heal up in about an hour.
You have never seen Chan, the great and fearless pack leader, hurt – and you have definitely never seen him limping like that.
It piques your curiosity.
“Just give me a sec,” you murmur, squeezing Felix’s arm. You turn to the rest of the room, barely sparing a glance at the way Changbin opened the snack cupboard with so much force that he almost ripped the handle clean off. “You guys eat. Maybe wash up a little. I don’t wanna use the phrase ‘wet dog’ but–”
Minho flashes you a grin, and throws up one long, delicate middle finger in your direction.
You purse your lips, blowing him a kiss, before turning on your heel and heading up the stairs after Chan.
His room is at the very end of the hallway. You pass by the bathroom on the way to it, and in a moment of inspiration, you quickly stop there to grab the first-aid kit you kept stocked under the sink.
Chan’s bedroom door is, of course, firmly shut when you arrive. You knock, gently at first, at least making the attempt at politeness. When he doesn’t answer, you try again even harder.
No response.
You resort to pounding your fist against the door. “Chan?”
“…Not now,” finally came the response, the irritation in his tone clear even through the muffling of the wood.
“Chan–”
“Not in the fucking mood.”
You blink at his terse response, before scoffing. Rude.
“Channie,” you sing-song, unable to resist winding him up just a little. “Channie, are you in there?”
“Leave me alone.”
You actually take a step back, staring in shock at the door.
You’ve only heard Chan use that voice on a handful of occasions before. Felix described it as Chan’s ‘alpha voice’ (even after you tried to explain to him that the concept of alpha wolves had already been disproven in science decades ago, “just ask David Mech–”) reserved only for the most serious of situations.
It was something only leaders had, a tone of voice that could bend the will of his pack members, force them to obey whatever he commanded.
Of course, with you not being a werewolf, that ‘alpha voice’ did jack-fucking-shit.
“Oh, scary. Chan’s all grumpy today,” you drawl, stepping forwards again. “I’m not leaving until you let me in, asshole. Now open the fucking door.”
There’s a pause. A long pause.
And then a sigh.
You’re already smirking when the lock turns, and the door slowly swings open to reveal Chan’s thunderous expression. “What do you want?”
“The pleasure of your company,” you retort, already trying to muscle your way in through the gap in the door.
Your shoulder makes contact with his side, shoving against it, and you jolt in shock when Chan reels back, wincing as his hands immediately flew to his ribs.
Oh, fuck.
Something was wrong.
You shut the door behind you, expression softening as you take in the sight of him.
His white shirt is streaked with dirt and grass stains, possibly salvageable with a long hot wash, nothing out of the ordinary. There’s a bright sheen of sweat covering his skin, clinging to the hair at his temples. His jaw is clenched, his nose flaring as he tries to breathe deeply. His whole body is tensed up.
He’s in pain.
You falter, unsure exactly how to deal with this situation now that you had forced your way into it.
“…What happened?”
Chan makes a face, turning away from you as he straightens up, pulling his hands away from his side. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing. Leave it.”
“No.”
Chan closes his eyes, letting out another long sigh through his nose. “Has anyone ever told you how irritating you are?”
“Frequently. It’s one of my charms. What happened?”
His eyes open, and he fixes you with one long, appraising stare. “…You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“The boy catches on fast,” you comment. “What was it? Felix said something about a bear–”
Chan actually chuckles at that – well, you can almost call it a chuckle. A sharp exhale of air that sounds amused as Chan rolls his eyes. “No, it wasn’t the bear,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“So, what was it?”
He falls silent again.
You frown, eyes narrowing at his stubbornness.
Well, two can play at that game.
You turn away from him, wandering over to his neatly made bed and dropping your rear onto it with a graceless thud. You sit there on the edge, legs crossed. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
The message is clear – you’re not leaving until you get answers.
Chan’s expression is unreadable as he eyes your new position. “…Get off my bed.”
You smile, and lean back, planting your hands into the soft sheets behind you. “Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong.”
He just stares at you, eyes burning.
You decide to change tactics. Voice softening, you tilt your head as you look up at him. “This is…this is how I show concern. OK? I’m concerned.”
Your words draw out the slightest hint of softness in Chan’s eyes, and you know immediately. Got him.
He swallows, and with a final sigh, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Jeongin…he’s getting strong. Maybe too strong. I was trying to help him transform back, and he…caught me.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, your eyes widening in shock.
He quickly clarifies himself. “By accident, obviously.”
“And the others…haven’t noticed?”
Chan shrugs, then immediately hisses at the pain of it, tensing again for a few moments until he manages to regain his composure. “…They noticed. I just told them I was fine.”
“Of course you did.”
Chan has a talent in persuading people. He’s got this raw charisma about him, the kind that could make you believe anything he wanted if he gave you enough attention, said just the right things.
“How bad is it?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s nice. How bad is it?”
Your tone is sharp, sickeningly sweet. There’s something in you that takes a grim kind of pleasure in condescending to Chan, that enjoys disrespecting him when so many of his pack members seems to worship the ground he walks on.
It’s also the precise way to really push his buttons – which, of course, is a big part of the fun.
Instantly, his expression hardens, and his eyes are back to that burning kind of fury as he glares across the room at you.
Then, he finally notices the first-aid kit in your hand, and he changes.
The corners of his lips turn up, twisting into a smirk. He raises his chin, one eyebrow arching at the sight of you. It’s a smug, quietly dangerous look from Chan that you’ve never seen before. One that sets your nerves on edge, has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.
“Why?” Chan asks, and his hand drifts up to undo his top button. “Are you here to play nurse?”
His tone is mocking, pointed – a perfect reflection of your own.
His hand travels down to the second button.
He’s trying to intimidate you, scare you into submission, send you running out the door.
You grip the kit even tighter in your hand, and watch as he undoes that button too.
“Oh, no. Not skin, Channie,” you remark, voice just a touch too strained for your liking. “Anything but that.”
He ignores you, moving onto the third and then the fourth, shirt gaping open to reveal more and more of his torso as his hands travelled.
This is starting to venture into unfamiliar territory.
But you hold your ground regardless, watching as more and more of his body became exposed.
It’s…it’s a nice body. Lean. Defined. Chan clearly takes care of himself. Works out.
You’re unable to resist following the lines of an emerging six-pack, fading and sharpening with each of his breaths.
You swallow. “…Chan, if you’re just trying to show off–”
He slips the shirt off entirely, and your words catch in your throat.
You stare.
He’s so broad. It’s one thing to see him under clothes, but it’s entirely different to see him stripped so bare, to see the meat of his shoulders and biceps, to see just how big he is.
And normally, your attention would be all over that.
But it’s not.
Because your gaze is caught on the marks on his chest, some still bleeding, some turned shiny and pink as Chan heals himself.
You rise up from the bed immediately, almost jumping to your feet, at the sight.
Chan pauses for just a fraction of a second at your sudden movement. “Wh–”
“Get on the bed,” you order him, no trace of humour in your tone. It is all business, all urgency.
Chan blinks at your words, mouth opening to respond.
“Now,” you snap, looking him over again. “They need to get cleaned out before they heal over, genius. Get on the bed.”
It takes a second for your words to sink in, and his expression shifts when he finally grasps what you’re trying to tell him.
And then, Chan makes the very smart decision to do what you say, brushing past you as he walks towards his own bed and slowly sits down with a wince. “…Go on, then.”
You nod, making your way back to the bed and climbing up onto the mattress, crawling around Chan to check out the damage to his back.
…Fuck.
You’re faced with scores of angry claw-marks, cuts still oozing blood as they decorate his shoulders, his ribs, even the small of his back.
“What the fuck, Chan?” You hiss under your breath, fingers fumbling with the zip of the first-aid kit as you scramble to open it.
“Is it bad?” He asks, his voice so fucking casual.
You can’t even form a response, thoughts too tangled up in the state of his back. You dig for the antiseptic wipes, not exactly ideal for the situation but probably the best thing you had for cleaning these wounds.
“This is going to sting,” you warn, barely giving Chan time to brace himself before you press the wipe to the first of the cuts.
He grunts at the pain, teeth gritted as he tries to bite back any more sound. Of course he’s trying to tough this out.
You’re silent as you try to fix up the worst of his cuts, making do with what you have. The best thing would be to get him under running water – less of a chance of damaging the skin that way.
But considering you had enough of a time just convincing him to let you help him, you doubt you’d be able to persuade him to leave the safety of his bedroom and chance an encounter with his packmates on the way to the bathroom.
So, antiseptic wipes it is.
You finish off the back, applying appropriate dressing to the worst of the cuts. The muscles of his back still tense under your touch, twitching under your fingers. As your panic slowly eases with each treated wound, it’s getting harder and harder not to notice the way he’s built, the grooves and dips of each muscle.
You swallow at the sight. It’s a…it’s a strong back, you suppose.
Gently, very gently, you run your fingers across the planes of his back, paying close attention to the way it shifts underneath. “Any…like, muscle pain? Tightness? Aches?”
“…No. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt much now. I’ll be fine in, like, an hour.”
You nod, moving your hand away. You’ve seen the effects of wolf healing first-hand. “OK. I’m…I’ll do your front now.”
Chan pauses, before shifting backwards by just a few inches. You shuffle on your knees to his side, watching as he finally settles, before turning his face to meet your gaze. He holds it, very carefully, before slowly leaning back, expression neutral.
Leaving more than enough room for you on his lap.
This feels like another test, you think to yourself, as you eye him with suspicion. Another power-play, meant to throw you off.
You think Chan doesn’t like it when he’s not in control. He’s not used to it.
“What?” Chan says, breaking you out of your trance. “You said you’d do my front. Don’t you need to hurry, before they close up?”
There’s a layer to his tone, the barest hint of challenge, and it has you straightening up in seconds, ready to face him head-on.
Fine. If he really thought he could break you like this, he had another thing coming.
With all the grace and self-assurance you could muster, you crawl back over to him, swinging one leg over him to plant both knees either side of his hips, straddling him without even batting an eye.
“Stay still,” you demand, gripping his shoulder with one hand as you shift your weight around, trying to get comfortable as you hover just a few inches above his lap.
Chan is silent, and somehow that’s even worse than when he was trying to provoke you earlier. You can feel his breath ghost against your ear, hear the tiniest little noises he made whenever you reached a new wound.
And fuck, his chest. His shoulders. His abs. Everything. Just…there’s a lot to take in. If you’re not careful, you’re going to get distracted.
Swallowing, you dab at one of the shallow cuts near his collarbone and finally speak up. “I guess I should say thanks for letting me stay here this weekend. I managed to get a shit-load of essay-reading done.”
Chan hums, and you feel the vibrations under your fingertips. “Good. Thanks for looking after the cabin while we were gone.”
“I still don’t think it was necessary,” you can’t help but add, trying to keep your tone light. “I didn’t really do much.”
“…Felix is always talking about wanting to spend more time with you,” Chan comments, and you pause at his words. “And you get on well with the others. You’re a good influence. Having you here seemed…like a smart idea at the time.”
“Seemed like? At the time?” You repeat, picking up on the subtle implications of his words. “Are you saying it wasn’t smart?”
“There are always risks,” Chan states, non-committal, eyes flickering to look at you. Naturally, your faces are incredibly close in this position – no more than a few inches apart. “Complications.”
“Like what?”
“We always have to stay careful around you, especially around a full moon. You’re more fragile than we are.”
“That’s me,” you retort, sarcasm dripping from your every word. You bring your hand up to his chest to steady yourself as you move on to the next scratch. His skin is warm under your fingertips, smooth. “Delicate little flower that I am. Gotta handle me gently, or I’ll break.”
Chan hesitates before he answers, and when the words do come out, they’re very carefully spoken. “…I don’t know. Maybe you could take a little more.”
“No shit,” you say absently, finishing up the last of his cuts by his shoulder. All pretty superficial, guaranteed to heal in the next hour. “I’m tougher than I look, Channie. I can take a lot.”
Chan doesn’t respond, and when you glance up, you see that his eyes have fluttered shut. He’s taking slow, deep breaths – like he’s meditating, or about to fall asleep.
There’s the tiniest of scratches on his cheekbone.
Gently, very gently, you lift one hand to rest against his face – and his eyes snap open in panic to stare at you.
“You got a thing,” you manage to blurt out, pointing towards the scratch. “There. Just gonna…yeah, clean it. You don’t want something getting infected on your face.”
Honestly, a cut that small is probably not going to get infected – especially with how quickly Chan can heal.
But…well…
You’re a completionist.
Chan stares at you, and for a brief moment, panic starts to take hold in your gut. Have you gone too far?
But instead, he just says. “You’re not usually this…nice.”
“You’d be amazed how nice I can be when you don’t avoid my very reasonable questions.”
“You mean, when you get your own way?”
“That too.”
Chan laughs, eyes still fixed on you. “You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you?”
He probably just means it innocently, but the way he says ‘brat’, the tone of his voice…
You take a deep breath, fighting back the flush that threatens to creep into your face. “Sometimes. It’s another one of those charms I was talking about.”
Chan doesn’t have a response to that. Maybe he wasn’t expecting you to agree.
You shift again, as your attention turns to the next set of scratches, and by sheer accident, your fingertips catch his nipple. You feel him tense under you, breath escaping him in one sharp exhale, and he hisses. “Careful.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, but you can’t help but examine this new piece of information about Chan with amusement. Sensitive nips. How unexpectedly…cute. “You OK?”
“Mm-hm. Just finish this up quickly,” he says, and there’s an edge of urgency in his tone, a desire to really see you end this as soon as possible.
It sounds foolish, but it’s really only then that you realise just how compromising this position is. Like, objectively, you had known the whole time that you had been straddling Chan – but it had still felt like a game, a competition, a statement.
The idea that he just wanted this over with should feel like victory, but you find yourself a little caught off-guard.
You’re so caught up in these thoughts that you don’t think through your next action. You’re so focused on reaching for that last wound snaking around his rib, just a touch too low for you to reach with your legs in their current position. You just need to lower them, then you can reach, then you can finish. Easy.
That’s why you don’t think twice before you lower yourself onto his lap completely, completely intent on just cleaning the cut and moving on.
And then you feel it.
Something in his lap, not quite pressing up into you, but certainly there. Interested. Insistent.
Chan is getting hard.
Your eyes snap up to meet his, watching as he swallows, struggling to hide the new flush in his face.
“Ignore it.”
“I–”
“It happens sometimes, after a transformation. Body’s still trying to recover, hormones are all over the place. Ignore it.”
“…OK,” you nod, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s right, it does make some kind of logical sense that his body is still all out of whack from changing. Physiological reactions happen. Dudes pop boners for literally no reason sometimes. It’s fine.
Of course, you’d been around Felix several times after his transformations, ready with water and clean clothes and some good old-fashioned moral support. And never once had this happened.
You can’t help but comment on it – which maybe spoke volumes for your own self-preservation instincts. “I mean, it definitely can’t be the cute girl in your lap or anything.”
Chan stills at your words, and his response is definitely evasive. “…You’re calling yourself cute now, huh?”
“You say it like it’s not the objective truth,” you respond, gently dabbing at that deceptively deep cut on his ribs. He tenses with the pain, and in your new position, you can feel the way his thighs squeeze and harden, the way his breath cuts short. You swallow, feeling a little warm. “I’m decently attractive. I’m very aware of this. It seems you’re aware of it too.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
You smile sweetly at the man under you, the picture of innocence. “Channie, your dick is literally poking me in the leg.”
To your surprise, he flushes at your words, quickly averting his gaze as he tried to keep his expression under control. “…It’s a wolf thing, not a you thing.”
You’re not so sure about that.
You don’t know what to do with this new knowledge. Chan – big, scary, pack leader Chan – finds you attractive. It fills you with a sense of…power. You have to fight to keep the smirk off your face, but there’s no mistaking the smugness growing inside of you with every passing second. “For a wolf thing, you’re very flustered.”
“Maybe it’s because you keep talking about my dick,” Chan mutters.
“You want me to stop?” You ask, only half-teasing. You’re not here to push any limits, make anyone feel uncomfortable.
And again, Chan’s response is evasive. “Are you actually capable of stopping?”
…Interesting.
Testing a theory, your hand returns to the cut on his side, and carefully, you press down.
Chan makes the tiniest pained groan, hand flying up to grab at your hip, squeezing. The sudden contact is enough to jar you slightly, pushing you forward along the slowly growing bulge in Chan’s pants. His grip on your hip tightens.
“You did that on purpose,” Chan hisses through his teeth.
“Keeping pressure on that deep of a wound is important,” you say, shrugging. “I’m sure you can handle it, big guy.”
He growls – a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest – and you roll your eyes.
“Calm down.”
You expect Chan to respond immediately, but he doesn’t. He’s quiet – no, he’s silent. His eyes stay fixed on you, and you’re starting to find the attention a little…much.
“You’ve never been scared of us,” Chan finally notes. “Have you?”
You blink. “Not particularly, no.”
And you really haven’t. As much as you’re aware of the danger they pose, the strength they possessed – hell, just look at the marks Jeongin left on Chan, by accident – you still found it difficult to summon any kind of real fear of them. They were just…dorky young men. Loud. Funny, in their own bizarre ways.
“I trust you,” you add, quietly.
Chan stares back at you, eyes widening just slightly.
You tilt your head. “You seem surprised.”
“I just…didn’t think you liked me very much.”
“…You’re OK, I guess.”
Chan raises an eyebrow at you.
“What you’ve done for Felix…you know, makes up for your personality.”
You’re being a little meaner than usual – probably to compensate for the growing warmth in the pit of your stomach every time you looked too long at Chan’s naked torso, or thought too hard about what you could feel beneath you.
Chan doesn’t seem to even notice.
Instead, he suddenly tilts his head, eyeing you very intently. His eyes narrow slightly.
“Huh.”
“What?” You ask.
“You said you’re not scared?” Chan says, suddenly serious. Intent on something.
You’re somewhat wary when you reply. “Yeah. Of course I’m not.”
You jump, because suddenly Chan’s other hand slides around your neck. Not in a choking position – there’s no pressure at all, his palm is only covering the side of your neck, and his thumb is resting just under the corner of your jaw instead of anywhere near your windpipe.
It’s unexpected enough to render you completely silent for a moment, blinking at him in confusion.
And then you see the corners of his mouth turn up in that familiar smirk, and you feel the pad of his thumb press just a little more firmly into your skin.
“Thought I heard something,” Chan muses, vaguely, and it takes you a few seconds to realise…
His hand. His thumb.
He’s checking your pulse.
…Oh, stupid fucking wolf senses. Of course he could hear how hard your heart was beating – the one tell you couldn’t control.
It feels a little unfair, honestly.
He knows he has the upper hand now, and his entire body language changes with this information. He’s relaxed, open, ten times more confident as he watches you with that teasing smirk. “So, if you’re not scared, why–”
“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, fuming that he’s managed to one-up you with this stupid little supernatural advantage he has.
“I don’t think I will.”
The hand on your hip shifts just slightly, and his thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, rubbing slow circles into the soft flesh there.
It’s irritatingly effective. You find your own thighs starting to twitch, core clenching.
Chan hums again, this time in amusement, and continues this movement. His other hand drops from your neck to rest on your other hip. It’s a strange balance – there’s no pressure there, his touch is so light but it’s almost…possessive.
The two of you are starting to drift a little close to the edge of something.
Chan is now unmistakeably hard, and you can feel him pressing up into your inner thigh – just a few inches off from your core. It’s taking a lot of willpower to stop yourself from shifting slightly over and getting that pressure right where you needed it. You’re glad you wore jeans today instead of a skirt – there would be no hiding the effect he was having on you without the extra layer of denim separating you from his lap.
“It seems like you’re done with that,” Chan notes, nodding his head towards the first-aid kit by your side, which has sat untouched for a while now.
You look down at it. “…Yeah, I’m finished. You’re all set.”
Despite your words, you make no attempt to leave his lap.
Chan notices, and his grip tightens around you. Not pulling you down onto him, but just…holding. Tightly.
There’s a moment of silence that settles between the two of you. You’re fixated on each other, like two opponents in a game of chess, regarding the other’s every move.
Being the first to give in almost seems like a defeat, an admission of weakness. But if you’re going to go down, you’re going to go down swinging.
Your hand snakes up into his hair, tangling itself in the roots and tugging his head up to meet yours when your lips come crashing down on his.
Chan groans into you, and that’s when he finally relents, squeezing your hips with his hands as he grinds you down onto him. The friction is enough to make you whimper, the embarrassing sound muffled but still painfully audible.
When you finally pull away for breath, Chan is already attacking your throat with kisses, insatiable. You imagine he’s this close to openly rutting up against you – and it’s that desperation that soothes your ego, allowing you to believe you’re saving face here. Does it really count as a defeat when Chan is so clearly the more eager one?
You barely get the chance to savour this thought, before one of Chan’s hands leaves your hip to slowly slide under your shirt, taking his time. He reaches your bra, and you feel him stroke the lacy edge of the cup.
You pause, still shivering with delight as Chan’s mouth finds the sensitive spot just under your ear, and gently mouths at it. “Chan–”
“Just let me know if you want to stop, baby,” Chan murmurs in your ear, breathy. His hand is still on the cup itself, and he makes no attempt to slip his hand underneath just yet.
“Of course I fucking will,” you bite back. It’s like a switch flipped in Chan the second you kissed him – suddenly so intent on taking control, on treating you like something delicate. Where’s the Chan from five minutes ago who wrapped his hand around your neck to prove a point, and argued with you over how his scratches needed treating?
It’s clearly time for you to flip that switch back.
Grabbing his chin firmly, you lifted his face back to yours to initiate another kiss. The hand on his chin slid up to cup his jaw, and you allowed him a few seconds to enjoy himself before you plucked up the courage to execute the first step of your plan.
You let your lips part under the pressure of his, and then suddenly nipped at his bottom lip, not quite drawing blood but certainly adding some pain to his pleasure.
Chan jolts back in shock, eyes blown ride as he reaches up and touches his bottom lip.
“Like I said,” you remind him, resettling your weight across Chan’s hips, ignoring the way he sucks in a breath when your movement sparks another delicious wave of friction. “Tougher than I look. Don’t start being gentle with me now.”
You accompany your words with a roll of your hips, dragging yourself across the front of his pants and this time Chan grips you hard enough to bruise.
You suppress a grin, and instead pat him on the shoulder, condescending. “I mean, unless you can’t handle it–”
Chan cuts you off, crushing his lips to yours, and the hand still on your hip slides around to slip down your jeans and grab at your ass-cheek. An embarrassing squeak escapes your lips, which only makes him even more smug when he murmurs. “Such a fucking brat.”
“Brat? What happened to ‘baby’?”
“Maybe if you start behaving again.”
You get a particularly strong urge to pout, but you figure that would only prove him right, so instead you do the next best thing.
You run one hand down his front, careful to avoid any lingering injuries, and find the button to his jeans. You manage to pop it open with one hand – a surprising display of dexterity, and you’re a little miffed that Chan isn’t suitably impressed – and you only fumble a little with the zipper as you tug it down.
You’re interrupted momentarily when Chan finally decides it’s time to slide his hand under your bra cup, and you bite down a whimper when the rough pad of his thumb brushes over your nipple.
Chan catches on, and focuses all of his attention on teasing that area, again and again. It’s a little embarrassing, how many sounds as he can draw out of you with just one fucking hand on your breast, but at this point, it’s getting a little too difficult to care.
You close your eyes, letting your head dip forward to rest against his, losing yourself in the feeling for just a little while.
You don’t notice that your hand has fallen completely away from his zipper, instead moving to grab at his thigh.
But, of course, Chan does. “Hm? Weren’t you trying to do something there?”
You open your eyes.
This bitch.
It’s probably a bit of a dirty tactic, but you can’t help yourself.
You drop your gaze, taking in a breath before biting your bottom lip. “I…uh…”
Chan blinks at this sudden change in your body language, and pauses. He doesn’t quite withdraw his hand from your breast fully, but his fingers start stroking patterns into your side. “You OK?”
“I’m fine, I’m good,” you make sure to clarify with him, before swallowing. “I’m just…a little worried.”
Already, Chan is settling back into his ‘leader’ role, preparing himself to reassure, to comfort. “What are you worried about?”
You try to keep a straight face. You fail miserably.
“You’ve been hard for so long, I’m worried you’re gonna cum in your pants the second your dick gets touched.”
You finally chance a look up at his face, lips pressing together as you try to contain your smirk.
And there it is, that fire in his eyes.
You definitely don’t have to worry about him going gentle with you now.
In the blink of an eye, Chan flips the two of you. Your back hits the mattress with a thud, and you barely have time to readjust before he’s got both hands on your hips again. Only this time, he’s lifting your ass up off of the bed, legs in the air, and in one smooth motion, pulls your jeans clean off.
Oh, that was hot.
That was…pretty fucking hot.
And now that your jeans are off, Chan has a clear view of just how much he’s been affecting you.
“Oh, baby,” he croons, sliding one hand up your inner thigh, coming to a rest at the edge of your soaked underwear. “Look at you.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He just laughs, and your breath catches when he leans in. His hand moves away, and you feel his lips replace it, planting a kiss just off to the side of where you need it most.
It’s truly a sight, seeing Chan – shirt off, pants unbuttoned, shoulders tensing as he holds himself up by his forearms – between your legs.
You’re not going to beg this man.
Definitely not.
…But you might find it in you to ask politely.
“Ch-Chan–”
Suddenly, to your horror, there’s a knock at his bedroom door.
Chan jolts up, sitting back on his knees, looking down at you with pure panic.
The same thought runs through both your minds.
Shit. You didn’t lock the door.
Changbin’s voice comes through, muffled. “Hey, dude? You in there?”
Chan launches himself at the door, pressing both hands to it before Changbin can even attempt to open it. “Just a second!”
He turns back to look at you, hair mussed, eyes wide with panic.
You’re pretty sure the same can be said for you.
After a moment of blind panic, Chan has the sense to do up his jeans. You see the way his jaw tightens, eyes squeezing shut for a second when he has to dig his hand into pants to shove his erection down one side. It doesn’t do that much to hide what’s going on – and you feel yourself twitch at the thought of how fucking big Chan seems to be down there – but it’s better than nothing.
With one last futile attempt at fixing his hair, Chan lets out one last deep breath, and cracks open the door. “Yeah?”
You know you’re out of sight in your current position – with how small that gap is in the door, Changbin only has a narrow view of the far wall – but you still tense. Your legs quickly snap together, but you don’t risk trying to reach for your jeans to put them back on.
You hear Changbin speak once again. “Have you seen…oh, well obviously, you have–”
“What?” Chan interrupts, and you fight the urge to face-palm at how panicked he sounds.
“It looks like she’s patched you up,” you hear Changbin say, his voice slow, careful. He’s definitely picked up on something. “Did she say anything about going out? She’s not in her room, and the guys want to make dinner as a big thank you thing.”
It is so like the guys to decide to do something so sweet for you at exactly the wrong time.
“Nope. Not seen her,” Chan lies, forcing a shrug.
There’s a pause. A long pause.
Oh, shit.
“…Do you still have those headphones I lent you on the car ride here?” Changbin asks, sounding ever so innocent.
Chan swallows, and makes the mistake of looking behind him at the desk in the corner of the room. You spot the headphones resting there. “Yeah?”
“Can I grab them?”
“…Uh, don’t worry about it. I-I’ll get them for you now.”
Another pause, and you hear Changbin make one single step towards the door. Chan tenses, and pulls the door closer towards him, blocking even more of the room from sight. This time you do face-palm, as quietly as you can.
You see Chan staring ahead at what you can only assume is a Changbin who is slowly putting the pieces together, and there’s a long moment of silence before Changbin finally speaks. “…You know what? I don’t need them right now. You can just give them back tomorrow.”
Whatever Changbin’s expression is, it’s enough to send a pink flush up Chan’s neck. You hear him retreat back down the hallway, and Chan immediately slams the bedroom door shut, reaching for the lock and turning it. He even tries the handle again, pulling, just to make sure.
And then, finally, he turns to give you the most sheepish of looks.
You stare back.
And then your eyes slide back down to his jeans, which are still looking just as extraordinarily tight as before. Looks like Changbin’s interruption did very little to kill the mood for him.
And honestly, as the panic fades but the adrenaline still lingers – and this new sense of taboo, of getting away with something – you find yourself realising the exact same thing.
Slowly, you open your legs again, keeping your gaze fixed on Chan as his eyes drop to follow your movements.
Your voice is sweet, honeyed, only a little bit teasing.
“Weren’t you trying to do something there?”
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sunshinelixie-lee · 12 days ago
Text
Yes, Chef
*minho as your boyfriend*
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requested by anon:
minho bc i've been having so much feelings about him lately! anything
rated G word count: 0.716k warnings: n/a a/n: this came about bc I asked ppl to request a member/scenario >:)
¤°•●♡●•°¤°•○●♡●○•°¤°•●♡●•°¤
[fluff]
"BABY-"
Minho shouted, making you jump and spill popcorn all over your lap.
"Crap," you muttered, crawling off the couch to shovel the spilled popcorn back into the bowl. You paused the 영화movie you were watching in the dorm living room. "You okay, Minho?"
"BABY, I NEED YOU-"
The urgency in his tone had you all but sprinting into the kitchen.
"What's wro-"
He stood beside the stove with a mischievous and slightly evil smile on his face, waggling his eyebrows at you.
At first, some... interesting thoughts flashed through your head relating to what he was about to do. Then he held up a bright red, plastic spatula and wiggled his eyebrows some more.
"Will you help me make pancakes?"
You stared at him for a solid minute before busting out in laughter.
"Pancakes for dinner?" you giggled. "Are you crazy?"
"어Yes," he agreed pleasantly. "I am crazy for pancakes. "
You shrugged, smiling. "I've got nothing better to do."
And so it began.
It's not like you were terrible at cooking. You were just so focused on Minho--on the little furrow between his brows as he measured out pancake mix, the muscles of his arms flexing as he stirred the batter, the tip of his tongue peeking out as he poured the mix onto a hot griddle. In fact, you were so focused on him that when he asked you to watch the pancakes while he used the restroom, you were utterly and completely distracted.
"Sure thing, babe," you murmured, watching his masculine back retreat out of the kitchen towards the bathroom.
Your eyes obediently locked onto the globs of batter cooking on the griddle, but all you could see was the outline of Minho's back muscles through his shirt as he stirred the batter. Your mind's eye adamantly drew up images of him that, despite their innocence, made you blush.
Who knew making pancakes could be so attractive?
For an eternity--and also no time at all--you were lost in thought, looking at the pancakes, but not seeing them.
"What's going on in here?" Minho yelled, rushing into the cooking space.
His obvious panic snapped you out of your embarrassing daydreams, and your eyes finally registered the raw truth.
With a shriek, you grabbed the red spatula and began trying to salvage the charred globs smoking on the pan.
With a sigh, Minho wrapped his hand around your wrist. "There's no use trying to save them, silly. Look at them-- they've completely burned onto the griddle."
You slumped back against his warm chest in frustration as he turned off the flame. "I'm so sorry. I know you really wanted breakfast for dinner."
He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your torso. "It's alright. It wasn't that important."
You sighed again, exasperated with no one but yourself.
Suddenly, his hands, which had been sliding up and down your arms in an act of comfort, froze.
"I do have one question, though," he said slyly. "What were you thinking about that made you completely ignore the sight and smell of burning food directly in front of you?"
Your cheeks burned red.
"Um-"
Grinning widely, he spun you around. As your eyes locked, you knew there was no way to hide the truth.
"It was me, right?" he said smugly.
You rolled your eyes at his cocky expression.
"Why are you so proud that you made me burn your pancakes?" you asked, exasperated.
He brought his lips right up to your ear, warm breath sending shivers down your spine.
He did that on purpose.
"It's cute that you can't stop thinking about me," he breathed.
You shoved him back by his shoulders, glaring playfully.
He looked right back at you with the most innocent look on his face. "So since you ruined my pancakes," he said, as if nothing had just happened, "let's make
ramen💫."
"Ramen--?"
"Yes, the instant kind that you won't be able to ruin even when you get distracted by thoughts of your very handsome boyfriend. " He flexed his bicep, making a very U3U face that did not at all match his actions.
You groaned as he laughed. "How did I get stuck with you?"
With a wink he dropped a tender kiss on your lips. "Because we love each other," he answered simply.
♡☂︎✿☁♡☂︎✿☁♡☂︎✿☁♡☂︎✿☁♡☂︎✿☁
{{{[[(never say goodbye, 너와 난 하나니까)]]}}}
♡pls reblog if you enjoyed♡
@0x1lovebot @danielol @taecup-ontrack @taecup-fics (requests are open & lmk if you would like to be on a taglist)
-Xie💫
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etherealeeknow · 5 months ago
Text
touchy-feely
• rated m for mature
• pairing: best friend!minho x fem!reader
• wc: 1.523
• tw: groping, slight nipple play & edging, explicit language, fingering & oral (f receiving), - i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:
• note: I FINALLY POSTED HELLO. this isn’t proofread so i’m sorry for any mistakes! i’ll get to it tomorrow (hopefully 😂) and i hope you’ll enjoy it! also, please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes.
“minho despises skinship, but with you it’s an exception.”
it was supposed to be the typical saturday afternoon for you and minho, but thanks to what jisung said earlier, you were now left on the couch, laying there with what if’s relentlessly running on your mind. you didn’t even hear when he called you from his kitchen that he had to come and poke your side, making you jump. “chill, y/n. do you want extra caramel or nah?” minho shrugged when you shook your head and put the bowl of popcorn on the table so he could lift your legs up, sit down, and place them on his lap. “uh, what are you doing?” you asked when the guy took back the bowl and rested it on top of your tummy as support. “uh, making myself comfy for the movie? duh?” he answered and pressed play.
when you asked him to sit on the other couch, he shot you the most questioning look ever. “you nuts, y/n? you want me to sit alone through this horror torture? of course you don’t. now shush. it’s starting. aaa~” minho didn’t even wait for you to open your mouth properly; he shoved the popcorn into your mouth and continued feeding himself in peace, eyes now glued to the screen despite his claim that horror movies weren’t his cup of tea. you shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to immerse yourself in the movie, which you eventually managed to.
things went by as usual—since both of you preferred discussing over movies after they ended, the living room was filled with nothing but the eerie and daunting sound from the TV. your body was no longer tensed and you didn’t even realize minho had been feeding you popcorn from time to time. it was until the jump scare popped out that you became self conscious once more upon minho’s touch. though his eyes never left the screen, his free hand was gripping tightly on yours.
“don’t be silly, ji. he has always been like that.”
“he has always been like that, yes, but only to you.”
rethinking over your conversation with jisung made you shake your head and because of that, minho loosened his grip to caress your hand softly, and it only made your eyes grow bigger. “w- what are you doing?” you asked for the second time that day, voice barely audible. “protecting you from the ghosts,” he replied as he put the empty bowl on the table and laid beside you on the cramped couch with his chin resting on top of your head, hands wrapped around your shoulders. before you got to call him out again, another jump scare came and the sound made you flinch, but minho was quick to run his hand along your arm, rubbing it soothingly and his soft touch sent shivers down your spine. “y/n, are you co-” you cut him off by standing up. the sudden movement made you lightheaded, but minho’s hand found its way on yours once again as concern was written across his furrowed eyebrows.
“have you always been this... touchy-feely?” you asked; confidence level so low but you managed to maintain eye contact as you waited for his answer. it had always been difficult to read what was going on in minho’s head, but it never bothered you, at least not until this second. after what felt like a year, minho let go of your hand and faced the ground while running his fingers through his hair. “did jisung say something?” he asked, finally looking back at you and you could only nod, scared of what might happen next. “what did he say?” he asked again, this time while running the back of his hand through your bare thigh and you swore you could feel your liquid gushing out just from the faint touch. “t- that you’re only touchy when you’re with me.”
“and do you agree?” you had so many thoughts, so many questions, but you could only nod. everything felt hazy just from the way his thumb caressing your inner thigh. “and do you like it? if not, i can stop.” when minho retreated his hand, you were faster than lightning, holding onto it as if your life depended on it, and your own action made you blush. “b- but we’re best friends,” you said and he chuckled, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “that’s not the question, love.” before minho got the chance to pull away again, you straddled his lap and could directly feel his growing bulge underneath you that made you even redder. 
shaking your head, you told him, “please don’t stop.” although your voice came out in a whisper, minho could hear it loud and clear and he shot you a cocky smirk before leaning forward to meet your lips. your hands automatically found their way around his neck as he pulled you even closer by your waist and the two of you moaned in unison—both over the small amount of friction. the kiss deepened as no one wanted to give in, but minho was growing impatient, so he sneaked his hand into your hoodie, hiking your bra up to fondle your breast, pinching your nipple so he could hear you choking out your pretty little moans.
“off,” he commanded, breaking the kiss to take off his own sweater and sweatpants, dark eyes never leaving you. he quickly pull you towards him, hovering over you and began kissing you from your neck to your bare chest, then down to your belly, halting right above your undies. you shot him a pleading look, so desperate, yet your words wouldn’t come out. “i won’t stop if you don’t stop me,” he warned and you nodded almost right away. snorting, he added, “and i certainly won’t go further if you don’t say anything either. come on, what happened to the chatty y/n?” he teased, biting your undies to pull it down slowly until it reached your knees; the view made you roll your eyes back, shyness and eagerness all in one.
“minho, please,” you begged while facing the ceiling. “so i’m now a ceiling?” he mocked, a finger drawing circles on your outer labia and this time you sighed out loud in frustration. “for fuck sake, minho, ple-” you were cut off by your own moan when he rub your clitoris, spreading the wetness all over the place. the sensation of being pleasured by another person after months being untouched turned you on for the better, and for that person to be minho made everything far more exciting. you had lost count of how many times you had daydreamed for this to happen whenever he dropped by your apartment wearing nothing but a black sleeveless top after practicing or the way he came out of the shower, water dripping down his neck and veins popping out of his arm when he dried his hair with a towel.
just by having those flashbacks sent you over the edge and you managed to tell him you’re gonna reach your climax soon, which caused him to retreat his finger away and you grunted. “already? god, i barely touched you, y/n. are you that needy for me?” he chortled and you whined, no longer feeling embarrassed. the only thing in your mind was him. “i want you. i want you so bad, please,” you plead through your half lidded eyes, staring at him who was still below you. smirking, he shook his head in amusement and inserted one finger in you without warning, pulling it in and out of you right away before adding another; his lips came in contact with your aching core, his tongue playing its part, licking and sucking it.
you whimpered and spread your legs as wide as you could while bucking your hips, desperate for more. “fucking yes, just like that,” you said, followed with endless ah’s while your hand was squeezing your tits, the other gripping tightly on his hair; nothing turned him better than the way you pull them while he was eating you out, making you produce all of those juices for him to take while his own member was throbbing. your breaths were going shorter as the knot on your stomach began forming again. “minho, minho, minho, fuck!” you screamed as you pushed his face deeper into your pussy and the man did nothing but fastening his pace. “i’m cum-” it only took a few seconds for you to cry out, eyes closing blissfully while you shake and came all over his digits and his pretty face.
once you came back to your senses and the room was filled with only your raspy breathing, minho sit back and eyed you with the most heartwarming smile. “did you like it, love? did i make you feel good?” he asked and you nodded in response, throat too dry to utter a word. “i can’t hear you,” he said and you tried your best to mouth a “yes, minho.”
“such a good girl. now, on your knees. plus, it’s daddy for you from now on.”
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chans-bad-girl · a month ago
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splash (against my skin)
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!!mature content ahead!!
588 words of really sensual bathtub sex with switch!hyunjin x fem switch!reader
diegetic song rec: Two Feet's Quick Musical Doodles
warnings: bathtub sex (duh), blindfold, praise/compliment, strong language, dirty talk, pet names, piv, riding, clitoral stimulation (because, fun fact, the vast majority of females can't reach orgasm just through penetrative sex), mentions of dirty texts and pictures, creampie
a/n: Thanks for 100 followers💙
hyunjin’s muscles relax once his body rests in the bathtub. candles lit and two feet on, he pushes his long brown strands back. with you two living alone, he doesn’t lock the door, and you take advantage of that sometimes.
today you enter in his dark grey shirt that fits you as a dress, taking it off slowly to reveal no underwear. orange light dances on his damp face as you hold eye contact. once you kneel in front of the bathtub, hyunjin searches for your lips, but instead you meet him with a blindfold. when you wrap the wine red silk around his head, he bites his lip and leans his head back.
the water warms your legs, but the sight of Hyunjin—head thrown back, hair wet, body sprawled out—gives you goosebumps. his erection presses against your core as you sit on his lips, and you haven’t even done anything yet.
you touch him up, from his lower stomach to his jaw, and kiss him. his hands wander up and down your silhouette as if to make up for his lost vision. whimpers in your mouth and the movement of his hips speak for his eyes: he needs you.
“baby, speak to me.”
“I want you so bad, please, ride me.” his voice breaks, breaths heavy, as his hand searches your entrance.
“good boy.”
a whine drips off his lips at the name, and he twitches in your hand. You’ve both been worked up all day, sending texts of pleads and photos to tease. now that he finally slides inside you, your walls clench and don’t waste a second until you thrust down on him.
you swallow each other's moans, chest to chest. usually, he loves staring at your boobs bouncing as you lose yourself around his girth. but this time, he can only feel the friction between your bodies, smell the amber off the candles.
when you start pulling on his hair, a loud moan echoes through the bathroom and he releases spurts of his cum into your hole. his breaths move his whole body, abs flexing, jaw clenched. you always love watching him, feeling him twitch inside you.
“fuck, turn around baby, lay your back on me.” he takes his blindfold off and tosses it mindlessly.
once you’re turned around, he admires your body and takes his time to glide his hands all over. from your chest to your thighs.
“so pretty. I hate that fucking blindfold.”
one hand rests over the junction of your neck and chest while the other pushes his cum back inside.
“push it back out for me, baby.” he takes his fingers out and watches his cum slowly drip down and mix with the water. fast circles on your clit make you gasp, and wet kisses to your neck have you moaning out right after.
your squirming pushes water to clap against your bodies over “quick musical doodles”. it only takes Hyunjin a whisper of “cum for me” and a few particularly consistent strokes of your clit, and you come undone above him. he loves to watch you as you scream of pleasure, all because of him, as you shut your legs close and squirm on his skin.
“shhh, let’s stay here for a bit.” around your middle, his arm hugs you close to him, his lips cling to your ear. he sings along to the song, and the next, and the one after. he just can’t find it in him to end this post-orgasmic bliss, and neither can you.
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gdaychan · 3 months ago
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would that i | han jisung 
pairing: han jisung x gender neutral reader  genre: fluff, established relationship, jisung’s pov  wc: 950 warnings: none 
a/n: this is so self indulgent. i wanted soft jisung i gave myself soft vlive jisung because i can do whatever i want 
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Jisung slowly peeks out over the ends of his sleeves. The green light next to the webcam blinks on from where it’s set up on the table in front of him. He moves his hands away from his face with a smile. 
“Hello, everyone,” he says before ruffling his already rumpled hair. “Are you surprised? I didn’t tell anyone I was doing a live tonight.” 
Jisung glances down at his phone on the table. The scroll of comments is practically too fast to read, just a spam of emojis and greetings. 
“‘Jisung, it’s late’,” he reads aloud, then looks back up at the camera. “Ah, yeah,” he says. “I stayed to work in the studio, but I’ll go home and sleep soon, so don’t worry about me. I have some time now, so I thought it’d be nice to do a short live.” 
He spends the next few minutes watching the comments pop up one after the other, answering the odd question here and there. Afterwards, he talks a little about the new track he’s working on, and finds that after a few stilted sentences he starts to relax, and the words come easily. 
“‘When will it be out?’” He tilts his head, staring off in thought. “Hm, maybe… Ah, I can’t tell you that,” he snickers, then scoots forward in his chair to look back down at his phone. “‘Jisung that’s mean’—I know, right? I won’t tease Stay anymore, sorry.” 
Jisung chuckles to himself as the comments explode, and hums out another insincere apology. His phone buzzes in his hand as a notification appears at the top of his screen. 
👾 y/n [23:48]: smh you’re so mean to your fans 
He opens it with a grin, thumbs flying over the screen as he taps out a response. 
[23:49]: yah, aren’t you supposed to be on your way? don’t text and drive  [23:49]: also I know you watch my lives now #exposed 😛😛 
Your response comes almost immediately. 
👾 y/n [23:50]: i’m leaving soon! i’ll pick you up outside okayy
[23:50]: hurry :(( i miss u
👾 y/n [23:51]: you’re still on live dummy  👾 y/n [23:51]: pay attention 
Jisung quickly swipes away from the app, biting his lip in the hopes he hadn’t looked like a complete goofball on camera. 
“Sorry, everyone,” he says sheepishly, glancing back down. He snorts at the comments. “No, I wasn’t texting Minho. I would’ve ignored it.” 
On his phone, another message comes through. 
👾 y/n [23:55]: ❤️
Jisung only just manages to hide his smile. “‘Did you eat already’—No, I haven’t eaten,” he says, pushing on. “I don’t know what I’ll eat tonight.” 
Bzzt. 
👾 y/n [23:58]: seafood pancakes 
Jisung pulls his hands into the sleeves of his sweater as warmth curls through his chest. He looks back up at the camera and says, “Seafood pancakes.” 
👾 y/n [23:59]: with cheesecake 😚 👾 y/n [23:59]: i’ll be there in 5 min
“And cheesecake.” His cheeks bunch with the force of his smile, and he gives up trying to hide it. He beams openly at the camera, feeling the hot flush of embarrassment stain his cheeks. 
“Ah…” He sighs, and spins in his chair from side to side. “Sorry this was a short live, everyone. But I’m gonna go have some food now, and then I’ll sleep. Stay, make sure to take care of yourself!” 
Jisung waves, murmuring a few more farewells. As he ends the live, the little light beside the camera winks out, and he falls back in his chair with a sigh. Today was exhausting. He could count how much he’s slept in the last twenty-four hours on one hand, and between long hours in the studio and dance practice in every spare moment he feels like he’s finally run out of fumes. 
His phone vibrates on the table, jarring him out of the process of being absorbed into the chair he’s sat in. He struggles to sit up, and pulls the device towards himself. 
 👾 y/n [00:07]: come down, I’m parked out front :) 
The weariness that had crept up after his stream melts away again. He grabs his bag from the corner of the room and makes his way down the nearest stairwell, shooting you an affirmative text with one too many typos. 
As soon as he breaks out into the humid, summer-night air and sees you waving from the driver’s seat, he spreads his arms wide. “Baby!” he crows, not caring who might hear him at this point. 
You fondly roll your eyes and beckon him closer. It takes all of two seconds for Jisung to cross the street, a spring in his step as he breathes in lungfuls of warm air. He opens the passenger door and reaches for you, his hand on the back of your neck as he draws you in to find your lips with his own before he’s even sat down. He kisses you softly, just a little sloppily, and then sighs happily against the shell of your ear. 
“You okay?” You ask him once he’s pulled away. Your fingers slip easily into his hair, pushing the tousled locks off his forehead as he buckles his seatbelt. 
“Mm, tired,” he murmurs, closing his eyes at your touch. You lean in to press your lips to the corner of his mouth. He releases another quiet breath, the last of the tension ebbing away, and turns to tuck his face into the crook of your neck. “Let’s go home.” 
You hum, smiling as his hair tickles your chin. “Okay,” you say. “Let’s go home.” 
;;
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pesiko · 3 months ago
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LEE KNOW ONESHOT RECS
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The Enemies to Lovers Project - dating your enemy [18k]
Youngblood - he crashes at your apartment 24/7 [17.4k]
Countless Skies Upon Me - the skilled swordsman [16.5k]
Haven - sometimes a real family isn’t just blood M [16k]
Too Early But Not Enough - grim reaper Minho [11.6k]
Love Equation - minho’s ideas are dangerous [11.5k]
And They Were Roommates - torn shower curtains M [11k]
How to Win Over the Ice Prince - annual Xmas party [10.3k]
Dawn - like everyone has their own guardian angel [10k]
Between the Lines - late fees and a missing love letter [9.7k]
Give it a Chance - a party and something to tell you [9.6k]
Felines over Flowers - feeding the alley cats [8.5k]
Kisses - his kisses evolve and so does the relationship [8k]
Misfits - there’s no hope for people like you [7.6k]
Playing with Fire - descendants of the sun AU [7k]
Aria of an Assassin - hasn’t been fazed in yrs til now [6.2k]
All I Want for Christmas - driving with enemy Minho [5.4k]
Big Brother - he doesn’t know why ur acting like that [5.4k]
All on Me - the star soccer player is interested in you [4.5k]
Soonie, Doongie, Dori, and John - stealing a fish [4.4k]
Who Are You - a college dropout and a detective [4.3k]
Strawberries - an impulsive trip to the tattoo parlor [4.3k]
What if We - ur nonsense abt not having a roommate [4.1k]
Home Run - the four times you ask him to the formal [3.8k]
7 Days - confessing but he doesn’t take it seriously [3.7k]
Wounds - you always knew he was your soulmate [3.7k]
Dance with Your Neighbor - him dancing to Usher [3.6k]
Something’s Gotta Give - can’t stand Jisung’s friend [3.4k]
Pawprints - no pets allowed in the student dorms [3.4k]
Black Magic - you knew a love potion was risky [3.3k]
Sign of the Times - apocalypse, everything was fine [3.2k]
Nude - didn’t expect to draw a nude model so soon [2.9k]
Rewrite the Stars - “see you next week, lover boy” [2.8k]
I’ll Be Here, Always and Forever - even at ass o clock [2.7k]
Even a Fool Knows - I might fall apart by myself [2.6k]
Paws Off - “it’s not mine, I swear” [2.5k]
Of Ramen and Duck Slippers - keep running into him [2.4k]
Be Okay - 2 kids knowing nothing abt the real world [2.4k]
Ready or Not - the new addition looked familiar [2.2k]
Somewhere Like This - after being cheated on [1.9k]
The Morning After - hooking up w campus fuckboy [1.5k]
More Than Anything - “cute but gross” [1.4k]
The Anatomy of Loving You - a beard of bubbles [1.3k]
The Things I Do With You - he wasn’t feeling the best [1.2k]
The Aid of a Body Pillow - Minho isn’t a cuddly sleeper [1.1k]
Club Light - platonic, mafia leader Minho asks you [1.1k]
Dance First, Think Later - choreographing with him [1k]
Coffee, First - “because you’re too slow” [1k]
Teddy Bear
A Marriage Story & Part 2
❥ LEE KNOW NAVI
[main masterlist] [stray kids masterlist] updated 7-31-21
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sunnyville36 · 22 days ago
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Chan brainrot - boob guy edition
🔞 Hard hours incoming y’all - sorry, I am thirsty and have too much imagination
Seems to me that there’s a large consensus that Chan is an ass man, but I beg to differ. I mean have we seen the way he loves to cuddle up to soft things - the way he nuzzles wolfchan, how he snuggled Seungmin in All-Night SKZ?? That man wants to smother his face in your chest and Stay. There.
I get the feeling Chan himself has sensitive nipples, so he loves giving attention to yours. If he’s playing the dominant role, he’ll sit you in his lap facing outwards and just squeeze and pinch and rub and tweak until you’re so exhausted from the pleasure and the pain that you’re putty in his hands. If he’s subby and obedient, he’ll pull you close to him, licking and sucking on your tits for hours while you run your fingers through his hair, letting him have his fill like the good boy he is.
You’d surprise him with pretty, sheer lingerie; babydoll tops cut open in the front with only thin lace in the cups; bodysuits with plunging necklines with easy access for gentle nips and kisses. He loves watching them bounce while you ride him, loves their warmth when he rests his head on your chest.
Yeah… just… Chan has tiddies and also loves tiddies (of all shapes and sizes!)
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stayforya · 20 days ago
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[8:08pm]
seungmin was waiting for you outside your house, just standing there holding his bag as cute as always. you always felt like you could marry him immediately whenever you saw him.
“did you wait a lot?”
“I could wait forever”, he smiled at you fondly, reaching for your waist to lean down to kiss you. “have I told you that I love you today?”
“yes, but I’d love to hear it again”, you ran your fingers over his lips to clean some of the lipstick that was left.
then he held your hand and started to walk only to suddenly pull you closer and whisper against your lips – because he knew how much you like it. “I love you”.
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