➥ Contains: Just domestic wholesomeness feat. a dorky loverboy who gets horny at the thought having kids with you
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Dead dove do not eat: playful banter and physical intimacy in a loving relationship
➥ Chris has been in the trenches with your cat ever since your “HAHAHA WE’RE JUST FRIENDS” phase, and you made it very clear to him that he can’t get into your pants until he has her blessing. As a JOKE.
But he took it so seriously that he’s actually trying to win her over, and it’s fucking hilarious to watch the lengths your man will go to touch you.
*a/n: Your Domestopher fix so you don't forget me, based on a cute video I’ve seen on YouTube. This is to give you a false sense of security before I unleash three counts of absolutely deranged filth on you.
“You’re joking,” Chris stares at you in disbelief.
“No sir, I’m not jaurking at all. Rules are rules,” you purse your lips. “Unless she likes you, we can’t have sex.”
“But baby, she hates me!” he vehemently protests. “I don’t think I ever walked out of this house without a scratch, and I mean that literally.”
“Well, never say never,” you knowingly grin at him. “I was convinced I’d never hear you call me baby one day, but that happened, so…”
Aaaand you’re wet.
When he does that stupid thing with his stupid dimples, your brain turns off. If he adds that stupid giggle frosting on top, your heart melts.
And motherfucker knows that because the night you finally, and very much drunkenly, confessed your feelings to each other, that was word for word what you said to him!
“You wanted me to call you baby that much?” he wraps his arms around your waist.
“Are you trying to charm me into caving?” you put your hands on his shoulders.
“Is it working?” he speaks against your lips.
When does it not, though, this MOTHERFUCKER!
Every time he takes your lips within his, your spine immediately evaporates. Willpower? Nope. Feminism? Never heard of her.
But if you fold like the wettest napkin even at make-believe, then what the hell are you gonna do if you will have to stand your ground one day?
“NO!” you stop him with a smack on his peach-shaped ass. “My word is final. She either purrs on your chest, or we’re not doing it.”
“Oh, come ON!”
You quickly remove yourself from the room to go take a cold shower because you don’t believe a word of what you just said. If he kisses you for ten more seconds, you will jump him yourself, and in a very Victorian-man-seeing-an-ankle fashion. If you can survive tonight, then you can train yourself to not turn into a fucking puddle every time he blasts the puppy eyes at you. And also…
Chris might be one of the better apples of the bunch, but he’s still a man. You kinda wanna see how long it’ll take him to snap and get aggressive on the seduction.
And it’s kinda hot to think about.
Thanks to whatever stars aligned, you’ve managed to survive the night despite his sexy as hell scent, his habit of sleeping naked, and even the discreet dry humping incident. Come the morning, you pat yourself on the shoulder for a job well done, and almost wheeze at the hysterical sight of a morning wood situation going on. Though the comedy lasts for only about five seconds when you’re suddenly consumed with this urge to taste him.
You slap yourself to get it together and make a mental note of the three different wake up calls you want to try on Chris starting tomorrow morning.
After a quick shower, you get ready for work and head to the kitchen for your caffeine intake, but you don’t know what to make of the bizarre sight you’re met with. Chris is crouching on the living room floor, not moving an inch.
“Baby, what are you doing?” you cackle at the weird tactical assault position.
“Slow blinking,” he explains in lowercase letters. “I heard that’s how cats show affection.”
Oh my GOD?!
Well, no, you did not think he would actually go for it, thank you very much, but there’s your big buff Samoyed man, trying to make himself as small for your palm-sized girl as he can so he wouldn’t look as threatening. AT 7 AM IN THE MORNING!
You didn’t have any intention to actually abide by your arbitrary rule, but on the other hand, this show seems very bingeable.
Within the next few days, Chris becomes a total catthropologist, studying every single detail about Magda. Wherever he randomly runs into her, he kneels and extends his hand so she gets used to his scent. He picks up on her quirky habit of stashing hair ties all over the house, buys an entire pack to “hunt” with her, and even goes out of his way to fill up half the snack cabinet with tasty treats.
“Don’t spoil her this much!” you whine upon seeing the newest Churu pack.
“Hey, everything is fair in love and war, and this is active fucking warfare that you started,” Chris refutes, pointing at you. “I’m conditioning her to think I’m a tube machine; I don’t give a fuck.”
That evening, you finally come home after working so late, wondering what kind of hilarity you’ll be greeted by this time. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if you find Chris actually building a parkour for Magda.
“Hey, baby, I’m home,” you call out towards the TV sound. “Are you watching a Big Cats documentary or something?”
When you walk into the living room, your heart almost pops like a champagne.
It’s not a Big Cats documentary, but there is a bird feeder livestream on the screen. Chris has dozed off on the couch, several hair ties scattered on the floor like gigantic Froot Loops, and Magda has turned into a croissant on his chest like the fluffiest sleep paralysis demon in existence.
Oh, it’s so cute, you’re gonna DIE!
You take a short video of the wholesomest thing you’ve ever seen and snap a few pictures back to back, then head towards them, gently sitting on the couch to not disturb either. Magda instantly wakes up and moves to your lap to continue her nap. You caress Chris’s rioting curls for a while with a fond smile on your face, and eventually overcome by your excessive adoration, you place a big kiss on his forehead.
“Mm, welcome home, baby,” he greets you with a smile, then proudly declares. “I think I’ve made some progress today.”
“Yeah?”
“But I think I still have some ways to go,” he rubs his eyes and sits up. “Is it cheating if I suggestively meow at her?”
Is it weird that you suddenly want to have his babies? WHY IS HE BEING SO ADORABLE?
“Why don’t you suggestively meow at me first?” you scratch under his chin, and he immediately flinches.
“Baby, please, I’m… I’m not…”
“You what?”
“How do I put this delicately? I’ve been, um…” he scratches his nape sheepishly, “saving all my love for you, so…”
You crack up at his choice of words and grab your phone, presenting the evidence to end his misery.
“NO FUCKING WAY, THAT DID NOT HAPPEN!” he borderline screams, scaring Magda into hiding.
“I believe the saying goes as ‘Pics or it didn’t happen’, but suit yourself,” you lock your screen.
“That means she likes me now, right? RIGHT?” he asks again just to confirm. “That has to be like third base in cat-timacy.”
“I think so,” you feign cluelessness.
“Then can we now please, but please,” he cozies up to you, “do other stuff than cuddling?
“I can’t fucking believe you,” you finally burst out laughing. “I really thought you would just go ‘fuck this’ like on day two.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he frowns. “You told me we can’t have sex unless she purred on my chest.”
“And it’s very cute that you believed it,” you squish his cheeks, “but I had every intention of fucking you tonight no matter what because enough is enough.”
“YOU’RE TELLING ME I DIDN’T HAVE TO PUT MYSELF THROUGH THIS AND THAT AT ALL?”
“Well, no, BUT!” you point at him, “because you did, you deserve a very special treat.”
“Y–Yeah?” he instantly backpedals, loving what he’s hearing. “What–What kind of a treat?”
“Anything you want,” you whisper into his ear.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” he folds in half like he’s about to cum.
“As if you’re capable of asking for something freaky,” you let out a hearty laugh. “I’ve known you my whole life. The most you’ll ask, IF you can, is maybe anal.”
“And if I ask… you’ll…” he hesitantly asks. “You’ll do it?”
“Do you want our first time to be anal?”
“I’m asking, like… hypothetically at SOME point in time but maybe like next week since it’s my birthday,” he rapid-fire raps the sentence to tackle his embarrassment to the ground. “Would you say yes?”
“If you can persuade me,” you rub the tip of his reddened ears teasingly.
“Oh, I’m gonna eat your pussy so hard, you’ll black out.”
And that’s Chris’s all-time favorite kiss. The kind where he kisses into your smile. Your laughter. Your giggles. Because every time without fail, he contracts it from you, and you end up laughing like idiots in the middle of kissing.
Every time without fail, you fall deeper in love with each other.
“Well, since I can have anything,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “I do have a special request.”
He whispers it in your ear as if there is a crowd in the room that shouldn’t hear your intimate secrets. You can’t help but laugh again, and after giving him one last kiss, you head to the bedroom to get ready. Shortly after, you emerge again and find Chris in the kitchen doing the dishes, tightly wrapping your arms around his waist to press your breasts on his back.
He’s so excited, you can actually feel his body perk up at your touch.
“No looking,” you tickle his sides as a threat and turn him towards the bedroom door, still behind him. “Come this way, lover boy.”
The ambiance is just right with the dim lights and the scent of Chris’s favorite candles on the nightstand, and when you enter the bedroom, his heart starts beating in his ears. He sits on the bed, covering his eyes per your request. You close the door, finally ready to present yourself.
“Alright, you can look now.”
He opens one eye first, and his face immediately falls, completely awestruck. He thickly swallows and his lips part, leaving you wondering just how the heck he can breathe this heavily from only this much. He extends one hand to you to come closer, and you catwalk your way to him, clad in nothing but fishnet stockings and high heels, perching on his lap.
“Let the record show that I love and respect you very very much,” he utters staring at your breasts, excited to the point of a blackout.
“Where did that come from all of a sudden?” you snort.
“Because I’m about to fuck you like you’re my government-assigned whore.”
You let slip a little shriek through your giggles when he slams you on the mattress, inhaling your lips as he guides you both towards the headboard. You are so consumed by your lust for him that you’re about to shred his clothes to pieces. You almost cum untouched when he stands on his knees, letting you take in the overwhelming beauty of his gorgeous physique. How he looks like he’s sculpted by gods. How he looks like he’s made of marble. How everything on his body is so hard, and how his cock is leaking like it’s about to burst.
You gasp when he tangles his fingers into the fishnets and tears the fabric just around the crotch area.
“You’ve been dying to bounce on this for days, haven’t you?” he makes you palm his girth, throwing his head back when you gently squeeze it. “Had fun dragging me through hell?”
“Yes,” you shamelessly smirk at him.
“Can’t believe I’ll finally get to taste you,” he growls as he descends between your legs. “But gotta check something first.”
He puts his thumb on your mound and his pinky right under your stomach, seemingly measuring something.
“What are you doing?” you chuckle.
“Nothing,” he purses his lips. “Just reference.”
“Reference for w— OH MY GOD, CHRIS!”
He doesn’t hear the question. He doesn’t hear anything other than how you moan his name and the lewd sounds he makes on your sopping wet pussy, losing himself in the taste he’s been yearning for for years.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he inaudibly whispers into you. “And now all mine.”
You don’t need to hear it—you feel each and every one of those words echo in your ribcage, and they inflate your heart to a size that takes up all the space in your chest. It’s true. And now he’s all yours too.
You have never loved anything as much as you love this man.
“S–So close. Please,” you reach for his hands. “Baby, I’m almost there. A little fa— Oh, yes, like that. Like that. God, I’m gonna cum so hard for you…”
You say “for you”, and something explodes within Chris. He starts moaning into you so loudly that it’s as if he’s trying to say something through screams. You don’t need to hear it. You too would die for him in a heartbeat.
For the first time in your life, as your entire body gets shocked from head to toe, you moan an “I love you” when you cum.
Without giving you a moment’s respite, he flips you over and takes a delicious bite from your ass, ripping the fabric covering your hips completely.
“On fours for me,” he instructs with a gentle tap on your thighs, pumping himself to full hardness, then presses his tip against your oozing entrance. “Teases are the worst kinds of flirts, baby. You had this coming.”
“YES!”
He rams his cock into you, unwittingly sending himself to another dimension. He’s lost count of how many times he’s imagined this exact moment, but no matter how vividly he’s tried picturing it, it could never compare to the real thing.
“Harder,” you grit your teeth. “Go harder. I can take it.”
“Mm, good girl. Gooood girl. Learning to take your man properly,” he pulls your hair a little, grazing his teeth against your jawline. “Feels full, yeah?”
“So much,” you claw at the pillows. “So… S–So full…”
“All for you. It’s all for you. Taking it so well, my beautiful angel,” he leaves wet kisses all over your neck. “Turn around. Let me see your pretty face.”
He quickly realigns himself, but takes his sweet time sinking in, loving the way his cock disappears into you. He sucks in such a sharp breath in delight, his face all contorted, dying of how maddeningly pleasurable your pussy feels around him. He suddenly throws your legs on his shoulders and leans forward, making you whimper at the sensation.
“So fucking wet for me. Your walls are soooo swollen, baby,” he pants as he picks up his pace, fingertips sinking deeper into your flesh. “I could totally knock you up like this.”
“Trying to be my baby daddy?” you flash him a fucked out smile.
To your absolute surprise, Chris lets out a very loud exhale and throbs inside you so hard that you feel it in your stomach.
“Oh my GOD, really?!”
“SHUT UP! I’ve always wanted to be a father,” he tries to bury his embarrassment under the bed. “So what if I want it to be with the love of my life?”
“I’m…” you look up at him, on the brink of tears for no reason. “I’m the love of your life?”
“You can’t be serious,” he slows way down and lowers himself to be closer to you. “Did an entire decade we’ve known each other NOT tip you off?”
If happiness had a shape, it would be in the shape of Chris. You’re so endeared, you start laughing all of a sudden, pulling him into a kiss. You don’t even understand how that can happen. You can physically feel yourself to be at the absolute capacity of the love you can hold for him, but every time you kiss, you still fall deeper in love.
Every single time without fail.
“I love you. God, I love you so much,” he drowns your face in pecks. “You’re my everything.”
“What I’m about to say might make you shrivel like a prune, but I’m just gonna,” you blurt out.
“W–What is it?”
“I want a forever with you, Chris.”
You didn’t need to say it—he knows. He’s known all this time. But when he finally hears it directly spilling from your lips, he feels each and every one of those words echo in his ribcage, and they inflate his heart to a size that takes up all the space in his chest.
He has never loved anything as much as he loves you.
“Then it’s yours,” he holds your face. “Everything I have, everything I am, all of it is yours forever.”
“Cum inside me,” you hold onto his shoulders. “Let me have you.”
“No, cum with me,” he urges. “Go on baby, cum with me.”
Any other person in the world, and a climax is a total gamble. The odds are never in your favor because the house always wins. But when it’s with Chris, it’s terrifying how easy it is. When the man you’ve been in love with your whole life just asks for it, turns out it’s the same thing as having him devour you between your legs for hours on end. It feels like you merge into this single entity when he finally finally empties himself inside you with loud cries of your name. And you wish you could spend the rest of your life in this bed in each other’s arms, just letting him rest on your chest as much as he wants while you stroke his hair.
God fucking knows he’s been running far too fast for far too long.
When you finally come to your senses, a sound steals your attention, which alerts you that Magda is about to scratch her way into the bedroom. You welcome the cuntress in as you leave to get some water, and she immediately bolts towards the bed. When you return with a sweating glass bottle, you find her on top of Chris, shoving her tiny head into the crook of his neck.
“Oh crap, this early in the relationship, and I already have to share you?” you giggle, bursting with endearment. “I really didn’t think this through, did I?”
“Nah, it’s fine. We’ll just get a big ass doggo brother for her, and he’ll snuggle with you,” he puts out the remnants of the wildfire inside him with the ice-cold water, then threateningly points at you with his eyes psychotically widened. “Don’t even think about revoking sex until his training is complete, or I swear to god I’ll fucking riot!”
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to co-parent a stray with Chris.
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➥ Contains: Just domestic wholesomeness feat. a dorky loverboy who gets horny at the thought having kids with you
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Dead dove do not eat: playful banter and physical intimacy in a loving relationship
➥ Chris has been in the trenches with your cat ever since your “HAHAHA WE’RE JUST FRIENDS” phase, and you made it very clear to him that he can’t get into your pants until he has her blessing. As a JOKE.
But he took it so seriously that he’s actually trying to win her over, and it’s fucking hilarious to watch the lengths your man will go to touch you.
*a/n: Your Domestopher fix so you don't forget me, based on a cute video I’ve seen on YouTube. This is to give you a false sense of security before I unleash three counts of absolutely deranged filth on you.
“You’re joking,” Chris stares at you in disbelief.
“No sir, I’m not jaurking at all. Rules are rules,” you purse your lips. “Unless she likes you, we can’t have sex.”
“But baby, she hates me!” he vehemently protests. “I don’t think I ever walked out of this house without a scratch, and I mean that literally.”
“Well, never say never,” you knowingly grin at him. “I was convinced I’d never hear you call me baby one day, but that happened, so…”
Aaaand you’re wet.
When he does that stupid thing with his stupid dimples, your brain turns off. If he adds that stupid giggle frosting on top, your heart melts.
And motherfucker knows that because the night you finally, and very much drunkenly, confessed your feelings to each other, that was word for word what you said to him!
“You wanted me to call you baby that much?” he wraps his arms around your waist.
“Are you trying to charm me into caving?” you put your hands on his shoulders.
“Is it working?” he speaks against your lips.
When does it not, though, this MOTHERFUCKER!
Every time he takes your lips within his, your spine immediately evaporates. Willpower? Nope. Feminism? Never heard of her.
But if you fold like the wettest napkin even at make-believe, then what the hell are you gonna do if you will have to stand your ground one day?
“NO!” you stop him with a smack on his peach-shaped ass. “My word is final. She either purrs on your chest, or we’re not doing it.”
“Oh, come ON!”
You quickly remove yourself from the room to go take a cold shower because you don’t believe a word of what you just said. If he kisses you for ten more seconds, you will jump him yourself, and in a very Victorian-man-seeing-an-ankle fashion. If you can survive tonight, then you can train yourself to not turn into a fucking puddle every time he blasts the puppy eyes at you. And also…
Chris might be one of the better apples of the bunch, but he’s still a man. You kinda wanna see how long it’ll take him to snap and get aggressive on the seduction.
And it’s kinda hot to think about.
Thanks to whatever stars aligned, you’ve managed to survive the night despite his sexy as hell scent, his habit of sleeping naked, and even the discreet dry humping incident. Come the morning, you pat yourself on the shoulder for a job well done, and almost wheeze at the hysterical sight of a morning wood situation going on. Though the comedy lasts for only about five seconds when you’re suddenly consumed with this urge to taste him.
You slap yourself to get it together and make a mental note of the three different wake up calls you want to try on Chris starting tomorrow morning.
After a quick shower, you get ready for work and head to the kitchen for your caffeine intake, but you don’t know what to make of the bizarre sight you’re met with. Chris is crouching on the living room floor, not moving an inch.
“Baby, what are you doing?” you cackle at the weird tactical assault position.
“Slow blinking,” he explains in lowercase letters. “I heard that’s how cats show affection.”
Oh my GOD?!
Well, no, you did not think he would actually go for it, thank you very much, but there’s your big buff Samoyed man, trying to make himself as small for your palm-sized girl as he can so he wouldn’t look as threatening. AT 7 AM IN THE MORNING!
You didn’t have any intention to actually abide by your arbitrary rule, but on the other hand, this show seems very bingeable.
Within the next few days, Chris becomes a total catthropologist, studying every single detail about Magda. Wherever he randomly runs into her, he kneels and extends his hand so she gets used to his scent. He picks up on her quirky habit of stashing hair ties all over the house, buys an entire pack to “hunt” with her, and even goes out of his way to fill up half the snack cabinet with tasty treats.
“Don’t spoil her this much!” you whine upon seeing the newest Churu pack.
“Hey, everything is fair in love and war, and this is active fucking warfare that you started,” Chris refutes, pointing at you. “I’m conditioning her to think I’m a tube machine; I don’t give a fuck.”
That evening, you finally come home after working so late, wondering what kind of hilarity you’ll be greeted by this time. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if you find Chris actually building a parkour for Magda.
“Hey, baby, I’m home,” you call out towards the TV sound. “Are you watching a Big Cats documentary or something?”
When you walk into the living room, your heart almost pops like a champagne.
It’s not a Big Cats documentary, but there is a bird feeder livestream on the screen. Chris has dozed off on the couch, several hair ties scattered on the floor like gigantic Froot Loops, and Magda has turned into a croissant on his chest like the fluffiest sleep paralysis demon in existence.
Oh, it’s so cute, you’re gonna DIE!
You take a short video of the wholesomest thing you’ve ever seen and snap a few pictures back to back, then head towards them, gently sitting on the couch to not disturb either. Magda instantly wakes up and moves to your lap to continue her nap. You caress Chris’s rioting curls for a while with a fond smile on your face, and eventually overcome by your excessive adoration, you place a big kiss on his forehead.
“Mm, welcome home, baby,” he greets you with a smile, then proudly declares. “I think I’ve made some progress today.”
“Yeah?”
“But I think I still have some ways to go,” he rubs his eyes and sits up. “Is it cheating if I suggestively meow at her?”
Is it weird that you suddenly want to have his babies? WHY IS HE BEING SO ADORABLE?
“Why don’t you suggestively meow at me first?” you scratch under his chin, and he immediately flinches.
“Baby, please, I’m… I’m not…”
“You what?”
“How do I put this delicately? I’ve been, um…” he scratches his nape sheepishly, “saving all my love for you, so…”
You crack up at his choice of words and grab your phone, presenting the evidence to end his misery.
“NO FUCKING WAY, THAT DID NOT HAPPEN!” he borderline screams, scaring Magda into hiding.
“I believe the saying goes as ‘Pics or it didn’t happen’, but suit yourself,” you lock your screen.
“That means she likes me now, right? RIGHT?” he asks again just to confirm. “That has to be like third base in cat-timacy.”
“I think so,” you feign cluelessness.
“Then can we now please, but please,” he cozies up to you, “do other stuff than cuddling?
“I can’t fucking believe you,” you finally burst out laughing. “I really thought you would just go ‘fuck this’ like on day two.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he frowns. “You told me we can’t have sex unless she purred on my chest.”
“And it’s very cute that you believed it,” you squish his cheeks, “but I had every intention of fucking you tonight no matter what because enough is enough.”
“YOU’RE TELLING ME I DIDN’T HAVE TO PUT MYSELF THROUGH THIS AND THAT AT ALL?”
“Well, no, BUT!” you point at him, “because you did, you deserve a very special treat.”
“Y–Yeah?” he instantly backpedals, loving what he’s hearing. “What–What kind of a treat?”
“Anything you want,” you whisper into his ear.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” he folds in half like he’s about to cum.
“As if you’re capable of asking for something freaky,” you let out a hearty laugh. “I’ve known you my whole life. The most you’ll ask, IF you can, is maybe anal.”
“And if I ask… you’ll…” he hesitantly asks. “You’ll do it?”
“Do you want our first time to be anal?”
“I’m asking, like… hypothetically at SOME point in time but maybe like next week since it’s my birthday,” he rapid-fire raps the sentence to tackle his embarrassment to the ground. “Would you say yes?”
“If you can persuade me,” you rub the tip of his reddened ears teasingly.
“Oh, I’m gonna eat your pussy so hard, you’ll black out.”
And that’s Chris’s all-time favorite kiss. The kind where he kisses into your smile. Your laughter. Your giggles. Because every time without fail, he contracts it from you, and you end up laughing like idiots in the middle of kissing.
Every time without fail, you fall deeper in love with each other.
“Well, since I can have anything,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “I do have a special request.”
He whispers it in your ear as if there is a crowd in the room that shouldn’t hear your intimate secrets. You can’t help but laugh again, and after giving him one last kiss, you head to the bedroom to get ready. Shortly after, you emerge again and find Chris in the kitchen doing the dishes, tightly wrapping your arms around his waist to press your breasts on his back.
He’s so excited, you can actually feel his body perk up at your touch.
“No looking,” you tickle his sides as a threat and turn him towards the bedroom door, still behind him. “Come this way, lover boy.”
The ambiance is just right with the dim lights and the scent of Chris’s favorite candles on the nightstand, and when you enter the bedroom, his heart starts beating in his ears. He sits on the bed, covering his eyes per your request. You close the door, finally ready to present yourself.
“Alright, you can look now.”
He opens one eye first, and his face immediately falls, completely awestruck. He thickly swallows and his lips part, leaving you wondering just how the heck he can breathe this heavily from only this much. He extends one hand to you to come closer, and you catwalk your way to him, clad in nothing but fishnet stockings and high heels, perching on his lap.
“Let the record show that I love and respect you very very much,” he utters staring at your breasts, excited to the point of a blackout.
“Where did that come from all of a sudden?” you snort.
“Because I’m about to fuck you like you’re my government-assigned whore.”
You let slip a little shriek through your giggles when he slams you on the mattress, inhaling your lips as he guides you both towards the headboard. You are so consumed by your lust for him that you’re about to shred his clothes to pieces. You almost cum untouched when he stands on his knees, letting you take in the overwhelming beauty of his gorgeous physique. How he looks like he’s sculpted by gods. How he looks like he’s made of marble. How everything on his body is so hard, and how his cock is leaking like it’s about to burst.
You gasp when he tangles his fingers into the fishnets and tears the fabric just around the crotch area.
“You’ve been dying to bounce on this for days, haven’t you?” he makes you palm his girth, throwing his head back when you gently squeeze it. “Had fun dragging me through hell?”
“Yes,” you shamelessly smirk at him.
“Can’t believe I’ll finally get to taste you,” he growls as he descends between your legs. “But gotta check something first.”
He puts his thumb on your mound and his pinky right under your stomach, seemingly measuring something.
“What are you doing?” you chuckle.
“Nothing,” he purses his lips. “Just reference.”
“Reference for w— OH MY GOD, CHRIS!”
He doesn’t hear the question. He doesn’t hear anything other than how you moan his name and the lewd sounds he makes on your sopping wet pussy, losing himself in the taste he’s been yearning for for years.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he inaudibly whispers into you. “And now all mine.”
You don’t need to hear it—you feel each and every one of those words echo in your ribcage, and they inflate your heart to a size that takes up all the space in your chest. It’s true. And now he’s all yours too.
You have never loved anything as much as you love this man.
“S–So close. Please,” you reach for his hands. “Baby, I’m almost there. A little fa— Oh, yes, like that. Like that. God, I’m gonna cum so hard for you…”
You say “for you”, and something explodes within Chris. He starts moaning into you so loudly that it’s as if he’s trying to say something through screams. You don’t need to hear it. You too would die for him in a heartbeat.
For the first time in your life, as your entire body gets shocked from head to toe, you moan an “I love you” when you cum.
Without giving you a moment’s respite, he flips you over and takes a delicious bite from your ass, ripping the fabric covering your hips completely.
“On fours for me,” he instructs with a gentle tap on your thighs, pumping himself to full hardness, then presses his tip against your oozing entrance. “Teases are the worst kinds of flirts, baby. You had this coming.”
“YES!”
He rams his cock into you, unwittingly sending himself to another dimension. He’s lost count of how many times he’s imagined this exact moment, but no matter how vividly he’s tried picturing it, it could never compare to the real thing.
“Harder,” you grit your teeth. “Go harder. I can take it.”
“Mm, good girl. Gooood girl. Learning to take your man properly,” he pulls your hair a little, grazing his teeth against your jawline. “Feels full, yeah?”
“So much,” you claw at the pillows. “So… S–So full…”
“All for you. It’s all for you. Taking it so well, my beautiful angel,” he leaves wet kisses all over your neck. “Turn around. Let me see your pretty face.”
He quickly realigns himself, but takes his sweet time sinking in, loving the way his cock disappears into you. He sucks in such a sharp breath in delight, his face all contorted, dying of how maddeningly pleasurable your pussy feels around him. He suddenly throws your legs on his shoulders and leans forward, making you whimper at the sensation.
“So fucking wet for me. Your walls are soooo swollen, baby,” he pants as he picks up his pace, fingertips sinking deeper into your flesh. “I could totally knock you up like this.”
“Trying to be my baby daddy?” you flash him a fucked out smile.
To your absolute surprise, Chris lets out a very loud exhale and throbs inside you so hard that you feel it in your stomach.
“Oh my GOD, really?!”
“SHUT UP! I’ve always wanted to be a father,” he tries to bury his embarrassment under the bed. “So what if I want it to be with the love of my life?”
“I’m…” you look up at him, on the brink of tears for no reason. “I’m the love of your life?”
“You can’t be serious,” he slows way down and lowers himself to be closer to you. “Did an entire decade we’ve known each other NOT tip you off?”
If happiness had a shape, it would be in the shape of Chris. You’re so endeared, you start laughing all of a sudden, pulling him into a kiss. You don’t even understand how that can happen. You can physically feel yourself to be at the absolute capacity of the love you can hold for him, but every time you kiss, you still fall deeper in love.
Every single time without fail.
“I love you. God, I love you so much,” he drowns your face in pecks. “You’re my everything.”
“What I’m about to say might make you shrivel like a prune, but I’m just gonna,” you blurt out.
“W–What is it?”
“I want a forever with you, Chris.”
You didn’t need to say it—he knows. He’s known all this time. But when he finally hears it directly spilling from your lips, he feels each and every one of those words echo in his ribcage, and they inflate his heart to a size that takes up all the space in his chest.
He has never loved anything as much as he loves you.
“Then it’s yours,” he holds your face. “Everything I have, everything I am, all of it is yours forever.”
“Cum inside me,” you hold onto his shoulders. “Let me have you.”
“No, cum with me,” he urges. “Go on baby, cum with me.”
Any other person in the world, and a climax is a total gamble. The odds are never in your favor because the house always wins. But when it’s with Chris, it’s terrifying how easy it is. When the man you’ve been in love with your whole life just asks for it, turns out it’s the same thing as having him devour you between your legs for hours on end. It feels like you merge into this single entity when he finally finally empties himself inside you with loud cries of your name. And you wish you could spend the rest of your life in this bed in each other’s arms, just letting him rest on your chest as much as he wants while you stroke his hair.
God fucking knows he’s been running far too fast for far too long.
When you finally come to your senses, a sound steals your attention, which alerts you that Magda is about to scratch her way into the bedroom. You welcome the cuntress in as you leave to get some water, and she immediately bolts towards the bed. When you return with a sweating glass bottle, you find her on top of Chris, shoving her tiny head into the crook of his neck.
“Oh crap, this early in the relationship, and I already have to share you?” you giggle, bursting with endearment. “I really didn’t think this through, did I?”
“Nah, it’s fine. We’ll just get a big ass doggo brother for her, and he’ll snuggle with you,” he puts out the remnants of the wildfire inside him with the ice-cold water, then threateningly points at you with his eyes psychotically widened. “Don’t even think about revoking sex until his training is complete, or I swear to god I’ll fucking riot!”
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to co-parent a stray with Chris.
drab&hc ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ ₁₆₀₀ ⓘ 𝓯luff agegap of 5y ot8cameo 1 cuss word [progress!] ಄
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤ♡↻ 𝑓or! ᕑᗢᓫ 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦
it breathed long before either of you ever found the courage to give it a name, as something quietly present, drifting between shared smiles and lingering glances like dust suspended in warm afternoon light, visible only when the sun caught it just right, rather than something ugly or forbidden, as five years isn't particularly .. shocking in a world full of adults dating adults.
five years, in the grand scheme of life, was never an impossible distance. two grown hearts finding one another was hardly unheard of, hardly worthy of the weight chan insisted on placing upon his own shoulders. and yet, for him, the years carried meaning that numbers alone never could.
he had spent so much of his life becoming shelter. being the steady voice in crowded rooms, hands already reaching out to help before anyone thought to ask. draping his warm jacket over colder shoulders, tilting the umbrella a little more toward someone else.
the quiet "i've got you" spoken so naturally it had become instinct instead of choice. somewhere along the way, he had stopped seeing himself as simply a man and had unconsciously settled into something broader or older, a person meant to look after everyone standing beside him, the one people leaned against when their own strength faltered.
and then there was you. twenty four.
you arrived without trying to change the shape of his world, carrying sunlight as though it had chosen your skin as its favourite resting place, laughter soft enough to resemble the first breeze slipping through open curtains on an early spring morning, your kindness never loud enough to demand attention but impossible not to notice once it wrapped itself around the room. there was something impossibly fresh about you, like rain still clinging to jasmine petals before dawn, or clean linen drying beneath an endless sky, or the sweet scent of peaches carried lazily through summer air.
your voice never crashed into silence, because it settled there. as warm as honey stirred into tea, gentle enough that people found themselves smiling before they even realised why.
you were younger than jeongin, and he knew that. that single thought would ambush him at the most ridiculous moments.
he'd be rinsing vegetables in the kitchen. "...fuck." his ears would bloom pink before anyone had even spoken.
or .. he'd be driving home beneath amber streetlights, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel until the thought wandered in completely uninvited. she's literally younger than jeongin.
"...jesus christ."
his entire face would scrunch as one hand flew instinctively to the back of his neck, rubbing at skin that suddenly felt far too warm, shoulders curling inward as if he could somehow hide from a fact that existed only inside his own head.
it wasn't your maturity he questioned, nor your heart, nor the way you moved through the world with quiet thoughtfulness that made even ordinary moments feel carefully held.
when he looked at you, he never saw someone who needed raising or rescuing. he saw someone who offered warmth without expecting repayment, someone who listened with both ears and her whole heart, someone whose gentleness carried its own quiet kind of strength.
nope! it embarrassed him because his mind had spent years carefully placing himself into little boxes without him ever noticing.
leader, older brother, caretaker, hyung, safe place. and now, suddenly, his own heart had wandered somewhere those labels hadn't prepared him to go. it felt almost unfair, like discovering, after years of believing your hands were only meant to build homes for everyone else, that they were trembling because they wanted to reach for one particular person instead.
you, however, never seemed burdened by it. when you looked at him, you saw the way his eyes disappeared whenever he laughed too hard. the warmth of his palm instinctively finding yours in crowded places.
the comforting weight of his hoodie around your shoulders carrying traces of fresh detergent, cedarwood cologne, and the faint sweetness of vanilla that always seemed to linger wherever he had been.
you saw someone whose hugs slowed your heartbeat until it matched his, whose voice settled over tired evenings like blankets still warm from the dryer, whose quiet "you've eaten, right?" tasted more comforting than any homecooked meal ever could.
and perhaps that was why, little by little, the numbers began dissolving. because love, when it is patient enough, has a beautiful habit of making arithmetic feel remarkably small beside the feeling of finally being understood.
the years remained exactly where they had always been. only now, they no longer stood between you.
they simply rested quietly behind you both, while he reached for your hand with the same shy smile that still made his ears pink, wondering how something that had once embarrassed him so deeply had become one of the gentlest stories his heart would ever get to tell.
yang jeongin, of course, discovered your age gap almost immediately.
and, being the wonderfully insufferable younger brother he had always been, treated the information like a tiny treasure tucked safely into his pocket, ready to be pulled out whenever the room felt just a little too quiet.
only because few things in this world were as genuinely delightful as watching christopher bang, steady, dependable, and our composed christopher bang; forget how to function over something so painfully harmless.
dorm conversations could be about absolutely anything .. the weather, takeaway menus, whose turn it was to wash the dishes, before jeongin would look up with the picture of innocence painted across his face and murmur, "hyung .. she calls me oppa."
he continued. " .. should i start calling you ahjussi?"
the room would erupt before chan even had the chance to defend himself. laughter bounced off the walls, someone nearly choking on their drink while changbin slapped the table, felix already folded in half, wheezing loud enough to scare the neighbours.
and chan? he wouldn't even argue anymore. he'd simply let out the longest, most defeated groan known to mankind, burying his burning face in both hands as if the wooden dining table might kindly open up and swallow him whole.
"iyen-ah..." he'd mumble through his fingers, his australian accent growing thicker with every ounce of second hand embarrassment. "can you not?" which, naturally, only made everyone laugh harder.
you'd be sitting beside him, lips pressed together in a hopeless attempt to hide your smile, only for him to peek at you through the tiny gap between his fingers with the most betrayed little pout.
"..don't you dare laugh." you did anyway.
and despite all the "bullied in his own home," there was always the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. because if this was the price of loving you, well, he supposed he could survive being called old every now and then.
eventually, the jokes begin to fade.
all the members notice the way his entire body seems to exhale whenever your name is mentioned. then his voice softens without permission, dropping into that warm, honeyed register that feels like coming home after a long day. then his eyes, always kind, become impossibly gentler when they find you across a room.
his actions .. ♡︎
he's unconsciously, hopelessly affectionate !!!!! a hand on your lower back, fingers laced together beneath the table, his chin resting on your shoulder while you both quietly exist beside each other, because to chan, closeness has always been its own love language <3
his hugs feel less like being held and more like coming home. he wraps around you completely, one hand on your back, the other cradling your head, until the world grows quieter against the warmth of his hoodie.
overtime quickly becomes the only thing he genuinely resents. and that is a very big thing knowing chan. coming home long after midnight to find you asleep on the sofa waiting for him always leaves him standing frozen in the doorway, guilt settling heavily in his chest.
he never wakes you straight away though! instead, he brushes your hair away from your face, whispering tiny apologies into the silence, convinced he should somehow have found more hours in the day just to spend with you.
sometimes you wake anyway, smiling sleepily the moment you see him. his forehead immediately finds yours as he laughs under his breath, mumbling, "missed you so much," as though he'd been gone for weeks instead of a single afternoon.
minho once walks into the practice room expecting to find their leader working, only to discover chan quietly fting you while you bake cookies. he barely says anything beyond soft little reminders not to burn yourself, yet somehow hangs up looking more recharged than after any amount of coffee.
bini always knows when you've visited the company without anyone telling him. chan smiles at absolutely nothing for the rest of the day, and that's apparently all the evidence he needs!
whenever chan quietly slips away to have dinner with you, the members cover for him without hesitation. they absolutely do tease him relentlessly afterwards, of course.
he's so shamelessly domestic without even noticing it i swear! he replaces your empty shampoo, warms your mug before making tea, and folds your laundry despite your dramatic protests saying, "baby .. i'm already doing mine, i'll do yours too." with that :] smile of his.
he kisses your forehead more than anywhere else!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
on nights when sleep refuses to find him, you quietly curl beneath his arm by the window without saying a word. your presence alone slows his breathing enough for the weight on his shoulders to feel lighter.
ㅤ꯭yani ❤︎ hihello thank u for patiently waiting for this .. assignments decided to fmeintheassbutits ok ! i wanted to post this b4 stay day LOL so here u go !! the other members' ver.s might take longer though .. im sorry .. anyways ! my birthday is near👀👀 can anyb get me a puppym plushie please .. also !! qna event for 2k is open till 0801, so send in some asks pls <3
Warnings:
Explicit sexual content (MDNI), depiction of a toxic/manipulative situationship(not with chan), emotional vulnerability, self-deprecating thoughts, and mature themes, friends to lovers, no proof reading was done
⤷ for months, you have been trapped in the gravity of a man who only remembers your name when his own world goes dark. Chris has spent every one of those months watching you break, harboring a fierce, unspoken devotion—until a shattered midnight forces the truth into the open, and a quiet bedroom becomes the space where you finally learn what it means to be held, not just used.
The rain in late autumn always felt less like weather and more like an eviction notice.
it streaked the glass of your small apartment window in long, foggy tears, a replication of your failing relationship.
You sat on the edge of your mattress, the fabric of an old, oversized jersey..not yours, never yours...scratching against your bare thighs. The air smelled faintly of stale cologne and the metallic tang of an impending storm. He had left twenty minutes ago. No note. No lingering glance at the threshold. Just the heavy click of the deadbolt and the sudden, vacuum-like silence that always followed his departures.
It was the fifth time this season. Or perhaps the sixth. The numbers had begun to liquefy in your memory, bleeding into a singular, exhausting cycle: the midnight text, the sudden arrival, the desperate, hollow heat of a physical transaction disguised as intimacy, and the inevitable dawn where he gathered his things while you pretended to sleep. He said it helped him. He said the noise in his head only quieted when he was buried in you, and because you were lonely, and because you mistook his dependency for affection, you let him in every single time.
A sharp, rhythmic knock at the door broke the quiet.
yoour heart skipped, a reaction you hated yourself for. You pulled a robe over your shoulders, tying the cord with trembling fingers as you hurried to the entryway. but when you swung the door open, it wasn’t the familiar, careless face of your undoing.
It was chris.
he stood under the flickering hallway light, his dark hair damp from the drizzle outside, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder. his eyes, usually warm and crinkled at the corners with easy laughter, were dark. the skin around his jaw was white hot with tension.
he didn't ask to come in; he simply stepped past you, his presence immediately filling the small room, heavy with an unspoken, protective fury.
"He was just here," chris said. it wasn’t a question. hiis voice was low, vibrating with a rough edge that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
"chris, please," you whispered, closing the door behind him. "not tonight. I’m tired."
"I saw him leave the lobby," chris continued, turning to face you. he didn't look at the disheveled bed, but you knew he saw it. he saw the shift in your posture, the way you wrapped your arms around your middle as if trying to hold your own ribs together. "How many times are you going to do this to yourself? How many times are you going to let him treat you like a pit stop when he's bored or broken?"
"You don't understand," you muttered, looking down at the plain floor. "He needs--"
"He needs a therapist, not you!" chris snapped, his voice rising, cracking the domestic quiet of the room. "He uses you as a sponge for his garbage, and then he leaves you here to dry out until he needs you again. He’s not loyal. He’s out at the clubs every weekend with girls whose names he doesn't even know, and you’re sitting here waiting for the phone to ring like he’s some kind of prize!"
The truth burned, raw and unvarnished, and because it hurt, you struck back. "It’s my life, chris! Why do you care so much? Why are you always standing in my doorway judging every single choice I make? He comes to me because I’m there for him. What is it to you?"
"Because you deserve someone who stays!" chris snapped back, stepping closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The veins in his forearms stood out, taut and rigid. "You deserve someone who looks at you and doesn't see a temporary fix! You’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, and you’re throwing yourself into a fire for a guy who wouldn't even pour water on you to put the flames out!"
"And who are you to decide that?" you yelled back, tears finally stinging the corners of your eyes, born from shame and exhaustion. "Who are you to tell me who loves me or who doesn't?"
"I’m the guy who’s been watching you break for a year! someone who watched that smile fade and those damn sparkles in your eyes to completely fade out. A guy who knows you way better than that freak." Chris shouted, his chest heaving as he closed the remaining distance between you, his shadow eclipsing yours under the dim bulb. "I’m the guy who knows every detail of your face, who knows how you take your coffee, who knows you’re terrified of the dark but pretend you aren’t! I am better than him in all possible scenarios!"
The words hung in the air like a physical blow.
Chris froze, his breath hitching in his throat. The anger vanished from his features, replaced instantly by a stark, terrifying vulnerability. his jaw slacked slightly, his dark eyes wide as the weight of what he had just uttered settled between you. I am better than him in all possible scenarios. It was a confession wrapped in a boast, an accidental tearing away of the veil he had kept drawn between you for years.
In the heavy silence that followed, it sounded wrong. It sounded arrogant, desperate, and entirely too close to the surface.
You let out a long, shuddering sigh, the anger draining from your limbs, leaving you feeling hollowed out. You looked at him--really looked at him--at the curve of his broad shoulders, the honest panic in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn't have the right.
"I know," you said softly, your voice barely a breath. "I know he’s toxic, chris. i’m not stupid. but... it’s like a habit I can’t break. it’s a loop. whhen he calls, it’s just easier to slide into it than to face the empty room."
Chris looked down, a muscle working in his jaw. The silence grew smaller, gentler, though the air remained thick. when he looked back up, the fury was gone, replaced by a profound, aching sorrow.
"It’s going to scar you," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "Every time you let him in he takes a piece of you to fix his own holes, you lose something you won't get back. You think you’re just being kind, or just passing the time, but it’s changing how you see yourself. And one day, you’re going to look in the mirror and you won’t even recognize the girl I’ve been..." He broke off, swallowing hard. "The girl I’ve been looking at since the day we met."
He didn't stay long after tht. he couldn't. The air was too full of things that couldn't be unsaid. when he left, he didn't slam the door; he closed it with a soft, careful click that felt infinitely worse.
It took days for the scar tissue to form enough for you to move.
The breakup wasn't clean. Toxic things rarely die quietly; they thrash and strike out before they rot. When you finally told him--via a brief, trembling phone call--that it was over cause you didnt wanna face him, there was a possiblity he might try things which you would not want, you told him that he couldn't come by anymore, he didn't take it with the indifference very well. His ego, bloated by months of your compliance, revolted.
An hour later, he was at your door. Not knocking, but pounding. the wood groaned under his fists. When you refused to open it, the messages began—a barrage of vitriol, alternating between desperate pleas and vicious insults, tearing down your appearance, your character, your worth, everything he knew you were insecure about. He called you cold. He called you a waste of his time. He told you that nobody else would ever want someone so broken.
You sat in the corner of your kitchen floor, your knees pulled to your chest, your hands over your ears as his voice seemed to echo through the very walls, even after he finally gave up and kicked the base of the door before leaving.
Your phone was hot in your hand. Through the blur of hot, endless tears, you didn't think. You didn't calculate the risk or the history. You just dialed the one number that felt like a lighthouse in a storm.
"Chris," you choked out the moment the line picked up. "chris, he--he came here. It’s ugly. He said--"
"I’m coming."
The line went dead.
It took him less than ten minutes. When the lock turned, it wasn’t the hesitant chris from a few weeks ago. He burst through the door, his jacket half-unzipped, his knuckles white around his keys. His eyes swept the room instantly, checking, looking for a threat. When he saw you on the kitchen floor, small and shivering, the murderous tension in his shoulders shifted into something entirely different--something fiercely protective.
"Where is he?" chris rasped, his voice dropping into a register that was purely dangerous. he looked ready to take the stairs three at a time, to hunt down whoever had made you look this small. "did he touch you? tell me where he went."
"He’s gone," you sobbed, reaching out blindly. "He’s gone, chris, he just... he said such awful things."
In an instant, he was on the floor beside you. His large, warm hands caught yours, pulling you up against his chest. He didn't care about the sweat or the tears or the mess of your hair. He held you with an intensity that felt almost reverent, his chin resting against the top of your head, his breath shuddering against your scalp.
"You’re safe," he murmured over and over, his hands rubbing broad, soothing circles into your back. "I’ve got you. I’m right here. He’s never coming back into this apartment, you hear me? I’ll change the locks myself tomorrow. He’s done."
As you lay there, listening to the steady, rapid thumping of his heart beneath his shirt, the fog began to clear. You realized then, with the clarity of a sudden frost, what chris had meant during the argument. You realized the sheer depth of the gravity he had been pulling you toward all this time. He hadn't just been angry at the other guy; he had been grieving for you. He loved you with a quiet, ferocious constancy that made the other guy's affection look like a puddle of dirty rain.
But as the realization bloomed, so did the old, familiar rot of your own mind.
Look at him, the voice whispered. He’s whole. He’s good. And you’re the girl who spent months being used as a doormat. you’re covered in someone else's stains.
When you finally pulled back, your face was red and swollen. chris reached up, his thumb gently wiping a tear from your cheek, his touch so light it felt like a question.
"chris, I..." you started, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn't say it. You couldn't acknowledge the massive, glowing thing between you because you felt entirely unworthy of it. To accept his love now felt like dragging him down into the mud you had just crawled out of.
So, you avoided it. You looked away, clearing your throat, pulling your knees back toward your chest. "Thank you for coming. I... I just need some sleep, I think."
Chris’s hand lingered in the air for a fraction of a second before he let it drop. A flicker of understanding—and perhaps a faint hint of disappointment—passed over his face, but he didn't push. He respected the boundary you had clumsily thrown up.
"Okay," he said softly, standing up and offering you a hand. "I’ll stay on the couch tonight. Just to make sure. No arguments."
You didn't argue. You couldn't.
A month had passed. The locks were changed, the autumn had turned into the bitter bite of early winter, and the silence in your apartment was no longer heavy--it was peaceful. You and Chris had drifted back into a comfortable, albeit slightly guarded, rhythm. You watched movies, you ordered takeout, you talked about everything and nothing.
Until the night of the sleepover.
It had become a tradition of sorts over the years, a casual arrangement where he would stay over on a Friday night after a long week of work, the two of you staying up until three in the morning arguing about music or films. But tonight felt different from the moment he walked in.
Usually, the first thing you did was raid his duffel bag for one of his oversized gray hoodies or a pair of his softest flannel pants. It was a habit born of comfort, a platonic shorthand. But tonight, as you stood by the closet, your fingers hovered over the drawer of your own clothes.
No, you thought. It’s too complicated now. If I wear his clothes, it means something else. It feels like taking something I haven't even earned.
You opted instead for a pair of your own black silk shorts and a matching camisole--simple, neat, entirely yours.
When you walked into the living room where Chris was setting up the laptop on the coffee table, he paused. His eyes moved down your form, noting the absence of his own cotton fabric, the way the thin straps of the camisole exposed the line of your collarbones and the pale skin of your shoulders. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he turned back to the screen without a word.
The movie played, but neither of you were watching it. The space between you on the couch felt charged, a live wire hummed beneath the cushions. By the time the credits rolled, the room was dark save for the blue glare of the monitor.
"You didn't take my hoodie tonight," chris said. The statement was quiet, cutting through the hum of the refrigerator. He was looking at his hands, his thumbs tracing the silver rings on his fingers.
"Oh," you said, your voice small. "Yeah. I just... I figured I should wear my own stuff. Didn't want to make things weird."
"Why would it be weird?" He turned his head, his dark eyes catching the dim light. There was a seriousness in his expression now that hadn't been there all evening. The easygoing friend had vanished...
"Because things are different, Chris," you said, turning slightly to face him, pulling one leg up under you. "Ever since... that night. I know what you said. And I know how you look at me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It’s a complicated thing," you whispered, looking down at your lap. "You... you deserve someone who doesn't have the baggage I have, chris. you’re good. ou’re whole. I spent the last year letting someone treat me like nothing, and I believed him. If I... if we do this, if I let myself want you, it feels like I’m offering you a broken toy."
chris didn't hesitate. He shifted closer, his large frame instantly warming the space beside you. He reached out, his hand wrapping around your jaw, his thumb resting just beneath your ear, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. They were fierce, intense, and incredibly soft all at once.
"Don't do that," he said, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that made your chest tighten. "Don't you dare talk about yourself like you’re damaged goods. You aren't a broken toy. You’re the only person I’ve looked at for four years. You think I care about him? You think what he did changes who you are to me?"
"Chris..."
"No, listen to me," he insisted, his grip firm but incredibly gentle, his palm warm against your skin. "I don't want 'better.' I want you. I want the girl who laughs at bad horror movies, the girl who fights for her friends, the girl who is sitting right here in front of me. Every single part of you. The parts he didn't know how to value, those are the parts I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of."
A tear slipped from your eye, hot and fast, and Chris caught it with the pad of his thumb.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. "It drives me crazy how little you see it. Let me show you. Please."
The vulnerability in his voice was your undoing. The walls you had spent a month building out of fear and insecurity didn't crumble; they dissolved under the heat of his gaze. You didn't answer with words. You leaned forward, closing the final inch between you, and pressed your lips to his.
The kiss began with a tentative, reverent softness, a quiet exploration that felt like a question asked in the dark. But the moment your lips parted against his, a low growl rumbled deep in Chris’s chest. The restraint he had practiced for months snapped like a dry twig. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, anchoring you to him as his mouth grew hungrier, deeper, consuming you with a fierce, possessive heat.
You gasped into his mouth, the sudden intensity of it sending a shiver straight down your spine. His other hand found your waist, his broad palm burning through the thin silk of your camisole as he pulled you effortlessly onto his lap. You straddled his thighs, your knees digging into the cushions on either side of his hips, your hands finding the thick muscles of his shoulders, clinging to him as if the world were tilting beneath you.
"Chris," you breathed against his lips, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"I’ve got you," he panted, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, chaotic second. His eyes were dark, dilated, full of a raw, primitive desire that was entirely focused on you. "You’re right here. I am all yours and you’re all mine tonight."
He didn't rush. For all the heat in his movements, there was an underlying deliberation, a desire to worship rather than consume. His hands moved down to the hem of your camisole, his fingers skimming the bare skin of your stomach, causing your muscles to twitch and tighten under his touch. he gathered the fabric up, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted it over your head and tossed it into the darkness of the room.
The cool air hit your skin, but before you could feel self-conscious, Chris’s hands were back, cupping your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the line beneath your breasts with a reverence that made you ache.
"look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with awe. "God, you’re perfect. Every single inch of you."
He leaned down, his lips pressed to the hollow beneath your throat, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive skin there. You arched into his touch, your fingers gripping his hair as he began a slow, deliberate descent down your body. His hands slid down to your silk shorts, tugging them over your hips with a smooth, practiced movement until you were completely bare before him in the dim blue light.
Chris moved you gently, laying you back against the cushions of the couch, his large body hovering over yours like a shield. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his gaze running over your form with a heat that felt physical.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his hand sliding down between your thighs, his fingers gently parting you. "So soft for me. Let me see how much you want this."
You let out a broken whimper as his middle finger slipped inside you, wet and warm, finding the core of your heat instantly. He groaned at the sensation, his thumb finding the sensitive clitoris, pressing down with a rhythmic, torturous pressure that had your hips lifting off the couch automatically.
"That’s it," Chris whispered, his voice a dark, velvety caress against your ear. "Move for me, baby. You’re so tight. So perfect."
He added a second finger, stretching you slowly, his movements deliberate and deep. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, your teeth biting into the fabric of his shirt to keep from crying out as the pleasure began to coil tight and heavy in your lower stomach.
"Chris, please," you begged, your voice strained, your fingers digging into the leather of the couch behind him. "I want you. Now. Please."
He pulled his fingers out with a soft, wet sound that made your cheeks flush. He stood up just long enough to rid himself of his clothes, his broad shoulders and muscular chest cast in sharp relief against the shadows of the room. When he returned to you, the sheer presence of him was overwhelming. He settled between your thighs, his knees forcing yours wider, his large hands reaching up to pin your wrists gently beside your head.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
You opened your eyes, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
"This is us," Chris said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel completely exposed, yet entirely safe. "Just you and me. No one else."
He lowered his hips, the blunt head of his length pressing against your entrance. He paused, waiting, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he pushed forward, a slow, relentless intrusion that filled you so completely you felt a sob catch in your throat. He was larger than you remembered, firmer, filling every empty space within you until there was no room left for anything but the reality of him.
"Oh god, Chris," you cried out, your head tossing back against the cushion as he buried himself to the hilt.
He let out a long, ragged exhale, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as he absorbed the tight, searing heat of you. When he opened them, they were burning. He began to move, a slow, deep friction that was less about speed and more about depth, each stroke deliberate, each slide out and back in a testament to his possession.
"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice rough, entirely stripped of its usual polish. He released your wrists, his hands sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting them higher onto his shoulders to deepen the angle. "So wet, so warm. You were made for me, do you hear me? Only me."
The dirty talk was a sharp contrast to the tenderness of his touch, a delicious contradiction that sent your senses into overdrive. You reached up, your nails scratching against the taut skin of his back, leaving faint, red tracks across his shoulder blades as the pace began to quicken.
"Am I better?" Chris whispered suddenly, his movements stalling for a fraction of a second as he drove deep into you, holding himself there, his chest pressed hard against yours. His breath was hot against your cheek, his voice a mix of vulnerability and dark, possessive pride. "Tell me, baby. Am I better than him?"
The question wasn't born of malice; it was the final, desperate exorcism of the ghost that had haunted the room for months.
"Yes," you sobbed, your hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him down until your lips were brushing his. "Yes, Chris. Always. You’re everything. Please, don't stop."
A dark, satisfied smile touched his lips before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He began to move with a fierce, unchecked rhythm, his strokes fast and heavy, driving you higher and higher toward the edge. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his lips leaving a trail of dark, bruising marks along your collarbone--claims, physical markers of the boundary he was drawing between your past and your present.
The pleasure broke over you like a wave, sudden and violent. You convulsed around him, your walls clamping down on his length in tight, electric spasms. Chris let out a loud, undone groan at the sensation, his body stiffening as he drove deep one last time, his own release hitting him with a force that shook his entire frame. He poured himself into you, his muscles trembling under your fingertips as the tension finally drained from the room, leaving only the sound of two people breathing in the dark.
The aftermath was quiet, a gentle landing after a long fall.
Chris didn't pull away immediately. He stayed buried inside you for several long minutes, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath slowing down against your skin. When he finally shifted, he did so carefully, as if you were made of glass, rolling onto his side and taking you with him.
He pulled the discarded blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over both of your naked bodies, shielding you from the cool air of the room. He tucked you against his chest, his large arm wrapping around your waist, pulling your back flush against his stomach.
The silence now was entirely different. It was soft, domestic, filled with the comfortable weight of a shifting reality.
Chris leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the bare skin of your back shoulder, right over the spot where his teeth had left a faint mark only minutes before. his hand moved down to your thigh, his fingers gently tracing the skin, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip.
"I’ve got you," he whispered into the dark, his voice rough and sleepy, but entirely certain. "You’re safe now. We’re good."
You closed your eyes, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, filling the old, hollow spaces with something solid, something permanent.
for the first time in a very long time, the loop was broken. And as you fell asleep to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your back, you finally believed him.
Chris's hands were flat on Y/N's desk, his body suddenly looming over and casting a shadow over her space. His natural musky scent pierced the small bubble she had surrounded herself with, and Y/N's stomach churned with a nauseating combination of both heartwrenching familiarity and anxiety.
“I'm not,” Y/N said softly. She noticed how his hands were deliberately placed in areas where her artwork wasn't scattered around, so he didn't accidentally ruin them, and her chest tightened; a completely automatic body response that she barely even felt. “Just … busy.”
Chris's sigh was heavy and ruffled Y/N's hair like a gentle breeze. “Baby.”
“Christopher,” Y/N acknowledged, shuffling through her papers and not meeting his gaze.
Reaching out, Chris's fingers took a hold of Y/N's chin and tilted her face up to look at him. He immediately saw the lack of sparkle he was so used to seeing in her eyes, and the way they had started to droop at the corners. His face softened at the sight of her, and his thumb slowly caressed her jaw.
“Are you feeling numb again?” Chris asked in a gentle voice.
His question made Y/N's eyes prickle. There was no hiding anything from her husband, no matter how much she wanted to sometimes - he saw everything. She nodded once as her vision blurred.
“Baby … “ Chris cooed, his face crumbling with empathy as he walked around the desk to where she was sitting. He looked into Y/N's face for silent permission before slipping his hands into hers and pulling her up to her feet, his arms curling around her shoulders as he brought her to his chest. His body was warm and his hands were gentle as they rubbed her shoulders and cupped the back of her head, carding through her hair.
For a moment, the horrid prison with emotion proof insulation that had trapped Y/N inside of, seemed to crack. She noticed a flicker of something trying to escape from inside of her, and her eyes feared up all over again.
“I told you that you didn't have to hide this part of yourself from me,” Chris murmured against her head. “I know your head is probably telling you to run, but that's the last thing you should do, yeah? I'm here for you. Always. Whether you can feel it or not.”
Sniffling, Y/N buried her face into her husband's broad chest. In her head, the idea of being held by him had had no positive effect on her like it usually would. If anything, she had felt even further away from him, like a high security metal wall was separating them from each other. But now that she was actually tucked up in his arms and her brain wasn't under the pressure of scrambling to imagine the feeling, her mind stilled. “I don't want to say something that will hurt you.”
“You have my permission to,” Chris smiled. His hand slowly smoothed down her hair in soothing passes. “What do you want to say to me?”
Y/N dug her fingers into his sides. More tears seeped into the soft polo shirt he was wearing, the fabric fragrant against her face. “That I feel like I don't love you anymore. When I think of you, I can't feel anything. And it hurts.”
Chris knew it wasn't her true feelings speaking, and he had heard her say such things before when she felt like this. He'd never hold it against her - yet the painful words said in her sweet voice that he so loved still made his chest clench and his eyes prickle. Chris never wanted to hear her say such things to him and for her to mean them … he was sure it would be the end of him if she did. He tightened his arms around her, pressing a quiet kiss to her temple as she started to speak again.
“I don't want to sound stupid. The same thoughts come to me every single time I'm numb and they make me anxious all over again … like I didn't learn anything from the last time.”
“That's not your fault,” Chris said gently. “You've always had strong emotions. When they suddenly disappear, of course your brain is going to panic even if you've gone through it a million times before.”
He pulled away a fraction and cupped her face, looking into Y/N's eyes with his usual warmth. “We've been through this before. You might be scared, but … I'm not. I know you'll get through this. You always do.”
Sniffling, Y/N looked up at him. “You're not scared even if I feel like I don't love you anymore?”
For some reason, Chris grinned. He started to chuckle, making Y/N's eyes widen.
“If you really didn't love me, I don't think you'd be clinging to me like that,” Chris looked down at where Y/N's fingers were clinging onto the side of his top for dear life. “Your brain might lie to you, but your body and your soul know the truth.”
At that, Y/N felt the tension inside of her release just a touch. She offered her husband a small smile.
She gulped then, brows furrowing. “If I think of you romantically I feel … weird.”
Growing up and living for more than two decades of her life in an extremely toxic environment had done more damage to Y/N than she had realised was even possible. When she had finally moved away and married Chris, the man who first introduced her to a peace and stillness that she had never experienced before, it seemed like her body could finally rest for a brief moment.
And for a while, it had - before all the past memories came crashing down on her for one last final blow. It seemed no amount of healing could shield her entirely; even when she thought she was completely okay, her body sometimes shut down completely when it thought the feelings she was experiencing were too strong, whether they be negative or positive ones. It was becoming a less frequent occurrence now that she was far away from the source of her pain. But from time to time, her battered nervous system couldn't handle it, and it still filtered out the things that meant the most to her as a way to protect her from her own self.
Since Chris was the one person in the world that she loved more than anything and felt the most for, it meant he was the first one her body shut out.
And there was nothing more terrifying and nausea-inducing than looking into his beautiful face that usually brought her so much comfort, and feel absolutely nothing.
“So don't,” Chris said gently, his fingers brushing her hair away from her face. “Think of us as just friends instead.
“Just friends … ?”
“I mean … we've always been best friends before anything, right? That hasn't changed.”
Y/N nodded, her smile becoming warmer.
Chris's eyes filled with mirth and he leaned closer to her. “Aight, bro?”
Y/N burst into soft giggles, her cheeks flushing with colour. She sat back down in her chair as Chris chuckled after her, and he dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of her head before walking back to the other side of the desk.
“That was a friendly kiss,” he added, pointing at her. “I'm going to go make you a coffee. Whaddya fancy? Hot or cold?”
Eyes lighting up at the mention of coffee, Y/N rested her chin on her hand. “Mmm … hot?”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You don't sound sure.”
“I'm sure,” Y/N smiled softly.
Perhaps the hot beverage would help thaw the stubborn wall inside of her.
“‘Kay,” Chris tapped his fingers on the doorframe as he walked half out of his wife's studio. He looked at her over his shoulder with mischief painted all over his face. “Love you. Platonically.”
Giggling under her breath as Chris left the room, Y/N sighed a little and pulled herself towards her work again. But her mind was still focused on her feelings - or lack of them.
She had to admit, imagining her husband as nothing more than a close friend did a lot to ease the heaviness on her chest. She was guilty of forgetting love was an emotion just like anything else - sometimes, it could disappear, but it didn't mean she adored the man she shared a life with any less.
Leaning back in her chair, Y/N swung around a little, turning to look through the large window behind her. She was so lost in admiring the way the early afternoon sunshine spilled across the blades of grass that she didn't realise her husband had returned until she heard a soft thump of ceramic hitting her desk.
She looked up again, seeing Chris smiling fondly at her as he placed a mug of sweet smelling coffee in front of her. “A coffee for the bro,” he said with a wide grin.
Y/N started to giggle. “I'm the one who usually calls you bro … this feels weird.”
“Yeah and I told you to stop calling me that,” Chris rolled his eyes dramatically up to the ceiling. “You can call me baby, or babe, or love, or love of my life, or apple of my eye, or - “
“ - Or pain in my ass,” Y/N muttered, her eyes glinting with faint mischief.
“Absolutely not, that's not on the list,” Chris said. “No bro, and no pain in your ass.”
“But I like calling you bro,” Y/N pouted as she picked her coffee up. “Besides. Didn't you say I should think of you as a friend today?”
Chris's lips twitched. He wagged his finger at her. “Fine. Bro pass for today only.”
“Thanks bro,” Y/N grinned cheerfully and took a slow sip of her coffee. She sighed in bliss, the creaminess of the steamed milk feeling like a hug for her insides. “Thanks. For the coffee.”
Chris brushed away her gratitude with a dramatic wave of his hand, making Y/N smile around the rim of her mug. “Aight. Ima leave you for a bit. Unless … you want me to stay?”
Y/N looked at him with softening eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“Dunno,” Chris shrugged. “Maybe watch something.” He cocked his head to the side, observing the way the very tops of Y/N's eyebrows raised a fraction. He smiled to himself; she was still there, even if she didn't feel like it. “Wanna join me?”
Chewing on her lower lip, Y/N gazed at her husband for a while before nodding slowly. She watched as Chris extended his hand out to her from the doorway, and she gulped back a lump forming in her throat as she got up from her cushioned seat, bringing her mug with her.
She slipped her fingers into Chris's, and he immediately folded them up in his warm grip, his lips delivering an affectionate kiss to the back of her hand before he led her out of her studio and down the wide hallway into their main living area.
Y/N watched Chris sit down on the sofa, and the way he patted the space next to him as he reached for the remote. She gripped her coffee close and sat beside him, and he didn't push to constantly commentate as they watched the TV, nor cuddle her the way he usually did. Instead, his arm rested on the back of the sofa, his fingers very lightly toying with Y/N's hair as they watched a movie together, so light that she almost didn’t feel it. Just enough to remind her that he was close by if she needed him.
After a while, Y/N pulled her legs up beside her and slowly shuffled to lay her head down in her husband's lap. Sometimes when she was feeling this way, the sight of Chris's beautiful face was too much for her nervous system to handle; almost like his face set off alarm bells in her brain because it meant too much for her, and the thing she loved the most was used against her. But for some reason, hearing his voice or smelling his warm scent or just feeling him never had that anxiety inducing effect on her. If anything, it was the opposite; laying her head in his lap seemed to act as a balm for her soul, and she instantly felt her breaths even out.
Chris's hand gently smoothed its way through his wife's hair, his gaze secretly on her instead of the TV. He wished he could break through that resentful wall that took his wife away from him every now and then; he wished she didn't have to still feel the aftermath of the destruction she was exposed to all those years ago. But he couldn't do anything about either of those things, and as a man who prided himself on fixing everything, it quietly drove him insane.
He leaned down and carefully pressed a kiss to Y/N's temple, and then to her cheek, and to the soft skin behind her ear. “You know I love you, right?” He said in a quiet voice.
Chris's words rumbled like calm ocean waves through Y/N's back, and her eyes prickled. Did she know that? She couldn't feel it in her … but logically she thought he must do, otherwise he wouldn't be here with her the way he was. She focused on how careful his fingers danced along her shoulder; no amount of pretence could ever replicate the sheer affection that dripped from his touch alone.
She sniffled against his warm thigh, blinking back her tears. “As friends?” She joked in a hoarse voice.
Chris's laugh was silent, shaking his body. “Yeah. Always. Amongst other things.”
Y/N smiled, and she turned her face to kiss his knee. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I know.”
He squeezed her hand softly. She squeezed it back, and Chris's other hand patted the top of her head, his fingers massaging her scalp in slow sweeps.
“Go to sleep,” he hummed. “You need rest.”
“But - “
“No buts. You know you'll feel better afterwards.”
He was right. She always felt a little lighter after sleeping extra on days such as this one. She nodded slowly, and let her eyes fall shut, focusing on the way Chris's fingers soothed her all the way into her dreams.
When Y/N woke, the morning sunlight had turned into late afternoon sunshine, spilling in deep gold waves against the floorboards. Chris was gone, a fluffed up pillow beneath her cheek in place of his strong thighs. Eyebrows furrowed, Y/N sat up a little, rubbing her eyes and looking around, just as Chris came around the sofa and set a large tray on the coffee table in front of her.
“You're awake,” Chris flashed his dimpled grin at her. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” Y/N yawned.
“Nah. You were passed out for five hours.”
Y/N's eyes widened and Chris chuckled, leaning in to caress her head and kiss her forehead. “Relax. You deserved it. Feel any better?”
In response, Y/N reached out and curled her fingers into the front of his top, stopping him from pulling away. Chris looked down at her, hand still cupping the back of her head.
His lips twitched up into a little smirk. “What do you want, baby?”
Y/N flushed. “More forehead kisses.”
Chuckling, Chris sat down beside her and did just that. He peppered her forehead with tender kisses before Y/N sniffled and buried her face into the crook of his neck, clinging onto him for dear life.
“Hey … what's wrong?” Chris breathed against the top of her head. “You okay?”
She nodded and tightened her arms around him. She didn't respond verbally, just clung to her husband, and Chris returned the embrace for as long as she needed, his kisses showering all over her.
When Y/N pulled away again, her eyes landed on the tray on the table and she gaped at the still steaming bowls. “You … “
Chris chuckled, ears turning pink. “Thought you needed a bit of cheering up.”
“You made all of this? Just now?” She wondered aloud, eyes blurring again at the sight of her favourite food.
“Well, yeah … you slept for ages,” Chris teased.
Y/N scowled and swatted at his arm. It made Chris chuckle.
“There she is,” he winked. “Little rascal.”
“Shut up,” Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes. And then she dived right back into her husband's arms, squeezing him tight in a silent thank you.
Beaming from ear to ear with her reaction, Chris patted her head. “C'mon. I'll feed you.”
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about: you start dating your old school's biggest fuck boy, someone doesn't seem to be happy about it.
warnings: smau, cursing, humor, fluff, angst, cheating. Bang Chan x Fem!Reader. James x Fem!Reader. Mentions of other idols: James - CORTIS, Martin - CORTIS, Giselle- AESPA.
a/n: reminder to ignore the time stamps and that the tag list is closed. <3 disclaimer: This smau is fictional and written for entertainment only. The characters are not meant to represent the real people. Their actions and personalities in this story do not reflect who they are in real life or how I see them!
please do not interact with my posts or blog if you're a minor.
about: you start dating your old school's biggest fuck boy, someone doesn't seem to be happy about it.
warnings: smau, cursing, humor, fluff, angst, cheating. Bang Chan x Fem!Reader. James x Fem!Reader. Mentions of other idols: James - CORTIS, Martin - CORTIS, Giselle- AESPA.
a/n: reminder to ignore the time stamps and that the tag list is closed. <3 disclaimer: This smau is fictional and written for entertainment only. The characters are not meant to represent the real people. Their actions and personalities in this story do not reflect who they are in real life or how I see them!
please do not interact with my posts or blog if you're a minor.
synopsis: just what I think their love languages are/how they show up with little blurbs of smut | 3.2k words (I kinda went a bit overboard)
warnings: MDNI, established relationship, explicit sexual content (18+), NSFW, oral sex (m/f receiving), penetrative sex (PIV), dirty talk, implied marking/claiming, edging, pet names (babygirl, princess, kitten, good girl, muse, etc.), suggestive language, fluff & smut, MDNI, sorry if I missed any, semi proofread
Bang Chan | Acts of Service & Physical Touch
Chan is an acts of service guy through and through. He's someone who expresses his love by making your life easier before you even realize you need the help. The way he expresses his love shows up in the little things not necessarily in grand gestures. Chan remembers when your car needs an oil change making sure he can send it off to the mechanic, he knows when the temperature drops you’ll be cold and he’ll inevitably need to buy more blankets or buy a hoodie he can wear for a couple of days before handing it over to you, he knows when you’ve had a hard week and will try to create a nice little date night so that you can relax. Chan remembers the small things you mention no matter how mundane they may seem to you. He’ll remember that you like the coffee two streets over rather than the one down the street because their cinnamon and vanilla syrup is slightly different. He’ll remember you mentioned hating the texture of that one hoodie brand, so he’ll make sure to avoid those and settle for the soft ones instead.
Physical touch for Chan would happen naturally as he gets increasingly secure in the relationship. When he feels really secure his touchiness would become extremely obvious. He would love to have his hand on your waist, guiding you through crowds, moving you to the side when you try to pay, and even if he was talking to someone else, his hand would stay rooted to your waist as he leans in to listen to what they’re saying. When you’re alone, his touch changes. He loves pulling you between his thighs, having you on his lap with his chin hooked over your shoulder, he loves pressing kisses to the side of your neck. It doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, Chan likes to feel connected to you and if it means his hand is on your thigh or your knee, he will take what he can get. Honestly, half of the time Chan probably doesn’t even realize how much he is touching you because to him it’s just normal, it’s just a need. Kissing you every time you walk by him? Normal. Touching your waist to move past you, to grab a bowl from the cupboard? Normal. Hugging you for an extra couple of minutes because he’s going to have a long day? Normal.
Sometimes his touch is innocent, sometimes it’s a prelude to more. He’ll hold you while you watch some TV show he swears he’s paying attention to while his hand finds its way under your shirt with small caresses on your hip bone that sometimes dip under your waistband. He’ll kiss your neck slowly while whispering how good you look, how good you are for him, how much he needs you, how much he craves you. Inevitably, one thing will lead to another, and you’ll find yourself under him, clothes discarded while his breath ghosts over your inner thigh whispering against your skin. He’ll take his time re-learning your body (though he knows it plenty by now), his tongue flicking through your folds, his fingers curling inside your pussy with the knowledge of someone who has spent time learning what you like. When he slides inside you burying himself to the hilt, he’ll move in a way that claims you from the inside out, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back and cling to his shoulders. He’ll whisper praises against your skin, against your neck, against your ear telling you how well you take him, how good you are for him, how much he loves knowing he’s the one who can make you lose your mind. He’ll tell you how you deserve to relax, how he’ll take care of you, make you feel good because it’s all he wants. When he’s close, he’ll lean down keeping his eyes on you while he speaks through thrusts, “gonna give you everything babygirl, every last drop. You deserve it, you deserve to feel so full of me,” before marking you in the most primal way he knows how. Afterwards, he doesn’t go far he cleans you up, hands you the water he brought over before everything started, and he ends up pulling you into him because after a physical claiming he can’t get enough, he can never get enough.
Lee Minho | Acts of Service & Quality Time
Lee Minho's love language is both acts of service and quality time. Lee Minho listens and unlike people who claim they listen but tend to listen selectively, Lee Minho listens to everything you say. He won’t tell you outright what he’s planning to do, content to just do it and have you notice that he’s suddenly remembered something you mentioned in passing 3 months ago. He remembers the little things about you and plans or adjusts accordingly. He remembers how you hate a certain vegetable and he’ll adjust his recipes based on this. He’ll look at the way you’re trying to squeeze out the last bit of your moisturizer and make it his mission to get you a new one the next day. The thing about his acts of service is that he has an uncanny ability to anticipate what you’ll need before you can voice it or maybe he just pays that much attention. If you’re overworking yourself, eyebrows furrowed looking at your laptop, he’ll immediately go and make you a bowl of rice with an egg that still has the yolk running, just the way you like it. He wouldn’t stick around for praise because to him the biggest form of satisfaction is watching you eat what he made you, watching you take a deep breath and take a minute to indulge in the small acts he knows you love. And maybe that’s the most important thing about his acts of service, is that he never makes it feel like a favor he just does it. He’ll refill your water bottle; drive you places even when they’re out of the way. He’ll tease you because he likes your reaction, the way you roll your eyes and shove his shoulder while your lips twitch with the effort of trying to hold back a smile.
Quality time with Lee Minho is different. He is content to just sit around with the cats and you while reading a book. He doesn’t need grand romantic gestures, nor does he feel the need to attend a high-end steak house to feel connected to you. Sometimes its these moments that mean the most to you because of the though he puts behind it. He loves it when you ask him to come with you on errands because although they may seem boring to you, he likes sitting with you in the car, he likes listening to the explanation for why you seem to need to go to the store on that particular day. He doesn’t only want to spend time with you; he wants you included in his routines. If he’s running in the morning, he’ll wait the extra hour so you can wake up and go with him. If he’s grocery shopping, he asks you to tag along so you can also have a say in what you would like to add to the cart. If he’s cooking, he wants you there, either perched on the counter while you tell him about your day and the god-awful traffic you managed to get through or he wants you helping him. He’ll hand you the utensils you need before you ask for them because he knows your preferences even when it comes to kitchen utensils. And although he may not be the most affectionate in public, in private his physical affection shines through. He’ll stand between your legs while you’re perched on the counter, his hands on your knees looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing to him. He’ll catch your wrist as you walk by and tease you right before planting a soft kiss to your lips.
His observance is the foundation of his physical intimacy. Minho kisses you like he has all the time in the world, slow at first his lips moving against yours slightly teasing you when he knows you want the kiss to deepen. Inevitably, the kiss moves from soft to demanding, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, his hands moving to squeeze your ass so that he can swallow the surprised gasp you always let out. His tongue will trace patterns against you that will make you writhe and gasp while your hips buck seeking more of the friction, more of the pleasure all while he watches you, memorizing your reactions. He maintains control knowing exactly how to drive you to the edge and pull you back, edging you looking at your flushed face with a smirk playing on his lips, “you can wait a little longer, can’t you kitten?” When he finally fucks you, he tests different angles until he finds the one that has your walls fluttering against him. Afterwards he’ll savor the moment, not pulling out right away just pulling you into him so he can hold you until your heartbeats have slowed and your breathing has evened. After that he’ll clean you up and go back to holding you until you both succumb to sleep.
Seo Changbin | Words of Affirmation & Physical Touch
Changbin’s love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch. Just like Changbin’s muscles, his love is big. If you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to have a fan, to have someone who roots for you and celebrates all your successes, look no further than Changbin. Changbin has made it his personal missing to show you and tell you how much he loves you because he never wants you to forget it. You could stand in front of him, half asleep, hair mussed while you rub your eyes against the impending bright daylight and he’ll tell you you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He is your loudest cheerleader. You finished a project? He’s going to tell you how proud he is of you. You have a meeting you are dreading? He’ll hype you up and tell you how you’re going to kill that meeting because of all the work you’ve put into it. He compliments everything, your outfits, your laugh, your intelligence, the way you handled a difficult conversation, if you can think of something chances are he will compliment it. He’d be shameless about loving you and completely unable to pretend he is anything but whipped. In addition to everything, Changbin’s reassurance is constant. He would never want you to wonder if his love is real nor if he loves you. His sole purpose is to ensure you never have to question that. He’ll constantly tell you how much he loves you detailing every little thing he loves, how you’re the greatest thing to happen to him, and how he never wants to imagine a world where you aren’t his. And if someone were to drop your name into conversation or mention a topic in which he knows you can be brought up? All bets are off, everyone in that conversation will know how much he adores you and how proud he is of you.
Physical touch for Changbin would come as naturally as complimenting you. He loves hugging you, sometimes giving you massive bear hugs to the point where he can pick you up. He loves having a hand on your waist, pulling you against his chest every chance he gets so he can keep you within arm’s reach. He loves having you on his lap during conversations, one arm secure over your middle while his fingers trace patterns on your hip. If you ever try to move around too much, all he has to do is give you a look so that you can be more mindful of where exactly you’re sitting. One of his favorite things to do is kiss you until your brain stops forming coherent words. Wherever you go, whatever you’re doing, it doesn’t matter who’s there Changbin loves being physically connected with you. He’ll hold your hand lacing your fingers together, or wrap an arm around your waist, or throw his arm over your shoulders so you’re tucked into his side.
When it comes to physical intimacy, Changbin combines both of his love languages in a way that is almost unfair. He talks you through everything. Oh, you’re giving him head? He’ll tell you how good you look with your lips wrapped around his cock, how pretty your eyes tear up when you deep throat him. He’s giving you head? He’ll tell you how pretty your pussy is, how much he loves the way you taste, how pretty you sound moaning his name. Changbin is incredible vocal because he also wants you to know how good you’re making him feel but in turn, he wants you to be equally as vocal. He’s physically strong and he knows how to use that to his advantage. He’ll pin your wrists above your head while he thrusts into you, one leg hiked up over his hips. One of his favorite positions is when you ride him because that way he can look at your pretty face and tell you how good you look while your sopping pussy leaks all around his cock. “You’re so pretty like this princess, taking my cock into your soaking wet pussy, you’re my good girl right?” and most of the time his words are what undoes you. Afterwards, he gathers you up, all sweaty and breathless with no coherent thoughts, and holds you tightly against his chest while he whispers how much he loves you.
Hwang Hyunjin | Gift Giving & Physical Touch
Hyunjin doesn’t just call you his muse for the fun of it, he genuinely means it. He loves watching you, studying you, memorizing the way the light hits your face during different times of the day. He notices when your voice changes based on your moods, how your face flushes when you’re genuinely flustered though that’s different from when your face flushes when he makes you blush. He finds beauty in the small things about yourself that sometimes you don’t even notice. Hyunjin’s love language is a mix of physical touch and gift giving. His gift giving is not extravagant, nor expensive, nor materialistic though there are times where he will get you stupid expensive gifts for the fun of it. His version of gift giving is more emotional, more personal, and usually involves giving you things that he has made. He writes you letters constantly, leaves small notes for you to find randomly, draws you, or paints abstract concepts that remind him of you. If he goes to a flower shop, an antique market, a bookshop, the gift shop at the airport, heck even the gas station, he’ll always find something that begs him to be bought simply because it somehow has you written all over it. You know the cute and sometimes cheesy gifts people make for their significant other? Chances are Hyunjin has either done it or has considered doing it. He’s made you playlists, written you letters prompting you to open them when you’re sad or he’s away, he’s crafted a jar filled with reasons he loves you, and somehow, he hasn’t run out of ideas. Of course he’ll still buy you things though, that matching silver ring he has is a direct match to the one you have with engraved dates on the inside. The necklace with a H pendant? The custom Versace dress you wore to your year anniversary? The heels you own despite having talked yourself out of them? The custom Nike’s that match his own? The lilies that appeared on your desk despite them not being in season? Yeah, that’s all Hyunjin’s doing.
Hyunjin’s physical touch can be closely described to what feeling worshipped is. His touch always has a purpose but its always unconscious. He wants to trail his fingers from your shoulders down to your arm because he likes the way you shiver, he loves lacing your fingers together so he can rub his thumb against your skin, he enjoys pulling you into his lap cause he can smell the specific scent of your shampoo that still makes his heart beat faster. Every time he gives you something new or every time you find one of his gifts, it’s always accompanied with some sort of physical manifestation if he’s there. Arms loosely wrapped around your waist, fingers laced with yours tightly, kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, the side of your neck, or he’ll bring your knuckles up to his lips and plant a kiss there. He loves having you tucked against him, loves having his arms around your shoulders with his chin resting on the top of your head. Whenever he has you in his arms he’ll sigh, a full body content sigh, that says more than words ever could cause to him, having you in his arms is the best thing he could ever ask for.
Sex with Hyunjin is similarly beautiful and romantic. He always takes his time leaving lingering kisses that start with your lips and move down to your neck, the hollow of your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, down to your navel while he looks up at you with worshipful eyes. He’ll kiss down to your inner thighs while whispering against them how beautiful you are, how he can’t believe you’re his. He’ll watch your face while his tongue plunges inside your pussy noting how your eyebrows are furrowed, how your moans get trapped in your mouth, back arching to press more against his mouth and he wishes he could capture the beauty of that. When his cock enters you while you’re still oversensitive and coming down from your first orgasm, he focuses on your eyes. He loves maintaining eye contact for as long as he can while he thrusts into you. He loves how you hold on, how you try to hold eye contact while your eyes flutter and your nails scratch at his back. He loves the fucked out look you get, dazed and full of pleasure so deep he knows he’s going to want to capture that color in his next painting. He’ll thrust into you filthy, worshipful words muttered against your lips, “my muse, my beautiful muse, this pussy was made for me, made to take my cock, mine to pleasure” he’ll grunt in between thrusts as he chases his high while pushing you over the edge. And he creates a masterpiece when he comes, painting your cervix with his release pushing it as deep as he can and watching it ooze out of you, his favorite muse. Once it’s all done Hyunjin doesn’t let you go, if anything he holds you closer kissing your eyelids, your forehead, the tip of your nose, ensuring he can pour out every ounce of his love through the soft, affectionate kisses.
a/n: hi guys! I had this idea and was pretty excited to execute it so I hope it's good! My DMs and requests are always open!! feedback, comments, and reblogs are always greatly encouraged and appreciated 💋 If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know!
YOU KNOW WHAT IM THINKING ABOUT? BEING WINE DRUNK. with chan, LIKE. hear me out okay.
you're wearing an oversized shirt - his - and just your panties. you're in the kitchen, and maybe heating up some leftover pasta. chan's fucked you seven ways into sunday, your hair now a mess, and he just casually walks in with nothing but his sweatpants loose on his hips.
you're somehow in a situation where you're both having a heated banter about something related to greek mythology.
"so you think humans are better than gods?"
"obviously not. gods literally control everything."
"yeah, and they're also emotionally unstable TODDLERS with lightning."
"brave of you to insult zeus while drinking wine, sweetheart."
you dramatically bring your hand to your chest, your eyes wide as you stare at chan. "he literally cheated on everyone he's ever loved. i'm allowed to insult him."
"you're just jealous he could pull."
"no," you tilt your head to look at your boyfriend, the ladle forgotten in the pasta dish as you turn to face him. "i'm judging his personality, not his terrible taste in women."
"terrible?" he questions, walking you against the counter beside him, propping you up and placing you on it. chan leans in to place an open-mouthed kiss onto your shoulder, his hands rubbing the sides of your thighs as he stands between your legs.
"don't argue with me," you pout, still a bit tipsy on the wine you were both having. you've almost finished the bottle now, you notice as you reach for it. chan lifts the shirt up just a little, reaching to play with your nipples, earning a moan from you; his other hand reaches to pull your soaked panties to the side, teasing your clit just a little, enough to get a reaction from you.
your fingers grip the bottle tighter as you look into his eyes. "you like it when i argue with you, bub. don't you? gets you really needy, and wet for me." he mumbles into your skin, his thumb rubbing your clit, switching between rubbing and pinching. you whine, dropping the bottle onto the counter next to you, gripping onto chan's bare shoulders. your nails now digging into his skin.
"s-still sensitive," you whimper into his mouth as he presses soft kisses to your lips. "yeah? that didn't stop you 15 mins ago when you were crying out my name. i know you have it in you, one more. hm?"
your legs come to wrap around his waist, bringing him closer to you - close enough to feel his boner against your thigh.
"o-one more," you nod, letting him carry you back into your bedroom, pasta long forgotten now.
"we'll see about that, sweetheart."
note. should i be back because hi, i need to be stopped, and ive been thinking about this since i saw dis yesterday on pinterest I NEED HELP BUT HI JDAOSUDHU there's dis guy im talking to AND IDK HOW TO FEEL ABOUT HIM BUT UGHHH DIS JUST SHOWS HOW SINGLE I AM JESUS
summary: your ex returns as the father of one of your students and years of buried feelings threaten to unravel the life you carefully rebuilt without him
author’s note: please be kind this is my first time writing something like this, i hope you enjoy
it was one of those days when your only thought was getting in bed as soon as you stepped foot in your house. the unfortunate reality was that you were stuck at work, waiting for parents to pick up the last child remaining in your classroom.
you sat at your desk staring at a drawing left behind by said child; it was a chaotic, messy scribble of dark colors. for the past three weeks, the boy who built elaborate lego towers and shared his apple slices with everyone had been retreating into a shell. he had become violent too, pulling hair and biting classmates.
that day, the bell had already rung by twenty minutes, the other children had vanished into the arms of their parents while leo still sat at the small reading table in the corner, staring blankly at a picture book.
"leo, sweetheart," you said, your voice soft.
"your mom is a little late today. do you want to draw another picture while we wait?"
he didn't look up. he just shook his head, his small shoulders bunching up toward his ears.
suddenly, the door of the classroom creaked open. you stood up, ready to greet his mother, but the words evaporated before they hit the air. it wasn't his mother, it was a man in a dark coat, his hair slightly damp from the autumn drizzle outside, and his broad shoulders were tense. when he looked up, his dark eyes locked onto yours, and the room seemed to lose its air.
christopher bahng.
it had been five years since the mutual understanding that the distance of his new career abroad was too vast to bridge. there had been no screaming, no betrayal, just a clean break, a goodbye and the eventual news that he had moved on, married and started a family.
after that, you had buried the memory of his touch in the deepest corner of your mind, choosing to forget him.
the boy scrambled out of his chair, his sneakers squeaking loudly on the floor as he ran past you to hug the man. "daddy!"
chan dropped to both knees, catching the boy and burying his face in the crook of his small neck. his eyes never left yours over the boy's shoulder; they were wide and intense, filled with something you couldn't quite decipher.
"hey, buddy," chan murmured, his voice thicker, rougher than you remembered. he squeezed the boy tightly.
"i told you i'd make it. i caught the early flight."
when chan finally stood up, holding the kid against his hip, a formal politeness settled over his features, and he looked at you, scanning your face with curiosity.
"y/n," he said, his tone quiet.
"mr. bahng," you replied, your voice dropping to an equally polite and professional register. you clasped your hands in front of you, maintaining a polite boundary.
"i didn't know you were back in the country."
a flicker of heat tightened his jaw, he swallowed hard.
"i just got in. the school was supposed to be notified to add me to the pickup list."
"they weren't," you said softly, your expression impassive. "but leo obviously knows you. i'll just need you to sign the register before you leave."
"right." he signed the paper, his dark eyes lingering on your fingers as you handed him the pen. "we need to schedule a time to discuss leo. i understand he's been having behavioral issues."
"he has," you said. "you can schedule a parent-teacher conference through the main office, mr. bahng. have a good evening."
chan opened his mouth, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second too long before he gave a nod and carried his son out with him.
the tuesday after, chan arrived right on time, stepping into your office with his usual composure. he took a seat in the chair across from your desk, his long legs awkward in the tiny space.
"thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice," chan said softly, leaning his forearms on the edge of the desk, his hands resting flat against the dark wood.
"it's my job, mr. bahng," you replied, keeping your voice smooth and emotionless as you opened leo's folder. "i want to make sure we address his sudden changes early before they impact his entire school year."
"of course," he agreed, adjusting his position, his broad shoulders filling your field of vision. "where should we start?"
"leo's focus has dropped significantly over the past month. he's quick to frustrate, he refuses to share during free play, and he also bit a classmate during a dispute over building blocks. he's isolating himself, hiding under tables when it's time to clean up. this is entirely out of character for him," you explained.
chan winced slightly, he rubbed his thumb over the joint of his opposite wrist. "i'm sorry you've had to handle that. my...my marriage is ending. we're divorcing, and i've permanently relocated back here to be close to him. it's been a lot of sudden change. he's picking up on the shift."
"i see," you said, refusing to let your eyes betray any personal reaction to his news. you wrote a quick note on the page, keeping your posture stiff. "divorce is hard on a child his age. he probably feels out of control, so he's acting out. he needs stability above all else right now. i suggest keeping his home routine as predictable as possible, regardless of whose house he's staying at."
"i'm trying," chan murmured, his voice dropping. "i really am. but every time i try to talk to him, he shuts down. i came back to make things better, but i feel like i'm failing him already."
"it takes time," you said, keeping your tone strictly formal. "children take time to adjust; just... try to stay consistent."
he reached out slowly, resting his fingertips near the corner of the open folder, his knuckles brushing against the edge of your paper. the heat radiating off his skin made you withdraw your hand back instantly, dropping it to your lap. chan's eyes darkened, tracking the movement of your arm as he let out a slow breath.
"you're very distant."
"i am leo's teacher," you stated flatly, meeting his gaze before glancing quickly at your watch. "and our designated time for today is up, mr. bahng."
chan stared at you for a long moment, his eyes reflecting the classroom light, before he stood up slowly, pulling his coat over his shoulders. "right. until next time, then."
by friday of the following week, leo's behavior had slightly improved, although he still fought with other kids from time to time. that afternoon, chan came in for a follow-up on his son's weekly progress report. when he arrived, he didn't sit down right away. instead, he stood near the edge of your desk while you went through the notes, his presence heavy and magnetic.
"he had a better morning today," you said, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the papers to avoid looking directly at him. "he shared his blocks during morning playtime, and he didn't throw a tantrum when it was time to put the art supplies away."
"that's good," chan said softly.
he took two steps closer, leaning his hip against the corner of your desk. "i've been trying a different bedtime routine, reading the same book every night. it seems to help him settle down."
"good. consistency is key," you murmured, making a small checkmark on the page.
"why are you like this?" chan asked, quiet, heavy words dropping into the space between you.
you paused, your pen hovering over the paper. "what do you mean?"
"this act," he whispered, leaning down slightly so his chest was closer to your shoulder level. "you don't look at me, your voice is cold, you don't even call me by my name anymore. we used to be so close, why are you treating me this way?"
your breath caught in your throat, the cold facade faltering for a second. you slowly turned your head, keeping your expression as impassive as you could. "mr. bahng, please keep a professional distance."
"i'm trying," he whispered, his eyes dropping straight to your mouth. "i really am trying, but standing this close to you... smelling the exact same perfume you used to wear..."
he slowly leaned closer, giving you every second to push him away or step back, but your feet felt glued to the floor. he closed the distance until his warm breath was fanning directly over your upper lip, and you could see the faint pulse fluttering at the side of his neck. he tilted his head, hovering an inch from your mouth, his lips almost brushing yours with every shallow breath he exhaled.
"chan," you whispered, forced to address him by his name as you held your ground. "you should go."
he paused, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"i have a boyfriend," you said, the lie slipping past your lips with composure, whether it was a protective shield to keep him out or a boundary you needed for yourself.
chan closed his eyes for a second, his jaw flexing as he swallowed hard while you stared at him with an unreadable expression.
"right..." he nodded to himself. "of course you do."
"yes," you said flatly. you took a step back, creating immediate distance between you. "so keep this strictly about leo, or i will ask the administration to assign him a different teacher."
chan stared at you, his chest heaving as he fought down the urge to pull you back. "fine."
on thursday of the third week, a sudden thunderstorm had trapped half the school staff in the main building for an evening faculty meeting, leaving your corner office completely isolated at the end of the dark hallway.
chan knocked twice before pushing the heavy door open. he looked entirely done with the day; his dark jacket was gone, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his thick forearms and the bracelets he loved so much. he stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him.
"i brought the signed consent form for leo's sessions with the child counselor," he said quietly, holding a white sheet of paper in his hand as he walked toward your desk.
you stood up from your chair to receive it, keeping your posture detached. "thank you. i'll make sure it gets to the administration office first thing in the morning."
chan didn't hand the paper over immediately; instead, he placed it flat on the desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the room feel smaller than it was.
"are you happy with him?" chan asked softly, no malice or aggression in his tone, just a heavy curiosity. "your boyfriend. is he here right now waiting for you?"
you swallowed hard, your heart thumping wildly against your ribs as you struggled to maintain your shield. "that is entirely outside the scope of our meeting, mr. bahng."
"i don't care," he murmured, taking a slow step around the desk. "i sat through weeks of you treating me like a stranger, being cold and detached. but i watched you while you took that paper, your fingers were shaking."
"mr. bahng..." you warned softly, taking a step back until your back pressed against the edge of the desk.
"you need to stop calling me that," chan said, his voice dropping into a low rasp as he stepped directly into your personal space. he stood so close that you could feel the radiant heat of his body directly on you.
he reached out, and his warm breath met the side of your neck while his hand came to rest on your hip. he started placing wet kisses on your neck and collarbone, slowly rising to your jaw.
"tell me to stop," he whispered, "tell me you don't want this, and i'll walk out that door and never look at you like this again."
his trail of kisses led him to your lips; he planted a few more on your cheek as you slowly turned to face him. you looked up into his eyes, and the cold front, together with the silly lie about a boyfriend, shattered. you didn't tell him to stop. instead, you reached up, your hand caressing his cheek while the other rested firmly on his chest, and that single touch broke the dam. you snapped together, the years of restraint evaporating in a single second.
chan let out a low, ragged breath as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a deep, wet kiss. the lingering coldness in your body vanished instantly, melting into an overwhelming heat as your arms flew around his neck, your fingers tangling into his damp hair. he groaned against your lips; his hands moved down to your waist, his large fingers digging gently into your hips as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the edge of your desk. he stepped between your parted knees, pulling your hips flush against his groin so you could feel him through his trousers.
"god..." chan panted against your mouth, his kisses turning deeper, his tongue sliding against yours. "you're so warm. look at you..."
his hands moved to your blouse, unbuttoning it with practiced care rather than ripping it. he popped each button free, pushing the thin fabric off your shoulders until your bra was exposed to the cool air of the room. he leaned down, pressing hot, wet kisses to the swell of your breast, biting softly over the edge of the lace.
"chan... ah, wait," you whimpered, your fingers tightening in his hair before rushing to the bra clip, trying to unlock it. after struggling for seconds that felt like hours, you got rid of it, your breast finally free for him to kiss. he took one in his mouth, licking and sucking until broken sighs escaped your lips.
he reached down, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his palms, sliding his hands up your bare thighs. the heat of his skin against yours sent shivers through your stomach. he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slid them slowly down your legs, pulling them off your feet and dropping them to the floor.
then, he dropped to his knees between your thighs, placing his broad hands on your inner knees, gently pushing them wider apart until you were completely open to him. he looked up, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
"look at you," he murmured, his voice low. "so slick for me already."
he leaned in, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive center before he pressed his wet mouth directly against your clit. you let out a sharp, breathless gasp, your hands flying to his head, your fingers dandling in his hair as he pressed slow, open-mouth kisses on your peak.
he didn't rush; he used his tongue in long, slow laps, starting from the base of your opening and sweeping all the way up over your swollen clit. he tasted you thoroughly, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady while his mouth worked over you with precision.
"fuck, y/n," he muttered against your wet center, pulling back just an inch. "you taste just as sweet as i remembered. tell me i'm the only one who's been down here..."
"wouldn't you like to know?" you panted back, your head falling back as he slid two long fingers deep inside you, stretching you out while his thumb pressed firmly against your clit.
your composure was surely far gone, but you still held some grudges against him, never having truly fully forgiven him for leaving you that way.
chan growled softly, a sound of pure frustration, and buried his mouth back into you. his tongue flicked over your sensitive peak in a fast rhythm while his fingers pumped inside you with heavy thrusts that hit that deep spot on your front wall.
"say it," he commanded against your skin. "tell me no one else tastes you like this. tell me you missed just how much i missed you."
"god, yes!" you cried out, abandoning your pride as his fingers curled inside you, driving you closer to the edge. "no one else! just... keep going, please..."
"good," he panted, licking up your center with a heavy, wet stroke that sent a shiver straight up your spine. he hooked his fingers up, hitting your spot again while his mouth sealed over your peak, sucking softly.
that broke your control completely; you arched off the desk, your thighs clamping against his cheeks as a sudden, intense climax ripped through you.
"chan!" you screamed his name into the quiet office, your body shuddering violently as you squeezed his fingers.
he licked through every second of your release, drinking down your wetness; his low hums vibrated against your core until you were breathless and trembling. he stood up slowly, his face flushed, his lips slick and shining. he gripped your waist, pulling you to the very edge of the desk so your lower body met his hips.
"look at me," chan commanded softly, his voice thick with a raw, demanding desire as he pressed a soft kiss against your cheek and lips. "are you okay?"
you nodded quickly as you locked your hands around his neck.
"you talk too much."
that made him chuckle. "are you still trying to act tough?"
he guided his broad, wet tip to your slick entrance and pushed forward slowly. he stretched you, inch by inch, filling you so completely that your breath hitched in your throat. you let out a long moan as he sank all the way inside, his hips slamming flush against yours until he was completely buried in you. chan let out a low, guttural groan, his forehead dropping against yours as he held himself still inside you for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.
"fuuuck," he choked out, his chest heaving against your exposed breasts. "you feel even tighter than you used to be... gripping me like you missed it."
"you're full of yourself," you gasped out, arching your back until you were flush against his chest, your hips rolling upward to pull him deeper. "you haven't changed at all... always taking your sweet time."
"oh, you want me to hurry up?" he laughed softly against your lips. "because if i remember correctly, you used to beg me to go slow right here."
he pulled almost all the way out, teasing your entrance, before driving back in with a sudden stroke that made your knees shake.
"-right when i hit this spot."
"chan!" a loud, breathless cry escaped you, your legs hooking tightly around his waist. the wet sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the office walls, competing with the thunder outside. "you bastard..."
"say it again," he rasped, establishing a slower pace. he pulled back and drove in, long and heavy, his thrusts precise and punishing against your sweet spot. "tell me i know exactly what i'm doing to you. tell me it's just like before."
"it's better," you confessed, completely unraveling under the friction. your coldness was entirely replaced by a desperate, shameless need as the edge of the desk dug into your thighs. "god, chan, it's better... you're so thick.."
"because i'm starving for you," he growled, his pace turning faster, his hips slamming against yours with a heavy force that made the entire desk slide an inch against the floor.
"you think i forgot how you like it? how you used to bite your lip so the neighbors wouldn't hear?" he pressed a few kisses on your lips, and you laughed softly.
"you're the one making all the noise," you shot back, gasping as his hand reached down between your joined bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his fingers with every thrust.
"because you're squeezing me so hard i'm losing my mind," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper against your ear.
he shifted his angle, opening you up even wider to him. the deep stretch of his shaft hitting your front wall again pushed you straight over the edge for a second time.
"fuck, i'm coming.." you cried out, abandoning all caution as your internal muscles clamped around his length in a violent spasm.
he delivered four fast, deep thrusts, bottoming out inside you with incredible power. your climax squeezed him so tightly that chan let out a low, broken moan. he shook violently in your arms, his hot breath hitching against your neck as he poured his warm seed deep inside your core. his forehead was pressed to your shoulder while you held him close, stroking the back of his head gently.
for several minutes, neither of you moved. chan kept his forehead resting against your shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at your face, his fingers gently pushing damp strands of hair away from your forehead.
his eyes were soft, completely cleared of the guarded distance he had worn for weeks, filled now with a quiet warmth. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
"i missed you, y/n," he whispered softly. "i missed you so much.. please don’t go anywhere."
you closed your eyes, wrapping your arms securely around his neck, leaning into his heat as the last of your coldness dissolved completely.
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I BEGGED MY HOT ASS TA FOR A GRADE CURVE AND GOT CURVED BY HIS D*CK INSTEAD !
this is smut, do not interact if under 18
𓏲੭ ˒ he’s your TA. you’re failing his class. but he doesn’t think you’re dumb— just distracted. and now he wants your full attention.
pairing: TA!bang chan x f!reader genre/tags: college au, smut with plot, implied age gap, way too much sexual tension, oral (m + f receiving), dom!chan, nipple play, light degradation/praise kink, piv, unprotected s*x, creampie, possessive!chan, aftercare words: 11.5k (wtf is my life 💔)
[ note. ] — finally posting the first fic of my crash course series (i changed the titles hehe), spent the whole night editing this so i could post this weekend >.< ALSO thanks sm for 6k !! ily guys so bad <3
cross posted to AO3
college wasn’t supposed to feel this suffocating. at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself between long sighs of frustration and tugging on your hair like somehow pulling harder will pull an answer to all of your problems out of the air. it had to get better, right? at some point, you’d figure this out. at some point, you’d be able to catch up like everyone else, slide back into a rhythm, fix your grades, fix everything.
but no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, deep down you knew the truth.
you were absolutely fucked.
it had been building for months now, a slow unraveling that you hadn’t even noticed until the exam grades started rolling in and hitting like sucker punches straight to the ribs. a 61 in econ. 58 in calc. a humiliating 43 in the upper-division statistics course you had only signed up for because your advisor swore up and down you’d “do fine” if you just showed up, paid attention, and did the work. of course, nobody told you how hard it’d be to do the work when school felt like breaking your brain with each passing week.
and sure, it wasn’t entirely your fault you were in this now completely catastrophic mess. life happened. you were busy. sooo busy.
tests piled up, papers came due, and before you knew it, the semester had gotten away from you. one skipped lecture turned into two, and then three, because the hangover was too heavy, or you woke up too late, or maybe skipping just became easier than showing up and realizing you still didn’t fucking get it.
your friends didn’t seem to have a problem with it though. in fact, they seemed to be doing just fine, sitting pretty with half the stress you carried while partying with twice the energy. it was infuriating.
how did these trust fund, name-dropping, parents-pay-everything-for-me types just breeze their way through life while you clawed and struggled and stressed for every single second of yours?
“just don’t think about it,” they’d say when you worried aloud about your scholarship.
“take a mental health day. or week. you deserve it!”
“a curve will carry you through like always.”
but that curve was not saving your ass this time, and honestly, the guilt of falling so far behind wasn’t even the worst part.
the worst part was knowing you were the one who let it happen.
there wasn’t anyone else to pin this on, no scapegoat for the party invites you shouldn’t have accepted or the nights out you couldn’t say no to because it’d look bad to disappear. you’d just… kept up.
and things were fun— exciting, even— until they weren’t. until you realized just how hard you were sinking.
and now here you were; failing half your classes, barely passing the others, one more missed lecture away from kissing your scholarship goodbye. and you didn’t even have anyone to turn to for help.
the people you called “friends,” those picture-perfect girls with weekly blowouts paid on daddy’s card and those polished guys with frat pins and parents on donor lists— weren’t actually your friends.
because now that you needed something? now that you were desperate for someone to swoop in and save you from drowning? they only had half-hearted excuses to offer you.
“sorry, babe, we’re swamped with group projects,” one girl had said while sipping an overpriced matcha latte you knew for a fact her roommate paid for.
“dude, just hit up someone in your class. you’ll figure it out,” one guy shrugged, adjusting his collar on what was clearly a brand-new polo shirt for his friday night out.
every excuse only added to the dull ache in your chest.
so maybe they weren’t your friends, not really. maybe they just liked the version of you who didn’t ask for anything, the one who could keep up, who looked shiny and fun and confident all the time.
now, all you had to show for was a rapidly deteriorating GPA, an inbox of ignored emails from professors, a terrifyingly close “academic warning” notice, and a desperate gamble hanging on a thin thread of possibility.
and that gamble was chan.
you didn’t actually know much about him beyond his name, just that he seemed way too hot to be stuck explaining complex theories to freshmen and that he was ridiculously good at his job as a TA for your statistics course.
almost too good.
you sat in the back most of the time, quietly zoning out while he spoke about office hours or went over practice examples that looked more like hieroglyphics to you than math. sometimes you’d stare down blankly at your notebook, pretending to write, just so he wouldn’t call on you.
but now, you didn’t really have a choice anymore, did you?
you were cornered— trapped, honestly— with the weight of your failing grades pressing down on you so hard that it felt like it’d snap your spine in half. chan was your only chance to fix this, and there wasn’t any guarantee he’d even agree to help you.
as far as you could tell from the few glances— okay, stares— you’d snuck during class or the rare moments you did try to pay attention, chan wasn’t the kind of guy who did anyone favors for free. he was helpful, sure. ridiculously patient, disgustingly smart, but distant in this professional, untouchable way that felt more intimidating than approachable.
which sucked because he was so insanely good-looking it made your stomach twist everytime you saw him.
like how was that even fair? how did someone with a full schedule of grading papers and breaking down theorems for struggling students still look like that?
it wasn’t just the obvious things, either, like his jawline being sharp enough to slice through a brick wall or the way his hair always sat perfectly, even if it looked like he’d run his hands through it a million times. or the broad shoulders that strained against his button-ups, the way the rolled up sleeves gave a front-row view of his inked forearms when he turned to write on the board, he’d done that on purpose, you were sure of it.
no, it was deeper than that. something about him just… oozed authority. he had this natural confidence, this charm that made every interaction feel intentional, sharpened by polite smirks and these piercingly knowing looks that made you feel like he could see straight through you.
and that was terrifying.
you weren’t exactly one to shy away from attention. hell, you practically craved it on most days, but the idea of being in the same room as chan, let alone putting yourself at his mercy by asking for a favor this big? it put knots in your stomach.
to be fair, it wasn’t just how hot he was or how sharp his tone could get if someone asked an obviously stupid question. it was the fact that you knew— you knew— he’d seen you at your worst.
because, let’s face it, you weren’t exactly subtle. it wasn’t hard to notice the girl stumbling into class ten minutes late with one hand clutching a coffee she clearly didn’t need and the other hand trying to smooth yesterday’s mascara out from under her eyes. or the girl who’d roll her eyes during presentations, whispering sarcastic comments to her desk mate only to fail her own turn at the podium because she hadn’t read the material.
you saw it in the way his eyes flicked over you sometimes— brief, appraising glances, like he was clocking all the things you were doing wrong but didn’t have the energy to care. and that made asking for his help… well, humiliating wasn’t even the right word.
but when you thought of all your options, or lack thereof, it was clear. chan was your only shot.
which leads you to now, racing down the hallway outside his office hours, totally unprepared and already out of breath just thinking about how this might go.
your sneakers squeaked against the tiled floor as you skidded to a halt in front of his office door, heart hammering out an uneven rhythm.
what were you even supposed to say? “hi, sorry for being the laziest, least deserving person ever, but can you please do me a favor and save my entire academic career ??”
your reflection wobbled in the slim window beside the door, your hair’s slightly disarray, and your tote bag’s slipping off one shoulder. the image made something bitter crawl up the back of your throat.
you didn’t even look like the kind of student chan would want to help. no pressed chinos or perfectly highlighted notes. you didn’t smell like coffee and effort; you smelled like nerves and desperation.
but fuck it. this was life or death.
your knuckles rapped against the wood once, then twice, before your hand fell limply at your side. god, your heart was racing.
“come in.” his voice rang out from the other side, clipped and smooth, familiar to the point where your knees almost gave out. there wasn’t a single part of you that felt ready for this.
steeling yourself with one last breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside.
chan was at his desk, pen in hand, leaning over a stack of papers with that laser sharp focus that made you question if he was actually human. his glasses sat neatly in place, silver-framed and faintly reflecting the soft overhead light above him. it wasn’t until you had shyly cleared your throat that his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours. they were unreadable, scanning over you, down to your bag and back up again, before settling on your face.
“need something?” he asked, leaning back in his chair slightly.
this was it. do or die.
you tried not to let your voice tremble too much as you spoke. “hi, uh- hi, chan. do you have a minute? it’s about my grades.”
there was a pause, half a second that felt more like half an hour, before the smallest flicker of amusement crossed his lips.
“i figured.”
just two words, said so lightly they could’ve meant nothing, but they were enough to make your stomach curdle. you wrung your hands together in front of you, shifting slightly under the sheer weight of his gaze as he gestured for you to sit.
“go ahead,” he said, resting his chin in his palm now, pen dangling lazily between his fingers. his tone stayed polite, but there was something about the way his eyes followed you as you sank into the chair. “tell me what’s going on.”
fuck. where did you even start?
you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling bone dry as you stared back at him. chan’s gaze was pointed, measured, like he wasn’t just listening— he was assessing. waiting, with those sharp brown eyes unblinking, his full attention zeroing in on you in a way that was making it near impossible to concentrate.
this was already a disaster…
“well, um,” you began, your fingers nervously twisting the strap of your bag as you attempted (and failed) to keep your voice level. there was something annoyingly self-assured about the way he sat there, looking completely relaxed while your nerves threatened to devour you alive.
“i’ve been struggling with the coursework,” you said, your tone more apologetic than you wanted it to be. “like, a lot. stats isn’t really coming easy to me, and i guess i.. fell behind.”
he hummed softly, as if that didn’t surprise him one bit.
the sound made your stomach twist uncomfortably.
“i know it’s my fault,” you blurted out, tightening your grip on your bag’s strap like it’ll stop the word vomit. “i’ve been really busy, too busy, honestly, and i know i didn’t prioritize things the way i should have, but i swear, i’m not usually this bad—”
“how bad?” chan interrupted coolly.
you blinked, your voice freezing in your throat.
he quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, a gesture so calm, so subtle, and yet it sent a wave of dread rolling through your chest anyway.
“your grades,” he clarified, tone light and casual, the pen absently swaying between his fingers as if he wasn’t deliberately making you squirm. “how bad are we talking here?”
“uh…” you hesitated, swallowing again as the words caught on the lump in your throat. there really wasn’t a more humiliating way to admit this, so you just… ripped the bandaid off.
“failing,” you confessed. “like, actually failing.”
if chan was surprised, he didn’t show it. he didn’t do anything, really— except lean back further in his chair and once again let that infuriating, unreadable expression sit on his face.
“right,” he said slowly, dragging the word out as his eyes flitted down to his desk.
right.
the way he said it— low, simple, dismissive— was somehow worse than if he’d said nothing at all.
your cheeks flushed with heat as you continued feebly, trying to fill the silence stretching between you. “but, um, i can fix it! i’m not- i’m not hopeless or anything, and if there’s any sort of grade curve, i can—”
“you’re not getting a curve,” he said bluntly, cutting you off.
your heart sank somewhere into the pit of your stomach.
the words hit you like a brick to the face— not cruelly, and not even softly, just… so matter-of-fact, almost like he hadn’t even registered your desperation.
“oh,” you said lamely, voice wavering.
for a moment, it felt like the shame might actually swallow you whole.
you couldn’t bear to look at him now, but you felt his eyes narrow on you anyway— burning a hole through you as every ounce of resolve you’d built for this conversation unraveled bit by bit. this is what you’d been afraid of, wasn’t it? being dismissed. getting rejected so fast he wouldn’t even finish hearing you out.
“but,” chan said after the pause had lingered just a second too long, “if you’re serious about getting your grades up, maybe there’s something we can do.”
your head shot up so fast you felt lightheaded.
“r-really?” you stammered, your eyes wide and hopeful.
for the first time, his lips turned upward into a sly smirk— a barely-there expression that might’ve seemed harmless if his eyes didn’t gleam the way they did alongside it.
“sure,” he said simply, leaning forward now to rest his elbows on the desk between you. “come to my next office hours, and we’ll see how serious you actually are.”
office hours. simple enough, you thought.
except… the way he said it didn’t exactly feelsimple.
there was this weight behind the words, an implication you didn’t quite have the nerve (or the clarity) to fully dissect.
“okay,” you said quickly, trying to hide how much of a mess you already were.
chan reached for his notepad then, flipping it open before scribbling something down. you didn’t think you were looking particularly hard at his hands or his forearms, but the way the sleeve of his button-up pulled tight around his arm certainly made it hard not to notice.
“you’ll need help catching up. this isn’t something you can fix overnight,” he began, his voice returning to that smooth, professional tone that simultaneously put you on edge and made your chest feel unreasonably tight. “stats takes focus, effort, attention. it’s not something you can bullshit your way through.”
“i know,” you murmured, feeling small under the lecture but nodding eagerly anyway. “i will. i’m- i’ll focus, i promise.”
he didn’t answer, but the faintest hint of amusement returned to his face when he tore out the slip of paper and handed it across the desk.
a phone number.
his phone number.
“what’s this for?” you asked curiously, blinking up at him.
“so i can send you the address.”
your heart stuttered. “uh… address for what?”
he leaned back in his chair again. “you’ll come to my place next week,” chan said, still calm, but there was a heaviness in his tone you couldn’t miss. “that way, you can get the help you actually need, without all the distractions.”
there was something unreasonably intimate about the idea— you couldn’t even imagine slipping into his orbit here without losing your composure, and now he wanted you to see him in his space?
another knot twisted violently in your stomach.
he must’ve noticed the hesitation creeping into your face because the smirk tilted downward briefly, replaced with something oddly serious instead.
“you do want to get a passing grade, don’t you?”
his question made your lips part uselessly. “y-yeah. of course!”
“then i’ll see you there,” he said plainly, with an air of finality that left you no room to argue even if you’d wanted to.
you clutched the small slip of paper tightly between your fingers as the weight of his expectations, and his presence, stuck to your skin like damp heat.
and when you left that night, your own nerves clinging to you like static, one thing was painfully clear.
you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.
+
waking up five hours ahead of schedule should’ve been the first sign that today was going to feel completely off.
in fact, the entire day felt like one long, slow burn nightmare that had started from the moment your eyes shot open at 4 am and never quite recovered. with each passing minute, the reality of what you were about to do crept closer, sitting heavier and heavier in your chest.
you were going to chan’s… apartment. alone. to study. nothing else, obviously. just a completely normal… consensual… totally academic tutoring session with quite possibly the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on.
so what if his arms were covered in tattoos you wanted to lick the outlines of? or if the memory of his sharp smirk from office hours was burned so deeply into your brain that even your shower thoughts felt unholy?
it wasn’t like anything was going to happen.
still, you couldn’t stop the way your whole body buzzed with nerves as you left your apartment that afternoon.
you’d spent way too much time debating what to wear— going through a tornado of outfits in your tiny room until your bed was buried in every top and pair of jeans you owned. you finally settled on something that you hoped gave, oh, this? i just threw it on! what, no, of course i don’t care that deeply about your opinion of me, even if the truth was written all over your mistake-proof eyeliner and the lingering scent of vanilla perfume on your wrists.
as a last minute, desperate attempt to soften him up, you stopped by a bakery near campus to grab some cheesecake slices. they were way too expensive for your crumbling student budget, but you figured they might do a little to save your poor, failing ass if your consistent eye twitch didn’t already scream pathetic gratitude. it was as much a bribe as it was a peace offering. you were about to invade his personal space, after all.
when you got to his building, you were a goddamn wreck.
your hands were clammy against the handle of the bakery box, your stomach twisting into violent knots as you rode the elevator to his floor. when the doors slid open, the reality of the situation hit you all over again; chan had only agreed to this because you were failing.
it wasn’t because he liked you, or thought you were special, or that he wanted to spend any alone time with you, despite every wildly horny fantasy your brain had conjured over the weekend. no, you were here because you were barely passing, and whatever mercy he was giving you came with conditions.
he’s seen it all, you reminded yourself. heard it all. probably helped a million people like you. don’t think you’re anything special, idiot.
your hands shook slightly as you reached his door, and after a brief moment of hesitation, you knocked.
the sound echoed back sharply, filling the silence of the hallway like a bomb ticking down the seconds. you almost bolted on the spot before you heard the faint shuffle on the other side, quick footsteps, the sound of the lock turning— and then, there he was.
chan leaned against the edge of the doorframe, his hand rested casually on the knob as his eyes danced over you in an entirely neutral expression. no glasses today, you noted immediately, your stomach sinking at how irritatingly attractive that somehow made him.
“you’re on time,” he remarked, his voice warm, but lightly amused.
your brain tripped over itself like it was your first time understanding words. “oh- yeah. of course! i didn’t want to, uh, keep you waiting.”
...an embarrassing response. great start.
chan’s mouth quirked, faint but noticeable as he stepped to the side to let you in.
“come in. shoes off right there,” he instructed, gesturing toward the neatly lined space by the door.
you followed silently, fully aware of every movement you made as you tugged your sneakers off and balanced them into place. if your nerves hadn’t already clocked out from overuse, your next observation would’ve totally knocked you out:
his place was spotless.
you weren’t entirely sure what you’d been expecting, but “clean freak” definitely wasn’t on the list. chan’s apartment was airy, quiet, and— dare you say— insultingly immaculate.
there wasn’t a single stray sock, not a speck of dust, no sink of dishes, or tangled wires ruining your line of sight to his bookshelves and minimalist decor. every inch of the space reeked of effortless organization, right down to the softly folded blanket on the couch and the perfectly centered pack of coasters on the coffee table.
it made your mess of an apartment seem downright feral by comparison.
“cute shoes,” he said airily from the kitchen, snapping your attention back to him as he leaned briefly into the fridge.
you blinked. “what?”
he nodded toward where you’d set your sneakers by the door. “your shoes, makes me think of those cheesy cartoon outfits. the ones with stars or glitter or something. kinda fun.”
you weren’t sure if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment, so you went with the safest option. “uh, thanks?”
chan’s faint smirk returned, but just as quickly as it flickered across his face, he tilted his head toward the counter expectantly.
“what’s that?” he asked.
“oh!” you moved quickly to the kitchen, thrusting the bakery box slightly forward in your hands. “i brought these for you! uh, it’s just some pastries- cheesecake slices, actually. i thought they might…” you trailed off, your words jumbling under the weight of his sharp gaze. “you know. be, um, nice. like, as a thank you or something. for helping me.”
you swore his smirk softened into something closer to a genuine grin, but you couldn’t be sure when it disappeared so quickly after.
"you didn’t have to do that,” he said, sliding the box easily from your hands.
“i know, but…” you shrugged weakly. “i just wanted to.”
he didn’t respond, his fingers deftly undoing the box lid before plucking one of the cheesecakes out. the sight felt unreasonably intimate, his hand brushing faint crumbs from the edge of the slice, the subtle twitch of his jaw as he took a bite and let the flavor settle.
“these are good,” he muttered, nodding slightly to himself. “thanks.”
you couldn’t tell if it was your heart that skipped or the entirety of your respiratory system.
+
things started out normal enough— or, at least, as normal as they could be considering who you were talking to and where you were.
after clearing space at his kitchen table, chan brought over your textbook and a loose stack of papers, pen already twirling idly between his fingers as his other hand tugged his chair close enough to yours that your collective elbows almost touched.
you were pretty sure your breathing hadn’t returned to normal for the past twenty minutes. you were hyper-aware of everything. the smooth tone of his voice when he walked you through a concept, the subtle tilt of his head when he waited for your response, the faint drag of his cologne hanging in the air when he leaned just marginally closer to explain something written on the page.
and worse, you were hyper-aware of yourself— your knees glued together without even trying, the way you were actively avoiding looking at his jaw when he spoke lest your brain run headfirst into the gutter.
“you’re staring,” his voice broke through your thought spiral.
shit.
“what?” you said a little too quickly.
“the page,” he clarified, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward knowingly as he glanced between your face and the textbook. “you’ve been staring at it without writing for at least five minutes. you good, or am i wasting my time here?”
heat crawled its way onto your cheeks as you scrambled to collect yourself. “no- no! you’re not wasting your time! sorry, i just—”
“got distracted?”
you hesitated, wetting your lips.
chan’s eyes dragged toward your neck for half a second before refocusing on your face.
“uh… yeah,” you murmured, staring pointedly at the page.
for a few tense beats, you felt like he might call you out for it.
but instead, he just leaned back slightly, pen tapping once against the edge of the table.
“then get back on track,” he said firmly, his gaze somehow impassive and heavy all at once.
sure, you thought bitterly to yourself. easier said than done... when the guy helping you has literal pornstar hands.
chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts once again, a faint edge to it this time that told you he wasn’t exactly sold on the idea that you weren’t wasting his time here. “you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, tapping your mostly blank notebook with the end of his pen.
you blinked out of your haze and nodded way too quickly. “yeah. totally ready. so ready.”
you absolutely, 100%, did not feel ready. not when you were currently dangling a very loose grip on your academic salvation— and yout raging hormones— and failing at both. yet somehow chan managed to keep his composure as if this wasn’t a complete minefield of professional boundaries.
meanwhile, you were over here sweating bullets.
“alright,” he said, leaning forward again, his broad shoulders casually brushing against yours. if he noticed the way you stiffened, he didn’t say anything. “let’s start simple… p-value hypothesis testing. what’s the first step?”
you stared at the page. your brain immediately short circuited.
what’s a p-value, again? what was anything?
chan waited a single beat, then sighed softly, setting his pen down. “you… don’t know the first step, do you?”
oh god. here it came. the humiliation. the “i knew it” look. maybe even a quiet dismissal to wrap things up early before sending you sliding further into a deeper pit of failure.
you started to stammer out some sort of excuse (“oh, i studied this, i promise- okay, maybe not entirely, but i—”), but chan tilted his head and spoke before you could spiral completely.
“it’s fine if you don’t,” he said casually, folding his arms on the table. “that’s why you’re here, right? because you don’t know it yet. the whole point is to fix that.”
you froze.
his tone was impossibly calm, but something beneath it made your breath hitch. if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost call the sharpness soothing.
“right,” you muttered, shrinking a little further. “my bad. let’s…start again.”
chan gave a faint dimpled look as he leaned over the page and grabbed your pen. the pen you were holding. his hand accidentally brushed yours in the process, skin startlingly warm where it touched you. you nearly yelped.
“relax,” he said, not unkindly. “no one’s grading you here, except me.”
unfortunately for you, that felt so much worse..
+
after nearly an hour with his voice calmly talking you through samples, datasets, and linear regression analysis (all concepts that still felt vaguely indistinguishable from alien geometry), you’d somehow managed to make marginal progress— and chan had seemingly noticed.
“see? not bad,” he remarked as he glanced over your most recent set of notes, his eyebrows raising slightly. your handwriting was a little cleaner now, still a chaotic scrawl, but at least things looked almost organized. “you’ve got a handle on it.”
your chest filled with unexpected relief at his words. “you mean i’m not… a complete disaster?”
chan shrugged, brushing his hands over the table before shooting you a teasing grin. “i wouldn’t say that. you’re still a mess.”
you gawked at him. “seriously?”
“but,” he added, “you’re trying. i’ll give you that.”
you weren’t sure whether to hide your face or laugh until you cried, so you settled for rolling your eyes instead. his grin only deepened.
god, why did he have to look so good when he was being insufferable?
you glanced toward the books spread across the table, half a dozen equations and diagrams still staring back at you, and exhaled, hoping the knot in your chest would loosen. it didn’t. of course it didn’t.
the truth was, your nerves hadn’t settled once since you walked through his door. it wasn’t just the teasing remarks or the way he seemed to dig effortlessly under your skin with every perfectly timed knowing glance. it was the way he felt.
chan had this aura about him.
commanding, without shouting. stern, but not cruel. you couldn’t help but want to throw yourself at his feet and say, yes, i’ll sit here and listen for hours if it makes you keep talking. please don’t stop talking.
and okay, that was probably not the best train of thought to have while sitting in front of the TA who controlled your grades. but still.
you were trying.
when the session finally came to an end, you shuffled awkwardly as chan walked you back toward the door, your tote bag once again slung over your shoulder.
“thanks for… all of that,” you started, uncomfortably aware of how clammy your hands felt as they smoothed over the strap. “i know it’s not easy to deal with a failing, uh, wreck of a human being, but—”
“you’re not a wreck,” chan interrupted, his hand pausing briefly on the doorknob as he turned to face you. something in his tone was softer, not as sharp as usual, but still steady enough to stop the flow of your words dead in their tracks.
“…i mean,” you mumbled dumbly, unable to recover from the unexpected crack in his voice.
“i’ve had students who don’t try at all,” he continued, resting his shoulder casually against the door. “they show up late, make excuses, push everything onto someone else. but you’re here. you’re trying. that counts for more than you think.”
your brain did at least three flips and a cartwheel.
“oh,” you said after a beat, staring blankly. “thanks?”
chan’s smile this time was faint, but genuine— and it fucking killed you.
“tuesday next week,” he said casually, pulling the door open before looking you over again. “same time.”
you nodded quickly, trying to ignore how the way he was standing, leaning coolly into the doorway, made his dress shirt stretch just enough to outline the definition beneath his forearms— and goddamn it, your brain needed to stop looking for reasons to self-destruct in real time.
“got it,” you replied finally, your voice cracking slightly. “tuesday. next week. your place.”
for one horrible, beat-worthy moment, chan raised his eyebrows at how awkwardly you repeated the words. his lips tilted faintly, that same painstakingly neutral expression etched onto his face again before he glanced to the side.
“good,” he said, brushing his fingers casually through his blond hair. “don’t be late this time.”
you nodded far too quickly as you stepped into the hallway, your breath caught somewhere deep in your chest and refusing to let go until he gave you a final, two-fingered wave and shut the door behind you.
and as you made your way down the hall, heart still pounding, all you could think was:
there’s no way you’ll survive another week alone with him, is there?
+
if anyone had told you that this was how your semester would go— teetering dangerously between educational burnout and a full blown crisis of unhinged attraction— you wouldn’t have believed them.
then again, you also wouldn’t have believed that chan, your hot-as-hell statistics TA (who was only supposed to exist in the corner of your eye as some mildly inappropriate distraction during lecture), would be giving you one-on-one “study help” in his fucking apartment of all places.
honestly, the past week was starting to make your head spin. it wasn’t just the fact that you’d had two entire hours of uninterrupted, semi-casual conversation with him at his place. it was… everything else.
like how every once in a while now, when you passed him on campus, chan would send you this faint, almost smirk-like smile. just enough to acknowledge you in passing— a reminder that he noticed you, remembered you.
and everytime it happened, your stomach would twist.
the good twist. the kind that left an annoying ache inside you and made your face hot for the entirety of your next class.
chan, for his part, was impossible to read. professionally calm, unfailing in his confidence and aloofness, like every interaction he’d ever had with anyone was just another detail to tuck neatly into his increasingly unbothered day.
sometimes, it caught you off guard how unfazed he was, how precise every movement and word that fell from his lips seemed to be. but then there were little cracks. moments when he’d lean just a little too close, brush his hand against yours, or hold your gaze for just a second too long before looking away.
sometimes you wondered if he even noticed he was doing it, but then, there was a darker part of you, the louder part, that wondered if he was doing it on purpose.
if maybe, just maybe, those brief pauses in his movements carried a bit more weight. if maybe they whispered hints of curiosity, intrigue… or something else entirely.
by the time tuesday rolled around, you’d convinced yourself that your life was one endless spiral of humiliation and implosion.
because the mortifying truth was that, consciously or not, your behavior had become downright pathetic lately.
you’d spent hours agonizing over what to wear to your next session with him. subtle. casual. blank canvas vibes. but… you were also a living, breathing person with a functioning set of eyes and weekly terrible thoughts about chan in compromising positions, so— subtlety didn’t last very long.
instead, only twenty minutes before you were set to leave, you’d swapped out your first two outfits for something else entirely; something tight enough to be dangerous, just low-cut enough to hint without outright show.
effortless, you told yourself in the mirror, even though the amount of effort it took for you to tear your eyes away from your own cleavage was anything but subtle. he won’t even notice!
(spoiler: he noticed.)
and, of course, chan— being chan— acted completely immune.
when he opened the door for you this time, his expression barely shifted, except for a quick glance down at you, his gaze lingering for half a second before he looked away entirely.
“hey,” was all he said. and just like that, you were sweating out of places you didn’t even know could sweat.
you followed him inside like you were walking toward your fucking demise.
the studying itself started as normal, or as normal as it could get when your brain was currently tied up in your own delusions.
chan had cleared the table again, leaning back in his chair with the kind of effortless authority you couldn’t stop staring at even if you wanted to.
“you’re on your own for the first one,” he said simply, sliding a freshly written-out problem set across the table toward you. “show me how you’d do it. no help this time.”
on your own. fucking great.
you nodded quickly, eager, but mostly terrified to disappoint him— and immediately grabbed your pen.
his eyes scraped over your page as you worked, his chin resting against his palm in casual appraisal, until finally glancing over somewhere else. probably the wall or the clock or literally anything but you.
but you… couldn’t stop stealing glances at him.
and it was bad.
unhinged, honestly.
your brain was preoccupied with all the places it shouldn’t have been; his shirt pushed up slightly against his forearms again, revealing more of the ink you’d spent days mentally mapping out from last week’s memories. his brows furrowed faintly with concentration. the way his tongue brushed lightly over his lower lip when he leaned forward slightly to grab—
focus, you remind yourself harshly. seriously, shut the hell up. you’re failing.
...except focusing on him was exactly the problem.
by the time you finished the initial review process, you’d written so many questionable numbers that it almost felt embarrassing to show him the work.
“done already?” he asked, his voice pulling your head up.
“uh,” you said dumbly, sliding the notebook toward him far too quickly. “yeah! kind of.”
chan gave you a blank look, but it softened faintly as he flipped through each line of your work, his mouth twitching slightly with what you couldn’t decide was approval or disappointment.
"well, this part’s definitely wrong,” he said lightly, tapping the edge of your paper. “but at least you got one variable right this time. better than last week.”
a laugh bubbled up your throat before you processed it.
chan flicked his gaze back toward you briefly at the sound, his head tilting faintly.
somehow, the tension in your stomach tightened further.
+
it had only been an hour when things started to spiral.
chan leaned forward to clarify yet another equation you’d totally botched halfway through explaining. the subtle movement made your nerves hit their absolute limit, and suddenly, you couldn’t process a single thing he was saying anymore.
you nodded silently, robotically, as he pointed something out, but the tension had grown so unbearably tight that it felt like your body might snap in half if you didn’t get away for at least two seconds.
“uh, do you mind if i use your bathroom?” you blurted out suddenly, your chair scraping against the floor.
chan lifted an eyebrow but offered no resistance. “sure,” he said easily. “second door on the right.”
you slammed the door shut a little quicker than necessary, chest heaving out a conflicted breath as you caught your reflection in the mirror above his sink.
what were you doing?
you hunched forward slightly, your arms gripping the edges of the counter as your eyes scanned your flushed cheeks and slightly blown-out pupils.
this was insane.
you were really about to self-destruct in front of your TA.
taking shallow, forceful breaths, you tried again to reel in what little sense of self you had left.
it wasn’t just that chan was too good-looking for anyone’s health. it was his sharpness, his confidence— his way of seamlessly controlling the room with the smallest tilt of his chin and the faint, lingering bite of his words.
you weren’t just down bad. you were down atrocious.
your gaze drifted toward the sink while you mentally berated yourself over all the reasons this was so beyond inappropriate.
but instead, your eyes caught something else. an unfamiliar flash of color resting near the corner of the counter: a small, unopened box near the toiletries tray.
...a fucking box of condoms.
you blinked at it blankly for half a second before you stiffened in place with realization.
brand new. pristine. unopened. untouched.
what the hell???
a million questions ricocheted through your head all at once, loud and unbearably intrusive.
did he have a girlfriend? did someone bring these over for him? was he just… that prepared?
your face burned fiercely, the ridiculous line of thought spiraling deep enough to make you lightheaded.
if he was seeing someone, then why was the box unopened? and why, why, were you even dissecting this to begin with, as if it mattered in the first place?
you never had a chance anyway, your brain helpfully supplied. you knew it the second you walked into his office for help.
you didn’t know how long you spent in the bathroom, fuming quietly at the mirror and trying to sweat out the flood of shame that was now taking up every corner of your mind.
chan didn’t say anything when you came back.
but the way his gaze trailed over your face briefly— sharp, appraising, uncomfortably still— made you wonder if he could sense it.
worse, the hum of his voice when he asked if you were ready to start again almost sounded amused.
but no, there was no way.
you nodded numbly, sitting back down as the spiral of your thoughts continued to eat at you little by little.
but then.
chan leaned forward again.
this time— too close.
close enough that his hands briefly brushed over yours as you reached to grab your pen, the low murmur of breath at your ear turned something in your chest completely upside down.
“focus,” he said softly, lips barely tilting upward as his fingers tipped briefly over your notebook.
you stared— stunned, entirely flickered into stasis for just a split half second of hesitation.
the air in chan’s apartment felt so much thicker now, way too humid, like something you could taste if you stayed still long enough.
to your credit, you were trying to focus. really, you were.
but focus didn’t come easy when your TA— your stupidly hot, smart, sharp-tongued TA— was sitting across from you with that faint smirk curling on his lips, watching you too closely like he’d figured you out already.
maybe he had.
“so,” chan murmured, snapping you out of your reverie as he slumped ever so slightly further into his chair. you tried your hardest not to track the way his toned thighs stretched against the fabric of his joggers. “you’ve got two choices.”
“two?” you asked breathlessly, blinking way too fast to feel normal.
he tilted his chin slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table.
“either you tell me why you’ve been sitting there not even pretending to pay attention for the last twenty minutes,” he started smoothly, “or we call it a day, and i can stop wasting my time.”
you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from squirming.
that was new.
this wasn’t the calm, teasing chan from the first session. he didn’t even sound annoyed exactly, but there was an edge to his tone now, sharp and slow and cutting enough that you felt trapped.
“i’m- i was paying attention,” you blurted, a little too defensive to sound convincing.
his narrowed gaze told you exactly what he thought about that.
“you sure about that?” he asked, leaning forward now.
“yeah,” you mumbled, voice faltering slightly as he came impossibly close.
his lips curved sharply.
“prove it.”
the blush reached your ears faster than your brain could process what was happening. “prove it?” you repeated dumbly, as though the words had somehow dropped straight in from another dimension.
“mm,” chan hummed lightly, elbows digging into the edge of the table. the sheer confidence radiating from him was unnerving, not over the top, not cocky, but entirely in control.
he tipped his head toward your notebook, his forearms briefly flexing as he gestured for you to pick up the damned pen.
“last equation,” he murmured, and you swore the way his voice dropped made your heart skip a beat. “show me you’ve been paying attention this time.”
unfortunately, there were several factors actively working against you right now.
the first? chan, with his sharp voice and sharper smirk, was close enough to radiate heat, close enough that your knees brushed lightly under the table. the second? there was no fucking way you’d been paying enough attention to actually solve the equation in front of you.
your chest grew tighter by the second as you scrambled uselessly to make sense of it.
for a brief moment, he said nothing— just watched you with this lazy, barely interested gaze, his lips pressed into an almost-smile that you couldn’t read.
“c’mon,” he drawled finally. “you’ve got this, don’t you?”
the edge of his words made your stomach twist with heat.
surely, he didn’t mean… more than what he was saying, right?
you scribbled down the page as best as you could, desperate and embarrassed as you tried to scrawl out whatever guess felt the least wrong.
but before you could even feign confidence over the partial answer you’d written, a hand abruptly darted into your line of vision.
his hand.
chan’s fingers curled over the edge of your workbook as he slid it back toward himself, “wrong.”
your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.
of course it was fucking wrong.
you braced yourself for the usual disappointment or sharp remark. but instead of belittling your work, chan leaned forward again, folding his arms onto the table between you and leaving no room for you to escape his focus.
then, voice low and deliberate, he caught your gaze fully.
“you don’t even try to hide it anymore, do you?”
you froze. your face immediately burned. “what?”
“you’re not here to study,” he said plainly.
your jaw opened and closed uselessly, and you swore your heart was trying to make an escape straight through your ribs.
“you wear this,” chan murmured, his eyes flicking briefly, heatedly, down to the neckline of your fitted top before locking back on yours, “and you expect me not to notice?”
his words sent a wildfire tearing through your entire body.
you struggled to make sense of it all, to explain yourself, to breathe.
he noticed.
this smoking-hot TA, whom you’d been quietly (okay, maybe not so quietly) pining after, noticed. but he didn’t stop there.
chan leaned in further, the confidence practically rolling off of him, and softened his voice even more.
“you’ve got guts, throwing yourself at your TA like this.”
your entire head was a whirlwind of heat and adrenaline.
chan leaned back in his chair for a moment, still studying you like you were an equation he’d already solved in his head.
the glint in his eye left you pinned in place— and you weren’t sure if it was fear or thrill racing through you when he tilted his head.
“get up.”
you blinked hard. “...what?”
“get up,” chan repeated, his tone leaving no room for debate this time.
your legs moved before your brain could catch up, your heart racing wildly as you stood in front of him like it’d been his implicit command all along.
“do you want to keep wasting my time?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, his eyes burning into you like they were stripping you bare.
“n-no,” you stammered.
“then prove it,” he said with maddening calm. his voice was low but full with that commanding edge that kept sending waves of heat to your core.
you opened your mouth uncertainly, but before you could respond, his gaze dropped, gesturing down toward his lap.
and fuck, if that didn’t make your entire foundation shift.
the stretch of his thighs, the bulge visible against the gray of his joggers, the way his legs flexed as he spread them slightly farther apart.
your mouth went dry.
he noticed.
your face burned brighter than ever, your brain scrambling for some rational excuse to back away, but when chan raised an eyebrow at you again, the composure you were grasping at crumbled entirely.
“get on your knees,” he ordered softly.
you were moving before you could think— sinking to the floor, legs folding beneath you as your breaths came out shaky and uneven.
chan wasted no time once you dropped.
“so eager,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly to slip off his sweats. the faint tug of a smirk played on his lips again. “bet you’ve been thinking about this for weeks, huh?”
you swallowed, lips parting slightly as your eyes stayed glued to him.
“let’s see if that mouth is as good as i think it is, then.”
chan spread his legs wider, his joggers now halfway down as his thick cock strained hard under the fabric of his boxers, the outline of it clear enough to make your mouth water.
your eyes tracked the movement as his large hand casually palmed himself through the fabric, letting out a soft grunt as the pressure of his hand teased a bit of relief. he wasn’t even looking at you— his gaze was tilted lazily downward, like he was letting you take in the view. like he wanted you to be as desperate as you clearly were.
“you’re really something, you know,” he muttered, low and taunting, the air between you so tense you could barely breathe. “acting all shy, pretending you’ve been here to study. but this—” his hand rolled against himself once more, squeezing as he finally dragged his eyes back to yours. “this is what you’ve been wanting, huh?”
you couldn’t even think about lying. you just nodded, staying seated on your knees. “...yes.”
that brought another smirk to his lips, one that only deepened as he started to slip his boxers down, letting his cock spring free.
fuck. you’d expected him to be big because, well… of course he was. everything about him was big. his confidence, his presence, his personality. but knowing it and seeing it were two entirely different things.
he was thick, the head a flushed pink and leaking with so much pre that it glistened just faintly in the low kitchen light.
“eyes up here, sweetheart.”
your gaze snapped up immediately, and his mouth twitched again as he caught you.
“if you wanna use that mouth,” he murmured, tone rougher now, “you’re gonna have to ask nicely.”
you weren’t even sure how you were still alive at this point, let alone speaking, but the words stumbled out anyway in a breathless jumble of need.
“please,” you begged, barely above a whisper. “please. i wanna—” your breath hitched as his cock twitched when you said it, making your chest blaze with heat. “i wanna suck your cock, chan. please.”
he tilted his head, watching you closely for a few suffocating seconds before leaning back in his seat and resting one arm lazily along the table.
“go ahead,” he said finally. “show me what you’ve got.”
you didn’t need to be told twice. your hands shot up, tentative at first, but steadying as your fingers curled around the base of his length. the warmth of his skin and the weight of his cock in your hand made you fucking lightheaded.
you gave him a few experimental strokes, and the faint grunt he let out— mild as it was— felt like a goddamn reward.
“that’s it,” he muttered, almost absent-minded, like he was observing you while thinking a million other things at the same time. “don’t be shy now.”
you ducked your head down, tongue darting out to swipe the bead of pre-cum glistening at his tip. just that one tiny taste had your body heating up everywhere at once, floating deliriously between desperation and excitement as you opened your mouth further to glide him in.
he groaned softly as your lips stretched around him, his other hand coming up to rest lightly at the back of your head.
“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening just a little as you took more of him into your mouth. “just like that. good girl.”
the praise hit you like a freight train.
the warm weight of him in your mouth, the salty taste of his skin on your tongue— it was already too much, your thighs instinctively pressing together with each muffled moan and wet sound you made.
“deeper,” chan ordered, his tone growing rougher now, sharper, and that alone was enough to set your skin burning like fire.
you let him guide you down further with the hand still resting on the back of your head, his cock sliding over your tongue until it was stretching your throat enough to make your eyes water.
“that’s it,” he groaned again, his voice raspy now. “fuck, you’ve got such a pretty mouth. keep going- don’t stop until you make me cum.”
his words shot straight through your stomach, sending shockwaves of heat pooling between your legs as you bobbed your head, hollowing out your cheeks until he groaned louder.
“you like that, huh?” he said, his grip tightening as a clear bite sharpened his tone. “look at you. so desperate to please me. so desperate to get your TA to cum down your throat.”
you moaned softly at his words, your sounds muffled and messy as you worked your mouth around him, each stroke sinking deeper and deeper.
“shit,” chan hissed, his hips jerking slightly as his cock filled you again and again. “you’re too fucking good at this.”
you barely registered the filthy compliment over the blood rushing through your ears, your focus narrowed to the ragged sounds leaving his mouth as his composure began to slip.
his grip on your head tightened just slightly, enough to keep you in place as his hips rocked forward once, twice— fucking gently into your mouth like he needed to feel you take him even deeper.
“gonna cum,” he grunted, more ragged now as his movements stuttered. “fuck, sweetheart. take it all.”
before you could even think to react, chan groaned low and deep, his head tipping back as heavy spurts of his release shot down your throat. the taste flooded your mouth immediately, thick and milky ropes as you swallowed everything he gave you without hesitation.
his chest heaved as his hips sank back slightly, his grip finally easing from the back of your head.
“holy shit,” he muttered under his breath, a faint laugh pushing out with his exhale as his hand tipped briefly under your chin, guiding your face back up toward him.
you stared up at him, your lips slightly swollen and humiliatingly wet, and the sight alone pulled another satisfied smirk from his mouth.
“such a good little thing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing briefly across your cheekbone.
you swallowed again, your cheeks heating at the praise, but any words you could’ve said were immediately lost when chan shifted in his chair, suddenly leaning forward.
“you didn’t think we were done, did you?”
your stomach flipped entirely.
his hands moved fast, steady as they guided you to your feet before nudging you gently against the corner of the table. it wasn’t until he’d sunk to his knees in front of you that your brain finally caught up.
“chan—” you started, but the sound broke off entirely as his hands sliced up under the hem of your skirt, pushing the fabric up toward your hips.
“quiet,” he murmured, his lips brushing faintly against your thigh when he lowered his head. “let me show you how much better this can feel when you let me do all the work.”
your knees nearly gave out, your breath hitching sharply in your chest as his hands gripped firmly at your thighs.
before you could even brace yourself, chan had slipped your panties down in one smooth movement, leaving you bare and completely at his mercy.
“fuck,” he muttered softly, almost like he was speaking to himself—his thumb brushing faintly against your inner thigh as his head tipped downward, his lips hovering just over your now impossibly wet cunt. “you’re already dripping for me. pathetic little thing.”
you whimpered as his tongue darted out to taste you, his movements slow, deliberate, clearly reveling in every sound leaving your mouth.
he started soft, dragging lazy circles against you that made heat pulse low in your stomach, but it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace.
his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking sharply before your knees buckled. he growled against you, his arm curling around the back of your leg to keep you locked firmly into place.
“not going anywhere,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. “gonna make you cum just like this. ruin you on my tongue.”
you moaned, your head falling back as one of your hands flew to grip the edge of the table for balance while the other curled uselessly into his hair. his dark eyes flickered up to you, sharp and direct, and fuck if that wasn’t worse.
“look at you,” he murmured, barely pausing to speak as his tongue sank deeper against you. “you’re so desperate you can’t even stand.”
you whimpered harder as he slid a single digit inside of you, pumping slowly at first before curling— learning exactly where to aim before adding a second and setting you completely on fire.
“fuck- chan, i—”
“that’s right,” he groaned against you, his pace only increasing with each ragged sound leaving your mouth. “cum for me. now.”
and when your orgasm hit— sharp and sudden and impossibly strong— you cried out, your legs nearly shaking from the pressure as chan’s hands steadied you through it, chasing your high relentlessly.
your legs were still trembling, completely jelly when chan pulled back from between your thighs, his lips glistening in a way that should have been absolutely illegal.
he looked sinfully smug as he rose to his full height, towering over you now as you practically slumped against the table. your chest heaved, your body still tingling from the orgasm he’d just ripped out of you, and yet… it wasn’t enough.
you wanted more. needed more.
and chan? chan could see it written all over your face.
“look at this mess,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying a mix of pride and mockery. his hand reached out, the pad of his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. “such a needy little thing. you’re not even satisfied after cumming all over my tongue, are you?”
you shook your head slightly, biting your lip and meeting his eyes with that same look he’d teased you for earlier— desperation. hunger.
his gaze dragged down to where your panties now hung uselessly around your ankle.
“you want me to fuck you that badly, huh?”
you nodded, no hesitation this time— your pride was long gone anyway. “please,” you whispered, your voice small and trembling.
that was all it took.
chan’s demeanor changed into something darker, something more dangerous, as he grabbed your hips and spun you around in one swift movement until your ass pressed against the cold edge of the table. before you could even catch your own breath, his lips were on you. hot, firm, and overwhelming as he kissed you like his life depended on it.
you moaned into his mouth, arms subconsciously wrapping around his neck as he pulled you closer, his body slotting perfectly against yours. his hand slipped up under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist before he yanked it off entirely, tossing it somewhere behind him.
“fuck,” he muttered into your mouth. “you’re so fucking perfect.”
his hands found your tits next, slipping underneath your bra and squeezing hard, groaning as his thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples.
“these fucking tits,” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave as his lips moved against your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck. “been dying to get my hands on them. watching you in those tight little tops, tempting me every fucking second.”
you gasped when he suddenly tugged down the cups of your bra and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples, his wet tongue flicking over it before sucking hard.
“fuck, chan,” you moaned, your back arching instinctively into him.
he pulled back just enough to grin up at you, his lips shining with spit. “you like that, baby?” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “needy thing like you just lives for attention, huh?”
you nodded again, words completely failing you as he let his hands slide lower.
without warning, chan hoisted you up onto the table, his strong hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks as he pulled you to the edge. the cool surface pressed against your skin, a direct contrast to the liquid heat pooling between your legs. he yanked you to the edge effortlessly, spreading you out for him like you belonged there.
“stay right there,” he ordered, his lips ghosting over yours briefly before he stepped back to slide his boxers down fully, his cock springing free again and making your stomach twist with anticipation.
“you’ve been begging for this since the first day you showed up to my office hours,” he continued, his voice rough and low as he stroked himself slowly, his gaze locked on you like he wanted to eat you alive. “and now you’re gonna take it. every. fucking. inch.”
you whimpered, squirming on the table, because he was right. the need had been eating you alive, every accidental graze of his hand or brush of his shoulder only fueling the fire until you couldn’t see straight. your breath caught as he grabbed your thighs again, spreading you wide for him, his cock brushing against your entrance.
“fucking dripping,” chan growled under his breath, almost to himself as he dragged the tip through your wetness, spreading it messily. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll fill you up so good, there won’t even be room to think about anyone else.”
before you could process those words, he pushed in.
the stretch was immediate, a maddening burn that teetered on the brink of pain and unbearable pleasure. he was big— so thick, so fucking big it felt like he was splitting you open, inch by inch, pushing so deep your mind went blank.
“oh my godd—” you gasped, throwing your head back as your hands scrambled for leverage, gripping his shoulders like your life depended on it. your thighs trembled as he pressed forward relentlessly, not stopping till his hips were flush against yours and every inch of him was crammed inside you, his cock filling you so completely it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside out.
“god,” chan groaned, his cock pulsing as your walls clenched hard around him like a vice. his head dropped forward, and he growled low in his throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you in place. “you’re so fucking tight. gripping me like you don’t want me to pull out. you’re greedy for it, aren’t you?”
you moaned weakly, unable to form coherent words, too overwhelmed by the way he stretched you, by the way your pussy wouldn’t stop fluttering and sucking him in even deeper. a lewd, wet squelch filled the air as he shifted his hips, pulling out just slightly before easing back in.
“thereee it is,” he growled, his dark eyes watching your face intently as your lips parted with a choked gasp. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip almost gently, “taking me so fucking good, baby. like you were made for me. made to take this cock.”
your nails clawed at his back, leaving angry red trails as he began to move in earnest. he pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance, before slamming back in with enough force to send your whole body jolting backward. the table creaked, but chan’s pace never faltered.
“fuck- chan—” you sobbed, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs. your thighs quivered uncontrollably as his cock dragged over every sensitive spot inside you, hitting so deep it felt impossible. shame burned low in your stomach with every wet squelch that escaped from between your legs, echoing obscenely in the room, but he only groaned louder at the sound.
“gonna make you scream, baby,” he rasped, his tone rough and uneven as he pounded harder, faster, his grip on your body so tight it felt like you were fused together. “gonna make sure this pussy remembers me. so tight, fuck. can feel you dripping all over me- you hear that? that’s how fucking bad you want it.”
all ou could do was nod, your brain too fogged with pleasure to string together a response. your body was limp against him, letting him use you how he wanted— and god, it felt so good. you clenched around him on instinct, the raw pressure of him stretching you bringing you closer and closer to the edge with every brutal thrust.
“look at you,” chan muttered filthily, his hand coming up to grip your jaw as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. “so fucking wrecked already, and i’m not even done yet. you like this? having my cock splitting you open like this?”
“yesyes- fuck, yes—” you babbled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the pressure, the intensity, the sheer, overwhelming fullness.
“that’s my girl,” he growled, shifting his grip to your throat, his fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. “you’re mine now. you hear me? no one else gets to fuck you like this. no one else gets to make you cum.”
his words unraveled something deep inside you, sending molten heat racing down your spine to your core. when his thumb slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, the coil tightening in your belly snapped with brutal force.
“mmpph- chan- ’m gonna- i’m—”
“do it,” he snarled, his cock slamming into you without mercy as his thumb worked faster. “fucking cum all over me. let me feel this pussy milk my cock.”
the words sent you over the edge, your vision going white as your orgasm ripped through you violently. your entire body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed over you, so powerful it felt unending. you cried out his name shamelessly, your walls clamping down around him so tight he cursed loudly, his thrusts becoming erratic.
“shitshiit- fuck- you’re gonna make me—” chan groaned, and a second later he buried himself deep inside you with one final thrust, his hips grinding against yours as he came hard. he filled you with hot, thick spurts of his cum, so much you swore you felt it flooding you completely, dripping from where you were still stretched around him. his head fell to the crook of your neck as he groaned low and broken, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.
for a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of harsh breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. chan pressed messy, lingering kisses to the damp skin of your shoulder as his hands wandered down your body, soothing the marks his grip had left behind.
“did so good for me,” he eventually, his lips brushing against your temple as he leaned up just enough to press a kiss to your swollen lips. “so fucking perfect.”
+
chan didn’t let you move for a long time after that.
he insisted on cleaning you up himself, holding you gently as if you’d break if he touched you too hard now. it was a stark contrast to the man who had just fucked you into oblivion minutes earlier, but the shift made your heart ache in the best way.
and as he kissed you softly, whispering how beautiful you were, how proud he was of you for taking him so well, you felt something else settle deep in your chest.
this wasn’t just a onetime thing anymore.
not the way chan kissed you like he didn’t want to stop. not the way he held you like you mattered everything to him.
this man wasn’t going anywhere— and you weren’t, either.
it made you laugh, softly, almost deliriously, as he pulled you into his lap again.
“what’s so funny?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.
“nothing,” you murmured, your lips curving upward. “just… funny how i was losing my mind over finding condoms in your bathroom cabinet when... you didn’t even use them.”
chan blinked at you, then snorted with laughter, pulling you tighter against him.
“don’t need them,” he said simply, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his fingers traced lazy patterns against your bare back. “not with you. never with you.”
you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest as you curled into him, completely at peace.
your grades were safe. your heart was safe. and chan?
chan looked at you like no one else in the world would ever come close.
Summary: He defends you when another man disrespects you
Content: Sexism, mansplaining, generally men being douches, the boys standing up for you, fluff (?), swearing
A/N: We love men standing up for women. Some of them have different type!reader, so I just marked them individually. I'm not wildly proud of Han's, but I was struggle bussing and didn't want that one scene to hold up the post, so here it is. NOT PROOFREAD
Masterlist
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Chan x fem!reader:
It’s a hot summer day and you and Chan are going on a little coffee date. You decide to wear your new sundress that fits you just right while still feeling flowy and breathable. Chan steps up to the counter to order first.
“Hi, what can I get for you?” The young male barista smiles, meeting Chans gaze.
“Can I have an iced americano and then whatever she wants.” He gestures for you to step up and order as well.
The barista looks down at his tablet to input the order before looking back up at you. However, his eyes don’t go up as high as they should, his gaze sitting just below your shoulders. Deciding to ignore it, you clear your throat to order, “Uh, can I have—“
Chan cuts you off, deciding not to ignore it, “Oi, mate. Her eyes are up here.”
The barista’s eyes snap up, his face getting two shades pinker. He clears his throat, “Right! Sorry.”
Chan steps slightly closer, his hand resting on the small of your back, “Sorry to cut you off, love. Please continue.”
You give a polite smile, your gaze not meeting either of theirs, “Can I just have an iced latte?”
The barista stiffly nods, making sure his gaze doesn’t wander in even the slightest. “Anything else?”
“No thanks.” Chan steps forward to pay, his hand never leaving your back.
As the barista scurries away and you two walk over to a table, you nudge Chan on the shoulder. “You could have ignored it you know.”
Chan looks at you like you just told him the world ended, “I absolutely could not.”
“He’s like a teenager.”
“Even better for him to learn now that he shouldn’t look at women like that. I don’t care who they are, no one gets to disrespect you, ever.”
You press a quick kiss to his lips. “My hero.”
Lee Know x wife!reader:
Lee Know is out drinking with a group of guys he doesn’t really know well. He only came because his friend invited him along, failing to mention the other four guys that would be joining. They are sitting around a table, several beers in while Lee Know is only finishing up his first, and they are telling a bunch of stupid jokes. Lee Know has been tuned out for most of the conversation, letting the noise go in one ear and out the other, giving a courtesy chuckle here and there.
“Yeah, Lee Know’s got a wife.”
Lee Know perks up, confused as to why you were brought up.
“Oh you’ll probably like this one,” A larger guy sitting across from Lee Know gives a crooked smile, pleased with whatever he is about to say. “What do you call a woman who lost 95% of her intelligence?” Lee Know's jaw tightens. “Divorced!” The group starts laughing, but Lee Know just stares at the man.
“I don’t get it.” Lee Know’s voice is deadly serious, catching the men off guard.
“What?”
“I don’t get it. Why are we laughing?”
“Well, I said what do you—“
“No, I heard you. I just don’t get what’s so funny.”
The man blinks, clearly not used to push back. “Well—I…it was just a joke, you know.”
“No I don’t know. Explain it to me.” Lee Know leans forward ever so slightly, hands folded neatly on the table as if this was an interrogation. The other men have gone silent.
“I-I don’t…” The man stutters, “Why do you care so much man?!”
“I just don’t understand why we are laughing at the idea of demeaning women.”
“It was just a joke. Chill out.”
“But jokes are supposed to be funny and you have yet to explain to me why it is funny.” The man sputters unable to come up with anything. Lee Know straightens up, his sober mind working much faster than the drunk ones around him. “Unless there isn’t a reason and you are just laughing because it makes you feel like less of a terrible person for looking down on women. But honestly, I think it should make you feel worse. If you’re going to be a chauvinist asshole, you might as well man up and own it, but you are so insecure that you don’t even have the balls to do that. Instead, you get drunk and laugh about it when you think no one who cares is listening. You know, I might have missed the joke since I was practically zoned out, but you felt the need to gain my attention specifically because, for some unknown reason, you thought that because I’m male I would be sexist just like you. Unfortunately for you, I actually see women as people and understand that it’s wrong to make demeaning comments and laugh as if it wasn’t a big deal. And honestly, I might not have been quite as upset—though I still would have called you out—if you hadn’t mentioned my wife, but clearly you aren’t the smartest. Maybe you should change your joke. Instead of the answer being divorced, you should say that she married you. Speaking of which, I can actively feel my brain cells dying simply by being around you, so I’m going to go home to my incredible amazing wife who is incredibly smart and really the best thing that has ever happened to me. Maybe one day you’ll get sober and lonely enough to realize that you could have that too if you started treating women with respect like the actual human beings they are. But until then, please never talk to me again.” Lee Know takes the last sip of his beer before standing up and leaving without so much as a second thought.
Changbin x fem!reader:
You are working out with Changbin, doing RDLs when you notice a man nearby. You keep catching his gaze through the mirror, although instead of meeting your eyes, his gaze is fixed far too low for your liking. Your form gets a little stiffer as you feel uncomfortable under his stare and Changbin immediately notices.
“What’s wrong?” He looks at you concerned.
Your eyes unconsciously flick back to the man before focusing on Changbin, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
But Changbin saw where your eyes went and he is in fact going to worry about it. Suddenly, he turns around taking a step towards the man behind you, “Hey, man. If you want help with your form, you could just ask instead of staring at me.”
The man stiffens up at having been acknowledged. “I wasn’t looking at you.”
“Oh? Are you sure?” Changbin’s voice gets ever so slightly louder, “Because that would mean you were staring at my girlfriend and I know you don’t want to get in a fight right here and now.” He flexes a little to emphasize his point.
The man’s eyes go wide, highly aware of the few people around who caught wind of the not so subtle comment. “I-I…Uh I just zoned out…sorry.”
“Yeah, well, zone out looking in a different direction next time.”
He nods vigorously before collecting his weights and moving to workout somewhere else entirely. When he’s gone, Changbin turns back to see you staring at him with a smirk.
“What?”
“You are really going to fight a man in the middle of a gym?” You cross your arms.
“For you? I’d do anything.”
“Really?” He nods with a proud smile. “Even like doing the dishes when we get home?” You say giddily.
His smile falters, “I set myself up for that one didn’t I?”
“Yup!” You press a quick kiss to his cheek before finishing your workout.
Hyunjin x actress!reader:
Ever since you and Hyunjin started dating, you have been asked to do joint interviews. Today you are supposed to be doing an interview promoting your new movie that features a Stray Kids song.
You two sit down and greet the interviewer, give the basics of who you are and what you do. The interviewer asks Hyunjin a few questions about Stray Kids and the song. He turns to you and compliments your outfit, asking who made it. You don’t think much of it, taking the opportunity to be a good brand ambassador and promote the company. However, he turns his attention back to Hyunjin without any actual questions about the movie to you. A few more questions pass with Hyunjin before it bounces back to you.
“So, Y/N. Let’s talk a bit about the movie.”
Finally! You think.
“What’s your favorite outfit you wear during it? After all, the setting does lend itself to some potential for spectacular moments.”
You give a tight smile, “Yes, there are spectacular moments. One of my favorite moments is during quite the dramatic scene in the rain. The main character has gone through a lot of transformation at this point and it is all sort of coming to a head—“
“Okay but what are you wearing in this moment? Surely your favorite outfit isn’t one soaked in water?” He gives a hardy laugh making Hyunjin furrow his brows.
“I think you cut her off before she could finish answering.” Hyunjin places a hand on your knee, his voice and demeanor staying professional.
“Right, sorry. Getting ahead of myself,” the interviewer politely nods for you to continue and you give a quick smile to Hyunjin as thanks. You finish describing the scene, taking a bit of time to talk through your character since he seems determined to not let you. When you finish he just kind of nods, “That’s nice but you never mentioned the outfit?”
It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes and you feel Hyunjin squeeze your knee for reassurance. You settle for a tight smile, “I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Guess you’ll have to watch to find out.”
The interviewer points and laughs, “Ah, sneaky. I see what you did there.” He turns back to Hyunjin. “So, let’s hear your thoughts on the movie. Tell us about some of your favorite moments.”
Hyunjin looks between you and the interviewer, almost questioning Is that really all he’s gonna ask? But you just nod and smile, giving him a look that says Just answer. It’s fine.
Hyunjin keeps his answer brief, “Well that scene she just mentioned is pretty good. Obviously, I’m a bit bias in that I like the scene with our song. Any scene with her really.” He smiles at you.
The interviewer coo’s, “I suppose I should’ve guessed you would like any scene with her since she’s your girlfriend.”
“Well she’s also an incredible actress. Even before we were dating, I always loved her work.” He replies without missing a beat.
“Guess it was love at first scene.” The man laughs, “What can you tell us about the story of the movie? How do the characters progress and interact?”
“Me?” Hyunjin questions.
“Yeah,” the man chuckles like it was a no brainer
“Well, she was in the movie, so she would probably have a better answer.”
“You’ve watched it, no?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you can give us an audience perspective, see if the story comes off as intended.”
“How do you know the intended story? You’ve hardly asked her anything.” Hyunjin’s tone starts to become a little frustrated and you squeeze his hand to try and calm him.
The interview gives an awkward chuckle, “Well, I think most of our viewers know the plot, so you can give us an audience perspective.”
“If you wanted an audience perspective, you could’ve just interviewed people outside the theatre.”
“Well, you have a bit of an inside scoop, given that you are dating the main actress.” He points to you, yet keeps the question directed at Hyunjin.
“So ask the main actress. That’s why we’re here right?”
You cut in before Hyunjin can get any more riled up. “Do you have anymore questions about the song for him? Maybe he could give a bit more perspective on why they chose that song and how it fits the story of that particular scene?”
The interviewer smiles, his tone a bit dismissive to you, “We discussed that a bit earlier, so I figured we could get a fuller picture—“
Hyunjin cuts him off, “If you don’t have anymore questions about the song and clearly you don’t want to ask her anything, then I think we’re done here.” He stands up and bows, leaving without even giving the interviewer a chance to respond.
You also stand up and bow, “Thank you for inviting me to sit with Hyunjin on his interview. I hope we can have one for myself one day.” With a controlled smile, you follow your boyfriend out. Let’s just say you won’t be meeting with this interviewer again.
Han x fem!reader:
You are doing some spring cleaning and taking a bunch of boxes and bags full of stuff out of your house, some going to your car and others going to the curb. You are carrying a heavier box with a bunch of books when you hear someone call out to you.
“Hey!” You look and see a man about your age walking past your driveway. He waves and smiles, walking up your driveway. “Let me help you lift that.” He picks up the box and places it in your open trunk.
“Oh, uh thanks.” You give him an awkward smile.
“You moving all these boxes alone?” He asks.
“Oh, no. My boyfriend is here too.” As if on cue, Han walks out carrying another box. He see’s the random man and sets down the box before joining your side.
The man smiles, extending a hand to Han, “Hi, my name is Jong-un.”
Han takes his hand, “Han, nice to meet you. Do you know each other?”
“No, I just saw her struggling with a box and thought I would help. If you’ve got more I can help with those too.”
“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that. We can handle the rest.” You give a polite smile, wanting the random man to go away.
“Ah, come on. It’s no trouble. Leave the heavy lifting to the men, yeah?” He gives a hardy laugh, clapping Han on the back. “Would hate for a pretty little thing like you to hurt yourself.”
You bite your lip, trying to keep at bare minimum a neutral expression. Han furrows his brows at the comment. “Why did you say it like that?”
“Huh?” Jong-Un blinks at Han. “What do you mean?”
“You say it like she is weak or something.”
“Well, I mean men are stronger than women. It’s not meant to be mean. It’s just a fact.” He shrugs. “So, I think women should leave the heavy lifting for men if they can’t handle it.”
“She can handle it.” Han defends without missing a beat. “She is strong.”
Jong-un huffs a small laugh, “I’m sure she is…for a woman.”
Han straightens his posture and you can tell he is about to go on a rant, “For a woman? You say that like it’s a bad thing, like it’s something unimpressive. But you haven’t seen her lift anything. She is strong, in more ways than one. She can handle anything on her own. She doesn’t need help. But I choose to give help because I love her and she’s awesome and I want to make her life easier if I can. But she can handle it just fine. She lifted half these boxes by herself. She works out with me and can lift similar weight to me. So don’t call her ‘little’ or ‘weak’ like she is some fragile helpless thing. She is a strong independent woman and you will treat her as such.” He stands tall, despite being shorter than the man. “In fact, I’ll show you just how awesomely strong she is.” Han turns to you and jumps in your arms. You manage to catch him last minute, holding him up bridal style. “See, she can lift me just fine.”
Not wanting to ruin his point, you steel yourself and hold him up, despite it actually being a bit of a struggle.
“Let’s go inside. I’m tired of this loser.” Han directs you, causing you to turn and trudge back inside. Han glares at the man over your shoulder as you disappear inside.
As soon as you are out of sight, you immediately drop Han to the ground, causing him to squeak in surprise. You let out a huff, hands resting on your knees. “While I really appreciate you standing up for me, I’m not actually that strong you know.”
He stands up, “What do you mean? You carried me all the way inside.”
“Barely. Do you know how heavy you are?”
He gasps, “I just defended your honor, calling you strong and independent and you repay me by calling me fat?”
You glare at him, “You made me carry you back inside.”
“To prove a point!”
You roll your eyes, “Okay Prince Charming, let’s finish moving these boxes so we can be done.”
“I got it!” He spends the rest of the afternoon carrying most of the boxes for you while consistently reminding you that he is doing it because he loves you and not because he thinks you’re weak. You smile at his goofy nature, happy to let him lift boxes while you sit and watch.
Felix x gamer!reader:
Felix is finishing up a game of league when you pop your head in, “Hey love, are you playing right now?”
He slips off one headphone, eyes still on the screen, “Yeah, but I can pause. What’s up?”
“Oh no, I was just wondering if I can join you?”
He smiles, “Of course you can.”
“Let me go grab my coffee and I’ll be back in.”
Finishing up his game he speaks to the other players, “Hey, my girlfriend’s gonna join.”
“Ah no,” one stranger chimes over the headphones. “She’s gonna drag us down.”
“Yeah, come on man.” Another one agrees.
“What? No, she’s a good player.” Felix defends
One of them scoffs, “She’s a girl. How good can she be?”
Felix furrows his brows about to say something when you walk back in. “Okay! I’m ready. Let me set up my computer.”
Felix looks between you and the computer, an idea pinging in his head. He mutes his mic, “Play on my computer.”
“What? No, I can play on mine.” You say, confused. “I want to play with you.”
“No, I know.” He stands up and puts his headphones on you. “But I need to go call Chan real quick, but I don’t wanna abandon my team.”
“Is everything okay?” You move to take his seat, worried for why he is calling Chan randomly.
“Yeah, just gotta clarify a work thing. You know how precise Chan can be.” He smiles, sitting you down in the chair. “You can change players if you want, just don’t unmute your mic.”
“Why?”
“These guys are kind of…odd. Just don’t want you talking to them.” He places a kiss to the top of your head before leaving the room.
You watch him leave, hoping everything is okay before hearing some voices over the chat. “yo, ready up.”
You get your set up and join a match. Various male voices ring over the chat tossing instructions here and there. Their strategies aren’t the best but you don’t speak up, wanting to respect Felix’s request. You play a whole match and basically carry. As the words ‘victory’ flash across the screen a couple voices call out, “Damn, dude. What happened to you?”
“Yeah man, your skill went up by like 10,000”
“GOATED performance.”
You start up another round as Felix walks back in the room. You look over, “Here, we just started.” You try to hand over the headphones but he stops you.
“No, no, finish this game. I wanna watch you play.” He stands behind you, his hands lightly rubbing your shoulders. The game starts up and you once again are bombarded with poor strategy from the random voices.
“Ugh, these guys strategy suck. I basically carried last round.” You grumble to Felix.
He kisses the top of your head, “So tell them different.”
“But you said not to talk to them.”
“You can talk strategy. I don’t care.” He smirks, knowing the shock that is about to resound.
You move to save one of their asses when they call out another bad move. Frustrated you give up and unmute, “That’s a terrible strat. We aren’t doing that.” The chat goes silent. “Listen, you go top, you two go mid, we’re going bottom.” You instruct each person, moving to position.
“Yo, what?!”
“Bro, why do you sound like a girl??”
“Because I am a girl, dumbass.” You mute your mic momentarily, turning to Felix, “I see why you don’t like these guys.”
He leans down a bit, “show them how it’s done.”
You spend the rest of the round leading everyone and once again dominating. Your team wins with a crushing victory, all thanks to you. As the end screen flashes up, Felix takes back the mic momentarily. “Sorry, had to step away so I let my girlfriend play for me.”
“Dude! You didn’t say she was like a gaming goddess.” One guy calls out.
Felix smirks, “Yeah, she’s kind of the best.”
“Put her back on and start up again. We can level up at this rate.” Another guy chimes in.
Felix sighs, “Nah, I think we’re gonna play our own team.”
“What?! No, you can just play with us.”
“Yeah, don’t leave now.”
Felix clicks his tongue, “Shouldn’t have underestimated her.” He leaves the party, the chat voices disappearing. He looks over at where you’ve been setting up your computer.
“What was that about?” You ask.
“Nothing. You ready?”
“Always.”
Seungmin x voiceteacher!reader:
You’re with Seungmin and a group of various people, some you know and others you don’t. You are talking about a recent situation at your job, “Yeah, so this student, love them to death, but man they are just struggling to sing in their higher register. All of my typical exercises aren’t working and—“
“You know what you should try?” A random guy within the group cuts you off, “There is this thing where you go up one note at a time on the piano and you try to go as high as you can.”
You furrow your brows, “Well, that’s not actually quite right. It’s typically going up a scale or maybe three notes at a time, slowly ascending and you really aren’t supposed to just go as high as possible. That’s not great for your voice, especially—“
“Well obviously you shouldn’t hurt your voice.” He chuckles, “If you sing too high then it will hurt your voice, so you have to make sure to drink water and go slow.”
You blink, genuinely confused for a moment. Looking at Seungmin, he seems just as baffled as you. “Yeah, so anyway.” You get back to your story, “What I was going to say was that I was doing some digging and came across this one exercise that I’m really hoping works.”
Once again, the man cuts you off. “Sometimes when you are struggling with a student, you need to go to some new resources, find different things. It can be easy to stay in the same old same old, but sometimes different people need different things.”
Seungmin looks him dead in the eyes, “Are you even a teacher?”
“No, but I’ve got some friends who are teachers and I’ve talked to them.”
“You do realize she like, went to school for this right?” Seungmin deadpans, genuinely unable to comprehend this mans behavior.
“Oh, that’s fun.” The man nods, his tone condescending. “I actually went to college for business and—“
Seungmin cuts him off, “So, you know business is typically a major that involves lots of finance classes and learning how to be a leader and organize, heavy in economics. So you really need to be smart to get through some of those classes.”
“Uh, first off, I wasn’t done. Second, did you not just hear me? I was a business major so I think I know how a business degree works.” The man scoffs, incredibly upset with Seungmin.
Seungmin just cocks a brow, a smirk pulling at his lips, “Oh my bad, I just thought this was just a thing we were doing.”
“What?”
“You know, interrupting people and mansplaining, which if you didn’t know mansplaining is when a man condescendingly explains something to a woman, assuming she knows less than she actually does, often about her own expertise or experiences.”
“I know what mansplaining is! I’m not dumb.” He crosses his arms, “And I wasn’t mansplaining. You were the one who cut me off.”
“No because what actually happened was you cut her off and tried to explain how to do her job to her. I don’t know if you remember that.”
“Stop talking to me like a child!” The man stamps his foot, not helping his case.
“No, no, this is mansplaining. Do I need to explain it again? I know it’s a lot of information to hold in a brain about the size of a tea cup.” Seungmin’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, changing his tone to sound like he is talking to a child.
“Fuck you!” The man huffs before stomping off in a tantrum.
Seungmin turns back to you with a proud smirk as you laugh with a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re kind of crazy for that.”
“Crazy for you,” He winks. “So, about this student?”
Jeongin x fem!reader:
After the boys performed at an awards show, Jeongin brings you along to the after party. You are wearing a wine red, silk dress that hugs your curves in all the right places. Jeongin’s arm sits around your waist as he goes around mingling with people. You are standing next to him while he talks among several people that you don’t know when you feel your stomach growl. You lightly tap his arm, “I’m gonna go grab something to eat real quick.”
He smiles and nods, removing his arm from your waist. Before you walk away, however, a random man that only recently joined the conversation makes a comment towards you, “Careful now. Don’t want to eat too much and ruin your figure.” He gives a quick laugh and a wink like it was a normal passing comment.
Without missing a beat, Jeongin looks at him and blinks, “Who are you?”
The man looks a little caught off guard, “My name’s Hongyo. I’m part of staff for one of the CUBE groups.” He smiles, stretching out his hand, but Jeongin doesn’t take it. Instead he just nods, face still neutral.
“Oh okay, so you’re not anyone important.”
“What?”
“I was just trying to see who you think you are that you can make a comment about my girlfriend like that. I figured you might have been at least someone important enough to have that kind of audacity but I guess you’re just arrogant.”
The tension in the air is palpable. You stand frozen next to Jeongin. A few of the people around slowly back away while others try not to smirk at Jeongin’s sass. The man scoffs, “Just cause you’re a celebrity doesn’t mean you get to talk to people like that.”
“Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you get to talk to women like that.” Jeongin slips his hand back around your waist, turning to you. “Come on, darling. He’s not worth any more of our time.” He guides you away, leaving the man shell shocked and abandoned by the rest of the people around. Jeongin guides you to a less crowded space before gently looking at you, his demeanor totally softening, “Are you alright? Do you want to go home?”
You shake your head, “Are you not going to get in trouble for that?”
“For what? Calling him out? Not likely, but even if I do, I don’t care. No one is allowed to disrespect you like that.”
You press a kiss to his cheek, “I love you.”
He flashes that adorable dimpled smile, “I love you too.”
➥ Bang Chan x Reader (f) x Jake — 7.1k (~30 min. read)
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Mind games, Jake is a little insane and we love it, threesome with stepbrothers, FFM encounter, double vaginal penetration (see casebook for more)
➥ You and Chris are about to pull a stunt that upgrades you to “Channie & Clyde”, and his stepbrother will gladly assist you if it means he can touch you however he wants.
The entries of this collection are standalone and only loosely connected.
*a/n: This was supposed to be a drabble, then I discovered "Outside" exists.
He’s SO husband, but, like, in a daddy way.
Yeah, if you’re into swinging maybe.
Girlies were so busy swooning over Chris’ dimple-frosted rizz that whenever they heard an allegation painting him as an unhinged freak, they were clutching their pearls with a dramatic “He would nev–ver!” by default. Even if you livestreamed the events right from his bed, you would probably be dubbed a deepfaker because the delulu stans of academia were convinced Dr.-to-be Bang was the service dom of the century. You know, just like a daddy husband would be for his bride.
Talk about perception management, jesus christ…
In addition to a few joint papers, Chris was the author of some of your nastiest memories, so you knew firsthand that the fastidious husband material act was a flaming pile of bullshit, probably concocted by the aggressive lawyers retained by the Bangs. It was even more appalling that no one seemed to notice anything when he was hiding in plain sight—he was literally turning the department building into his own debauched playground some nights. It was actually such a common occurrence that every time you had to work late, you were expecting him to misbehave somewhere.
It wasn’t like you were out looking for him, okay? Crucial instruments were needed for the advancement of science, like coffee or the staple sitting in your desk drawer, and during your side quests, you just happened to hear things passing by an empty classroom, his father’s office, the faculty lounge…
“Do it again. She gets wetter when you’re mean.”
…or the restrooms, as was the case that particular night.
Throughout these staged coincidences, you were used to hearing people having pleasure seizures or Chris performing the raunchiest dirty talk, but you did not know who that voice belonged to.
Of course you would be intrigued!
You pressed on the door handle extra carefully to suppress the god-awful creak, but maybe you didn’t even have to. The wet sounds that welcomed you were so loud that you wondered if this was a deliberate attempt to make the passersby outside hear what was going on in here. No one was out in the open—the sounds were coming from one of the stalls, but it made no sense. The building was almost entirely empty anyway; why couldn’t they pick a much more comfortable location for… whatever the fuck this was? Why the restroom? Why the stall?
Questions, questions…
“D–Deeper…”
“We told you. Squirting’s extra.”
Squirti— Extr— We?
HUH?!!
The questions multiplied to the size of a platoon and charged at your mind at full force. This voice did belong to Chris, but the other man was not one of the seven usual suspects. And from the way he worded it, this seemed like a uh… a professional service.
Just who the fuck was in there with him?!
“Stop teasing!!! Make m— Make me cum.”
“Tsk, but that’s also extra,” the unfamiliar voice taunted. “You pay me to eat your pussy, not to make you cum.”
The conquest of the night was on the brink of committing manslaughter at best, first-degree murder at worst. She didn’t have any control over her volume whatsoever, either because of excess pleasure or sheer helplessness, and her response came out as a spectacularly frustrated whine.
“FINE! HOW MUCH MORE DO YOU WANT?!”
“Fifty bands. Can you afford it?”
Evil. This was straight up evil. The two men were sinisterly laughing at each other, but they seemed to have no intention of ceasing whatever wet contact they had established with her skin. If anything, the sounds were getting lewder, louder, meticulously designed to drive her clinically insane.
And something about this was so profoundly erotic that you were dripping between your legs.
“Didn’t think so,” the stranger’s emotionless voice echoed in the dark room, and a pornographic slurping sound followed, making the woman properly sob.
And maybe, just maybe, you stayed in the stall nextdoor, wishing they were devouring you instead, listening in on this sweet torture until you quietly made yourself cum.
Maybe.
The next day, you were feeling some type of way when you walked into the lab, a.k.a. the designated space for your research group that looked more like a luxury lounge and less like a beacon of knowledge. Chris was chilling on one of the gargantuan bean bags, reading a stack of stapled papers like he was enjoying some beach read. He showed no signs of being even slightly hungover, looking fresh as fuck as if he wasn’t the one playing the most wicked games within these very walls just hours ago.
“Papers are graded and on your desk,” he informed you without even looking at you.
“Alright, Superman, I don’t know how to word this in a politically correct way, so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it,” you dropped your bag on the couch a little too hard, exasperated as fuck with his limitless antics. “Are you running an illicit cunnilingus ring around here?”
He cracked up so hard, and you physically felt your annoyance turn into a bullet train in your veins because your intention was not to entertain him.
“That’s a great name for it, actually,” his stupid heart-melting laughter finally died down, “but I prefer the term side hustle.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
“I never joke about eating pussy,” he uttered with a straight face. “How’d you hear about it?”
“I was forced to. You weren’t exactly being discreet last night,” you scorned, feeling petty for reasons unknown. “I’m pretty sure that’s against college policies. You could get fired for that, you know.”
“No, you could get fired for that,” he pointed at you, clicking his tongue with a wink. “I run this shit, baby.”
“You mean your father does,” you sneered at his spoiled brat entitlement.
“Does it matter? I’m immortal all the same,” he put his papers away and clasped his hands under his nape, getting into a more comfortable position. “Why’d you ask? Are you interested in my services?”
“Don’t I already get your services for free?” you cocked a brow. “Like, twice a week.”
“No, you don’t. What you get is the base model,” he obnoxiously answered. “You didn’t really think the view from the third floor would be the same as the penthouse, did you?”
This fucking peacock of a man… You took a deep breath through your smile, discreetly biting inside your cheek to keep your poise.
“Another guy was in there with you,” you took a seat on the couch diagonal to him, “and he wasn’t from your entourage.”
“That would be Jake.”
“I’m enlightened all of a sudden,” you scoffed. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“I should hope so. Everybody knows he’s my brother from another mother.”
“I thought your resident wingmen were the red hot chili peppers of Scoville.”
“No, I meant it literally,” he took a bit of a dramatic pause for some reason. “He’s my stepbrother.”
“He what?”
Yup, there it was. Who knows what your face looked like when he volunteered that information, but he suddenly looked very pleased. Turns out the more you tried to avoid entertaining him, the more you were doing exactly that.
“Interested now?” he smugly grinned.
Fuck yeah, you were, but openly frothing at the mouth had never been your style. There was a certain… class to this, if you will. The view from the third floor and the penthouse might not be the same, but neither were their residents.
That was what made all the goddamn difference.
“I guess it would allow me to cross one more thing off my bucket list,” you nonchalantly looked at your nails.
“What the hell kinda list has stepbrothers in it?” he reacted way too chalantly in response.
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, I really do.”
“Well, I prefer something more elegant than sneaking around in restrooms, so I have something more… elaborate in mind,” you pretended you didn’t hear him. “If you’d indulge me, of course.”
“We’ll see,” he challenged you. “Intrigue me.”
Truth be told, you hadn’t been able to think about much else since last night’s fever nightmare. Whenever you closed your eyes, all you could see was that restroom. You kept imagining yourself in there. What you would say. What you would have them do. If you were paying them, they were supposed to cater to your whims, and you kept thinking about what those whims would be. What they could be. How you could extract every last drop of pleasure out of it. Out of them.
You wore a smile as sinister as the laughs you heard the night before as you broke everything down for Chris, all the way down to the tiniest details your imagination let you conjure. When you were finished, he just stared at you, flabbers thoroughly and utterly gasted, looking like he was running out of self-restraint to practice.
“I said intrigue, not make my heart stop,” he snarled at you, “but I knew there was a reason I’m this attracted to you.”
“Yeah? Which is?”
“You’re one sick bitch,” his parted lips slowly curled into a grin, “and I mean it as the highest compliment.”
“You think your sidekick would be down?” you softly asked him.
“I think you should ask him yourself,” he reached for his phone.
“Why can’t you just ask for me?”
“Oh, trust me, you won’t wanna miss this,” he placed the call, still cheesing.
It had only been fifteen minutes when the aforementioned sidekick barged into the office, annoyed out of his mind that he suddenly got subpoenaed, speaking as fast as he could to signal his patience reserves were completely depleted.
“The fuck was so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone? I had to make a U-turn in goddamn traffic,” he berated Chris. “Make it quick, I gotta be at th— Whoa…”
Whoa, indeed.
You weren’t expecting someone this hot to show up, either, but that wasn’t even the surprising part. You had never seen someone actively melting at your sight before, and for whatever reason, this man that you were seeing for the first time looked somewhere between starstruck and lovesick as he walked towards you.
“I can’t fucking believe it’s you,” he held your hands, squeezing them like he was afraid to let the love of his life go. “It’s really you!”
Confused wouldn’t quite cover the state you were in—you were thoroughly dumbfounded. He seemed too much like he was majoring in fuckboy sciences to be interested in your h-index, which meant you had ZERO leads on why he was acting like this.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” you hesitantly asked.
“Yeah, you kinda have,” Chris cleared your confusion when he could take a break from having the time of his life watching his brother’s severe crashout. “He’s your top subscriber.”
“You’re retriever15?!”
“FUCK, SHE KNOWS ME!” Jake started freaking out in earnest. “You heard that, right? She knows me!”
“Cool it, bro, this isn’t a hi-touch event.”
“My face doesn’t even show in those,” you spoke, unsure if you should be impressed or alarmed. “How did you know it’s me?”
“Motherfucker can’t attend a class for two weeks back to back, but when pussy is involved, all of a sudden he has a PhD in stalking,” Chris kept giggling in his corner.
“That’s WILDLY inaccurate. I wasn’t stalking, I was just educating myself on her lore,” Jake corrected him quite seriously. He then sat next to you, his arm stretched on the backrest, sneakily moving to pull you into a hug. “Golden boy here says you need my help with something?”
“I’d say it’s more service procurement than help,” you reached for his hand on your shoulder, blatantly pulling it down so you would properly be in his embrace.
“Then how may I be of service to my princess?” he asked with a crooked smile, his eyes involuntarily darting to your lips.
Okay, real talk? You had no idea what it was about you or your content that made him like this, and his intensity was a bit scary. Nevertheless, it also made him the perfect yes man, so who were you to complain?
You walked Jake through your little scheme, as well. Unlike his brother, he kept his composure throughout the whole thing, lazily playing with your hair as he listened, somehow taking this whole thing way too seriously. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was his default mode during business negotiations, or if he was like this because you were requesting something from him.
“Your setup is fine, but it’ll work better if Chris goes full asshole by the end,” he eventually commented on your gameplan with so much conviction.
Evil. This man was straight up evil. He was drooling all over you just two seconds ago, but all of a sudden, he was a war room general now?
“Because?”
“You want your target to be vulnerable enough to cave,” he informed you, clearly speaking from experience.
“Can you believe they call this doberman a golden retriever?” Chris asked you, but it didn’t sound rhetorical at all. No. No, you could not.
In fact, this simp seemed to be just the right kind of sick in the head to show you a good time.
“Damn, you’re not just a pretty boy, are you?” you brushed the back of your hand against his cheek.
“No, I’m a professional slut,” he declared, kissing the fingers caressing him, “and of course there’s gonna be a fee for services rendered.”
“Fine, quote your price.”
“You say that like you’re ready to pay anything,” he smirked, eyes beaming with lights in the deepest shades of red. “Should I start having hopes?”
“You should start putting your money where your mouth is,” you responded.
“Can I put you where my mouth is?” he licked his lips while pulling you closer. “I swear I’ll make you cum like you never have.”
“I said, cool it, bro,” Chris threw a pen at him.
“Fucking buzzkill,” Jake deadpanned, rolling his eyes, then gave you your answer. “It’s nothing astronomical. I’m gonna be the one playing your boyfriend.”
“That’s it?” you creased your brows. “I thought you were gonna ask for something insane.”
“I mean, I’m a very affectionate boyfriend,” he intertwined his fingers with yours, “I don’t shy away from PDAs at all.”
“Still not as insane as you think,” you chuckled.
“Which also includes fucking you in public,” he brushed his nose against yours. “Insane enough now?”
Question marks started appearing on your face at long last. Chris, on the other hand, was acting like this whole exchange was an SNL episode, intermittently giggling to himself.
“I mean, not public public,” Jake quickly explained, dragging his fingers down your neck, and already on his third round of eyefucking you. “I just wanna finger you a little bit while we slow dance to some whore anthem and make out. I’m a romantic like that.”
“I’m obligated to inform you that I bite when I get too horny,” you grazed your nails on his neck a bit too harshly.
“Hickeys on my neck marked by you? Fuck yeah.”
“Some romantic you are,” you snorted.
“Well, I’m also a whore, so…”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Chris rose to his feet.
“What? If you’re gonna be getting your dick wet, she should have her fun, too, Chrissy,” Jake faked a pout. “That pussy’s not gonna eat itself.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d start to suspect you’re trying to wife her up or something,” Chris narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“I’d be so down,” Jake barely dodged frothing at the mouth, then spoke in a deliberately tragic tone worthy of a soap opera lead role. “All the meaningless munching leaves me so empty, I’m year–ning to cockwarm the love of my life into fucking her awake at night.”
“You’re already so down bad, christ, go jerk off somewhere else,” Chris heaved an annoyed sigh. “You in or what?”
“The day I say no to that, check me into a psych ward,” Jake smiled really big, adoring eyes kissing all over your face.
On D-Night, you walked into Lobos flanked by the yin-yin brothers—because there was nothing yang about them—and it was damn near impossible not to have an ego orgasm. Everyone in the room was ogling them. As the number one hater of weirdly possessive guys, you were utterly perplexed as to why you enjoyed it a bit too much when they put their hands on you, a hand holding yours, an arm around your waist, even a few kisses here and there, as if to make it crystal clear to everyone who you belonged to. Maybe it had something to do with knowing this was all an act.
Or maybe it didn’t.
One thing you did notice, however, was how Jake was constantly reaching for the upper hand whenever he was around Chris, making everything a matter of pride. Whose car they were going to take. Which booth they were going to sit at. Whether they were going to order bottle service or not.
Who was going to hit that first…
“I have a good feeling about this,” Chris smiled at you, though nowhere near wholesome, once the stack of shots Jake ordered arrived at the table. “I mean, if it doesn’t work, we can always visit the staff restroom again, right?”
“Staff restr— Wait…” Jake turned to Chris. “You’re telling me you two hooked up already?”
“Not did,” Chris corrected him, having too much fun divulging the factual reality. “We do.”
“Can you fucking see what’s on my back?!” Jake borderline screamed, legitimately offended. “It’s a knife!”
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know she existed, so fucking focus. We don’t have a slot for your tantrums on our program tonight,” Chris slapped him on the back, then pointed at someone by the bar. “What about her?”
“That’s Riki’s side piece. If he hears you looked at her wrong, he’ll probably put a hit on your ass,” Jake answered, jaw still clenched in annoyance, and nodded towards another one at a crowded table. “That one.”
“Nah, I know her. Too bitchy for my taste,” Chris scowled.
“I think I found her,” you smiled to yourself, staring at a girl in a blue dress on the dance floor.
After a swift deliberation amongst themselves, the brothers gave their stamp of approval for your choice, and you all started downing shots one after another as if to numb yourselves prior to the main course.
“We ride,” Chris slammed the last glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll see you guys home.”
No wonder he was the “golden boy” because the levels of efficiency this man worked at were insane. You and Jake watched Chris blend into the crowd and seamlessly pull the girl to dance with him. She didn’t even protest. Fine, he was charming and whatnot, but just what the hell did he exude that allowed him to get into any pants he goddamn wished?!
“So,” Jake pulled you close from your waist as well as back to earth. “You wanna pay me right now or…?”
You inadvertently chuckled. If this man had no tolerance for one thing, it was any amount of attention paid to his older brother when he was around.
“You know, you seem like the type to fall in love very quickly,” you started playing with his collar.
“I’m not sure if fall in love is the right word here,” he held your hand and locked his fingers with yours.
“I agree. I should have said become heavily obsessed for no apparent reason.”
“No apparent reason? You’re hurting my feelings,” he faked a pout. “I’ll have you know I was like this even when I didn’t know what your face looked like.”
“You still knew what my pussy looked like.”
“By that logic, I should be in love with all of my fleshlights.”
“You’re not in love with me.”
“How would you know?”
“You can’t produce one substantial reason as to why you’re like this, so we both know you’re just pussy drunk,” you refuted him once and for all, “and you haven’t even had a sip, mind you.”
“Okay, science diva, let’s see if you’ll find this substantial. It’s nothing too complicated, just simple math,” he instantly launched his rebuttal. “You’re an attention whore, and I have infinity amounts of it to give, which means we’re compatible as fuck.”
“To what do I owe this stellar review?”
“Oh, sorry, were you masturbating for strangers online out of the goodness of your heart?” he tilted his head, his words perfectly marinated in sarcasm. “You love it when someone gets horny because of you.”
You burst out laughing at the overly candid response because, well…
“Touché,” you acknowledged.
He looked so pleased with himself just for making you laugh, smirking with the captions that read “That’s more like it,” as if that was the only correct reaction you should give him, but it instantly vanished when you finally established the skin-to-skin contact he’d been waiting for. Your hands were moving up his neck, encouraging him to walk as boldly as he talked.
“Have I ever told you how sexy you look in this blazer?” you spoke dangerously close to his lips.
“No, but I can definitely get used to it,” he answered, one hand gliding down your hips.
You took his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging on it, and his eyes rolled as if he was getting his dick sucked. That was his last straw.
He pulled you into a deep kiss, and by god you almost surrendered your soul right then and there. If he was able to get you that wet just from that, who the hell knew what else he was capable of doing with that mouth?
“Imagine,” he started painting you a picture, his hand sliding up your bare thighs. “Me right here all day, your legs shaking on my shoulders so hard you can’t even walk. Doesn’t it sound fucking amazing?”
“You wanna be my on-call plug?”
“I don’t wanna be on call,” he heaved a deep sigh, sinking his teeth into his lips just at the mere thought. “I wanna fucking live here.”
“Which one are you really?” you chuckled at his overenthusiasm. “A doberman or a golden retriever?”
“I don’t show fangs unless you cross me.” He placed your hand on his cheek and rubbed himself against it. “Keep me happy, and I’ll become the best boy.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m begging you to let me fuck you.”
It was endearing in a twisted way that he seemed ready to do whatever you asked him to do, and part of you did want to give him a to-do list to complete. And maybe you would someday. As his tongue swirled around yours, you had mentally jotted down fifteen delicious items already.
“We can slow dance here, too, right?” you held his hand and moved it further up your thighs.
He shuddered when his fingertips made contact with your wetness, but he was quick to take the hint. A whore anthem was playing, you were making out, and there was only one thing missing from the scene.
“Wet…” he teased your entrance, inches away from losing it entirely. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”
He slid two fingers inside you with great ease, and your eyes widened at the impact. He was loving the way you were reacting to him, heavily breathing into his mouth with your forehead pressed against his, trying to make him move faster to absolutely no avail.
“Jake…”
“If you moan my name like that again,” he lovingly pecked your lips as if he was in the middle of a romantic gesture, “I’m not gonna take responsibility for what I’m gonna do to you.”
“What… What are you gonna do?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” he grazed his teeth on your jawline, “but it will be wet.”
You turned towards the dancefloor to see how the other hand of the operation was doing. Chris and the blue dress girl were now by the bar. As she was telling him something with big hand gestures, his eyes were on you, watching you get fingered with blank eyes. It was probably just for a few seconds, but it felt like hours to you. When Jake followed your line of sight, he noticed what you were looking at, and the smile he flashed was all kinds of perverse.
At long last, Chris snapped out of it and scratched his nape, which was the agreed-upon signal telling you to take position.
“To be continued,” Jake finally stopped his torturous teasing and shoved his glistening fingers in his mouth. “Let’s go home, beautiful.”
The ride back home was silent. Neither you nor Jake was saying anything, but something was buzzing in the air. You were both smiling, sharing knowing looks and risky touches at the back of that cab, probably imagining your own versions of how the events of the night were going to unfold.
As soon as you walked into the warm room, Jake received a text from Chris telling him he was on his way. You needed to set everything up before his arrival, but the first words you uttered had nothing to do with the plan.
“Can I get a t-shirt or something?”
“T-shirt?” Jake arched his brows.
“Aren’t you my boyfriend? I’m entitled to your wardrobe.”
You were also entitled to the ownership of his mental faculties because he was all but drooling just imagining you in something of his. He quickly snapped out of it and led you to his bedroom, forcing the very last drop of his self-restraint to stop himself from drilling you into his bed.
“Have at it,” he slid his wardrobe open.
“You know what the best thing about this is?” you asked seriously as you picked a loose flannel shirt.
He knew what words were before you started stripping right in front of him, discarding every item of clothing until you were buck naked. He just watched you in complete awe, jaw slack, spacing out while you put on nothing but his shirt.
“It’s gonna smell like me after I leave,” you broke into a convincingly innocent smile.
“If you’re trying to make me cum hands-free, I’ll aim it at your face, just saying,” he found his voice again somewhere at the back of his throat.
“That’d be cute to watch you try,” you chuckled and handed him a t-shirt and sweatpants. “Put these on.”
Your eyes savored the trailer of the blockbuster you were about to enjoy soon as he stripped. Chiseled lines, slender figure, his honey skin screaming at you, “Kiss me or bite me, but fucking do something.”
“Now we look like a believable couple.” You opened your hand and extended it to him. “Paw.”
“Woof,” he placed his hand in your palm.
“Good boy,” you stole a quick peck from his lips and headed to the living room, leaving the poor guy to combust in your wake.
Once he was done kicking his feet over exchanging numbers with you, you started a muted video call with him, then set your phone on the coffee table while Jake left to place his inside Chris’ nightstand drawer. When he returned, he immediately snuggled up to you on the gigantic couch, putting on the horniest show he could find to, quote, “tense up so the release would be better.”
Because constantly caressing you from the waist down with kisses on your neck wasn’t enough torture apparently.
Your people of interest let you know they arrived when the blue dress girl’s loud laughter echoed in the hallway. When the bedroom door closed in the distance, you positioned your phone against a glass on the coffee table, making sure it captured a wide angle. Shortly after, the picture was up on the screen—Jake’s phone was out of the drawer, currently being placed above the headboard to only show a shirtless Chris. He must have been done blindfolding the girl.
The second you and Jake made eye contact, you grabbed his shirt and crashed into his lips. You were stripping each other so fast, paying no mind if you were tearing fabric or ripping some buttons in the meantime.
“Showtime, baby,” he smiled into your mouth and lay you down on the couch, perfectly angling your pussy towards the camera.
On the screen, you could see Chris moving in a languid rhythm. He was so focused on the lens that it felt like he was fucking you, looking straight at you as Jake descended between your legs. You were already too on edge from being teased all night, and if Jake stalled any longer, the anticipation was going to kill you.
When he closed his mouth on your pussy at long last, you finally understood why bitches were paying him bank to get their pussies eaten because HO–LY SHIT!!!
One swipe, and you sounded just like the woman from the restroom stall. Loud, guttural moans were ripping from your throat with each lick, and you were clawing the couch cushion, trying to ride his tongue for more friction. He hugged your thighs tighter to stop you from moving, devilishly smiling at you with his mouth full, but you could still hear his eyes saying, “You’re not getting what you want.”
“J–Jake… Please!”
“What did I tell you about moaning my name, huh?”
He abruptly stopped and sucked on two fingers, sliding them in so excruciatingly slowly that you had half a mind to break free of his grip and ride him to death. But when he hit the spot…
Fuck the stars, you were seeing entire galaxies behind your eyelids.
“Right—Right there!!!”
“That’s it, baby, let go.”
His tone was so comforting, but what he was doing made it impossible to calm down. He had your clit trapped between his lips, sucking on it as his tongue kept teasing, fingers massaging your deepest corners with firm motions, pace climbing dangerously fast. Your entire body consumed by hellfire, your sanity in shambles, your reality all distorted, you were just waiting for the alarmingly tightened coil inside you to snap. Any minute. Any minute.
Any minute now.
“Let go for me,” Jake kissed your clit. “Let go. I earned this.”
The coil didn’t snap; it nuked the entire room into a measly pile of debris.
Your back arched so high that you almost sat up straight, completely drenching the spawn of satan between your legs, and on the screen, you saw Chris violently convulse watching this. Even when you had no drops to squirt anymore, Jake didn’t stop, tongue still gliding all over your soaked folds as if he wanted to see just how far he could push it.
Well, turns out not very far.
“He fucking lost it, didn’t he?” he chuckled, then climbed up to kiss you.
You couldn’t tell how long had passed as you lay there, just tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands eventually reached below his waist, but he stopped you in a panic.
“Hold on just a little bit more,” he tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’ll be worth it.”
You turned off the camera and put your clothes back on. This was Chris’ cue to run this home now. It was so quiet that you could hear everything going on down the hall.
“Beat it,” he dismissed the blue dress girl. “No sleepovers.”
“Huh?”
“Are you deaf? I said move.”
“Fucking jerk!!!”
“Show me what you got,” Jake whispered into your ear.
The door swung open, and you heard angry stomps approach closer. You rose to your feet and walked to the hallway to make it look like you were just going to the bathroom.
“Whoa, whoa, are you okay?” you suddenly stopped the blue dress girl with a concerned face.
“Your roommate is a total asshole!”
“Easy,” you put your hands on her shoulders and gently nudged her towards the living room. “Come, sit for a bit.”
The TV was back on by then, and it really looked like a couple was having a cozy night in. Once she took her seat on the couch, you sat between her and Jake, listening to the rundown of events that you already knew. You and Jake were forming the most generic sentences of comfort, but the fact of the matter was, every word she uttered fell on deaf ears. You weren’t interested in any of that.
What you really wanted was currently resting between her legs.
“I’m really sorry about all that,” you held her hand, gently caressing it with your thumb. “Guess you played to the wrong audience tonight, huh?”
“Wrong… audience?”
Jake rested his head on your shoulder, and you both looked at her silently. Currently, the blue dress girl was a) mad, b) vulnerable, and most importantly, c) frustrated.
The lineup couldn’t get any better than this.
“We’re at least courteous enough to let our guests finish. If you’re interested, of course,” you said almost wholesomely. “If not, we’d understand.”
You weren’t even going too hard on the rizz, but she was still blushing. You slowly leaned in to kiss her, and she reciprocated, her frustration working wonders on how fast this was progressing already.
Though you almost ruined it when she unwittingly crossed a red line by attempting a move on Jake, and your reaction made his heart stop for a good three seconds.
“That’s mine,” you stopped her. “You can’t touch him.”
“Oh, s–sorry!”
“But you can watch him,” you flashed a calm smile to appease her. “I know he will.”
You pulled her legs to make her lie down and spread them wide, arching your hips towards Jake as you got comfortable. She was in such a rush to get out of here that she hadn’t even put her underwear back on, and the sight was…
Jesus christ…
Chris had done a perfect job creaming her pussy, and to think that this had happened because of you… While watching you…
Maybe it was because of that fact, or maybe Chris actually tasted like narcotics, who knows?
Behind you, Jake slid your shirt up to get your back bare again. Shortly after, his warmth enveloped you as he kissed your neck, the chain of his necklace tickling you a little bit, then he started paving a wet trail of kisses down your spine. You felt his tip prodding your entrance, still throbbing from the mayhem he caused not too long ago, and when he started sinking into you, fully hard and ready to destroy, you just could not help the unholy sound you made.
And the blue dress girl lost it.
Only a few licks in, she was already falling apart on your tongue, but the way Jake made you moan into her pushed her to the ledge pretty quickly. You didn’t pay much mind to her pleasure; this wasn’t about her. This was about you wanting to relish Chris on your taste buds from a vessel he bullied, and a little bit about Jake for being such a good boy so far. If she didn’t cum by the time you were done with her, tough—that would simply mean two major Ls for her in one night.
Luckily for her, she found it a little too hot to handle to watch a beautiful woman eat her pussy and her man cumming inside her. Even if she didn’t finish by then, Jake’s next insane move would probably end her anyway.
“Share with me,” he held your chin and turned you around, kissing you deep enough to taste the man he secretly hated just a little bit.
“Now you can leave,” you giggled at the blue dress girl. “We’ll be calling it a night now.”
Ever the graceful hosts, you and Jake saw her off as if you were the ones inviting her back here. As she was about to leave, she pulled a card from her clutch and handed it to you.
“If you ever wanna repeat this,” she knowingly smiled, “call me.”
As soon as the door closed, however, Jake snatched the card from your hand and ripped it into unglueably small pieces.
“No one’s calling anyone,” he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to his room. “You give your undivided attention to me.”
You stripped and got into bed together, but all he wanted to do was kiss. You kissed for a long while until your lips were raw. Maybe he actually thought he was your boyfriend then, but you decided to give him this. If he wanted to be delusional for a little while, so be it. That was the least you could do after everything he’d done for you tonight.
By then, he was so hard that you could trace the veins on his leaking cock. He was the one about to die of anticipation now, just waiting for you to take him down yout throat already, and a part of you just wanted to drag him to hell and back for what he put you through. As you were having the time of your life teasing him, you felt cold kisses on your back out of nowhere, and the room suddenly smelled like the ocean.
“That was one hell of a production just to eat my cum. Couldn’t you just suck my cock?”
The whisper in your ear gave you goosebumps. You just knew he felt you clench from the way he softly laughed immediately after.
“Shut up and get down there,” you ordered Chris.
“Anything you want, baby,” he kissed your waist.
As you were busy changing Jake’s life in your mouth, Chris lay under you, licking the white drops dripping down your thighs first. Then he started munching on your clit, and the volume of your moans immediately tripled, growing even louder as he lazily dragged his tongue all over your pussy. When you least expected it, his fingers slid inside you, fucking Jake’s cum back into you while letting out content sighs. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could feel the words within your body.
“Cum for me. Like you always do.”
Your body convulsed so hard that you almost crushed him between your legs. Unfortunately for Jake, your stamina hit subzero before he could finish, and even though Chris making you suck on his cum-covered fingers almost did the trick, it still wasn’t enough.
“Delicious, right? Can’t hold a candle to your taste, though,” he took a gentle bite from your ear, then addressed Jake firmly. “Switch with me.”
He got comfortable against the headboard and pulled you on his lap, spreading your legs wide so Jake could see how he disappeared into you.
“Eat her pussy,” Chris ordered him.
A diabolical smile appeared on Jake’s face when he saw you flinch. He could see you still pulsating with aftershocks, which meant you were still sensitive, which meant if he licked your clit right now…
“Too much. Too much!!!”
“It’s only too much if I say it’s too much,” Jake loudly slurped. “You’re a big girl, you can take it.”
You were thrashing on Chris’ lap, trying to escape the overly ticklish sensation, but to no avail. All you could do was listen to him sweetly laugh in your ear as he stretched you more, while his worse half was decimating you on his tongue.
You had zero complaining rights because if it was too much to take, then you shouldn’t have wished for exactly this.
“You’re fucking perfect,” Chris drowned you in kisses. You weren’t sure if you heard it right when he spoke to Jake again. “Come up. She’s ready.”
As Chris slowly pulled out of you, Jake finally gave you some respite and got on his knees. He stroked himself to full hardness, then offered his cock to you to devour, letting the pleasure run a few laps in his veins before he got to the closer of the show. You let him go with a loud pop, and what you felt next was…
Both of them.
Pressing.
Against your entrance.
“You can take it, baby,” Chris encouraged you. “She can, right?”
“Of course she can. This is the home stretch now,” Jake concurred. “Deep breaths. Hold my hands.”
They kissed you everywhere they could, your neck, your shoulders, your lips, as if this was wholesome lovemaking and not the pinnacle of debauchery. They were moving slow and deep, gradually making their way in, and you let them. You let them devour you. You let them swallow you whole. You let them meet inside you to maybe put an end to their petty fight.
And at long last, they were fucking you in tandem, scarily reminiscent of a well-oiled machine, almost in a rehearsed rhythm like they had done this before.
And not just once.
“See? Perfect. You’re perfect.”
“God, you’re so fucking tight… I love it.”
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. I can’t blow yet.”
“Oh, fuck…”
“I said don’t—”
“FUCK!!!”
It reminded you of the blue dress girl a little. Granted, these two paid so much mind to your pleasure at first, but by the end, this wasn’t about you. This was about them hitting rock bottom of pleasure together, and just having you along for the ride. And you let them. You let them devour you. You let them swallow you whole.
Just like you wished.
After the dust cleared, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing and hums of satisfaction. Arms and legs tangled with each other, you were floating on cloud nine, high on the filthiest kind of bliss you had ever experienced in your life.
“You know I’m not gonna pay you for this, right?” you spoke once you deemed their wits were back enough to process your words.
“We wouldn’t take your money,” Chris snuggled up to you, “but we will take your pussy.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means if you think you’re getting out of this debt, you got another thing coming,” Jake buried his head in the crook of your neck. “I know what your cumface looks like now.”
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Or: you hadn't planned for your car to start acting up on your way back home near midnight. paying your really hot mechanic a vist wasn't planned, not tonight anyway. what you also hadn't planned was getting bent over the hood of your own car by said mechanic (that one was planned, but that's besides the point)
Warnings: MDNI!! 2.5k-ish pwp, oral (m rec.), piv, exhibitionism, talks of cars i have no clue about, reader is lowkey a bimbo, both of them are pervs, barely proofread
You pulled into the lot at 11:48 pm, the engine of your car giving one final, pathetic shudder before falling silent. The heavy metal shutter of the garage was halfway closed, cutting the interior light into a sharp, slanted rectangle on the asphalt.
Just as you killed the ignition, the heavy thud of boots echoed near the entrance of the garage. Chan stepped out, squinting at you, his lips twitching upward when he realized who it was. He left the shutters open and signaled you to pull in.
You’d been here three times in the last two months alone. Once for a brake pad squeal that probably didn't exist, another for an oil change you could have done yourself, and now this. but who could blame you? he's hot and he doesn't overcharge you.
Each visit was kept professional enough, a formal exchange of "Yes, mr. bang" and "No, thank you, ma'am" that served as a flimsy curtain over the heat building between you.
You liked the way he looked at you and you liked the way he played along, keeping the professionalism intact while his eyes tracked the movement of your hips every time you stepped out of the driver's seat.
“My car has a bit of a temper,” you say, leaning back against the door with a slow, stretch that pulls your shirt tight across your chest. You watch his gaze dip, tracking the movement, before his eyes snapped back to yours again.
You’ve played this game for months - the truth is, you don't give a damn about the engine, you just want to see if he’ll finally stop calling you 'ma'am' and start calling you something else.
“Temper, huh?” Chan , a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he steps into your space “Well, let’s see what’s got you so worked up.” He gestures for you to pop the hood, and as you pull the lever, he leans over the engine bay. The movement pulls his work shirt tight across his shoulders, the fabric straining against the muscle of his back.
“knew that sound wasn’t right,” he mutters, poking a finger toward a ruptured vacuum hose. He winces, the expression tightening his jaw as he realizes the rubber has completely perished, leaving the engine gasping for air.
He doesn't look at you, but you can see the muscle in his cheek twitching. He’s focused now, sliding right back into work as he reaches for a wrench, his knuckles rapping against the metal with a heavy thud.
You don't move from your spot, leaning your hip against the fender and watching the way his biceps bunch and ripple under that gosh darn tank top.
He’s working with a slow, methodical precision, his large hands moving with a surprising lightness as he detaches the faulty part, and you make sure to let out a soft, appreciative hum.
“Done,” he says after a few minutes of working. He wipes his hands on a rag, his eyes finally locking onto yours.
He lets the rag drop onto the engine block with a dull thud, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before he clears his throat. “That’ll be eighty bucks for the part and the labor. Plus a little extra for the midnight call out fee.”
You let out a soft, teasing tsk, shifting your weight so your hip brushes against the warm metal of the car. “Eighty? For a little piece of rubber? You’re getting greedy, Mr. Bang.” You tilt your head, “I might have to find a more affordable shop.”
“You could try,” he chuckles, shrugging “But I don’t think anyone else in this city is gonna give you the kind of... personal attention I do.” He's moving closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the garage lights, casting you in a heavy, suffocating shadow.
You don't back down. Instead, you reach out and trail a finger along his arm. “Maybe we can... negotiate the price. I’m not sure I have eighty on me right now...”
you did have eighty on you. probably.
“Well, I am a businessman, sweetheart, Why don’t you show me exactly how you plan on convincing me?”
and that was all you needed to hear.
you let your gaze drop to the heavy buckle of his belt, then slowly sank to your knees. You keep your eyes locked on his, watching the way his breath hitches and his posture stiffens.
Your fingers find the button of jeans, popping it open n' sliding the zipper down, revealing the tight stretch of his boxers. He’s already half-hard, a heavy, pulsing weight straining against the fabric.
you press your palm flat against the length of him, circling the head with your thumb, teasing the bead of moisture leaking through the cotton.
“Fuckin’ tease,” Chan grunts, his voice cracking. He lets out a low, jagged moan that vibrates through the air, his head tilting back as his hips give a reflexive, involuntary twitch toward your hand.
You reach inside, hooking your fingers into the waistband and pulling him free. He springs out, thick and pulsing, the skin flushed a deep, hungry red.
You wrap your fingers around the base and pump him twice, in a slow, firm motion that draws a long, satisfied sigh from his throat.
Then you take him.
The moment your lips slide over the crown, he lets out a choked sound, his hips jerking forward. “Now we’re talkin’,” he rasps, the words barely coherent.
You take your sweet time swirling your tongue around the ridge, savoring the salt and the heat, before sliding your mouth down the length of him. You use your hand to pump the base while your mouth creates a vacuum, sucking him deep until he’s hitting the back of your throat.
Chan’s hands make theirway to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands and guiding your rhythm. He lets out a jagged sound, his hips starting to roll in a slow, desperate search for friction. “God, you’re… you’re fuckin’ killing me,” he rasps, the words breaking.
You don't let up. You use your palm to cup his heavy balls, squeezing lightly as you suck the length of him, your lips creating a tight, wet seal that has his eyes rolling back.
His breath becomes a series of short, sharp hitches. his chest heaving as he looks down at you, his expression one of pure, concentrated hunger. “Right there… juuuust like that,”
And then fingers tighten in your hair, not giving you a warning as he rams deep into your throat, forcing a muffled gasp from your lungs.
Your eyes water as he bottoms out, his thick head hitting the back of your throat with a heavy, blunt force that makes you gag. You choke, a wet, strangled sound echoing in the quiet garage, but you don't pull away. Instead, you lean into it, your throat stretching and molding around his girth, taking every single inch of him.
and that does it for him. his eyes are squeezed shut, “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groans, a jagged, desperate sound that vibrates through his entire frame.
Then his body stiffens, a violent shudder racking his broad shoulders as he lets out a loud, shaking moan. You feel the first hot, thick surge hit the back of your tongue, a heavy pulse of heat that fills your mouth. your tongue swirling around the head to milk every last drop out of him, listening to the sound of his ragged, uneven breathing.
His large hand slides from your hair to the nape of your neck, fingers curling tight as he hauls you upward. You stumble into him, breathless and flushed, and he crashes his lips against yours.
It’s messy, a starving kind of kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you, before he abruptly breaks away.
He doesn’t give you a second to even catch your breath, because with a sudden, powerful movement, he spins you around.
“Changed my mind,” he rasps, “I think I need a lil’ more convincing.”
And you feel him.
Hard.
He’s already hard again.
It’s impossible, really, but the thick, pulsing length of him is jamming right into the cleft of your backside. You can feel the dampness of your own arousal soaking into your panties, the slickness leaking out and gluing the fabric to your skin.
he reaches down, pulling down your pants down in one go, “Look at that” he's hooking two fingers into the side of your underwear and ripping them aside with a satisfying snap. “Dripping for me already. You’re a mess, sweetheart.”
You let out a shaky, breathy laugh, arching your back to press yourself firmer against his thigh. “Maybe you just… work too fast, Mr. Bang,” you tease, “I can’t keep up with you.”
“Oh, you’ll keep up,” he rasps, his hand sliding forward to find your clit, rubbing it in a heavy, circular motion that makes your knees buckle.
his hands plant onto your hips, fingers digging into your skin with a bruising intensity that anchors you in place. there is no slow buildup, he simply lines himself up and sinks into your wet cunt in one heavy, devastating shove.
The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, strangled wheeze. You’re stretched wide, your walls stretching as he bottoms out, filling every single corner of you until you feel like you might actually split. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your forehead slapping against the metal of the hood as your vision goes white.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice a distorted wreck. He stays buried for a second, letting you feel the sheer, throbbing scale of him. “takin' it like a champ”
Then he starts moving.
He sets a harsh, punishing pace from the get-go, each thrust a heavy t that echoes through the space around you. You’re being hammered into the hood, your breath coming in jagged, sobbing gasps.
“Please—” you manage to choke out, your fingers clawing at the paint, leaving streaks that you'd probably crash out over later.
“Please what, baby? Tell me,” he rasps, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder all while he drives deeper, “Tell me how it feels to have me stretch you out like this.”
“It’s — too much — oh god!” You let out a loud, uncontrolled moan that bounces off the high ceilings of the garage, the sound echoing through the empty lot outside.
Chan’s eyes darken at the sound of your voice carrying, and without missing a beat, he shifts his grip. One of his palms slides from your hip and clamps firmly over your mouth, sealing your cries against his skin in a little "Mmph—!"
He leans in, his chest crushing on your shoulder blades, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Shh,” he rasps, “You're being way too loud, sweetheart. Someone might hear just how much you like being used like a little toy on your own car.”
The mere suggestion of an audience makes your insides seize, tightening around him in a sudden, involuntary spasm, your walls clamping down on him. The sensation is so intense it draws a sharp hiss of air from his lungs, his hips momentarily locking as he feels you literally trying to swallow him whole.
“Oh, you like that,?” he breaths, his voice dropping to a whisper. palm still pressed firm to keep your whimpers trapped. “The thought of someone walking in and seeing you bent over your hood, taking every inch of me while you can’t even make a sound. You’re a little exhibitionist, aren’t you, baby?”
His hand slides from your mouth, the sudden rush of air making you gasp, his fingers wraping around the column of your throat instead.
He’s hitting a rhythm that has your vision swimming. Every slam is a thunderclap in your lower belly, sending sparks shooting up your spine. You can feel the tension coiling in your gut, a tight, humming coil that’s seconds away from snapping.
“I’m— I’m gonna—” you sob, your voice breaking into a high, thin wail. You arch your back, trying to push back against him, “Chan, please— m'cumming”
“Yeah? You’re gonna break for me?” he rasps, his voice a ruined shred of its former self. “Do it. Fuck, just do it, baby. I’m right there— I’m right there with you.”
A loud, shattered moan of his name rips from your throat, vibrating through your entire frame as the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you.
At the exact same moment, Chan lets out a groan, his body locking into a rigid line. He rams into you one last time, his hips stuttering to a dead stop as he floods you, the hot, heavy pulses of his release hitting your cervix in thick bursts.
For a long minute, the only sound in the garage is the synchronized, ragged gasping. You stay slumped over the hood, your muscles twitching in the afterglow, feeling the slow, steady drip of combined fluids sliding down your thighs and onto the floor.
Chan slowly pulls back, the wet, suctioning sound of his exit echoing in the silence. He stays close, his chest still heaving against your back, as he looks down at the glistening mess leaking out of both of you, painting a silver trail across your skin. He lets out a low, impressed whistle.
“thirty percent off, hm?" he's back to pushing in slow, agonizingly deep rolls that grind him against your sensitive walls.
“fourty,” you command.
“One more round n’ I’ll make it sixty”
a/n: okay listen skz in uniform raise your hand if you agree
،، genre ﹆ hurt/comfort includes ﹆ not proofread | extreme angst | depictions of self-hatred | depictions of depression | eldest daughter syndrome | avoidant attachment styles | themes of insecurity and burnout | depictions of mental breakdown and panic attack | toxic family dynamics | i am not a registered therapist | eventual comfort | inner child healing ﹕ ﹒ ⌕
⊹ ⌁ ˖ a/n ﹆ based off this request by anonnie and this request by @anweshaa0310 | where are all my girls who were the unwillingly ordained personal therapists of their family since the age of 12 and hated themselves for caring too much to set boundaries
𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎? ︵ 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐚’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ▥ ▥ ▥
⭔ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⊹ ⌁ ⃕˖ when it becomes second nature to offer your heart to anyone but yourself, you start slipping through the cracks of chan’s hands as he does all he can to save you from yourself.
midnight is safe. midnight is a sanctuary of dead silence and valuable quiet.
in the middle of the night, no one can hear you cry under covers and pillows.
in the middle of the night, no one sees you tear yourself apart and stare at the shreds with a special type of loathing.
in the middle of the night, no one knows how you already begin to dread the following day.
in the middle of the night, no one knows as you nurse the heart that had already broken a long time ago, whispering empty promises for the last strands to hold on just a little while longer. in the middle of the night, there are no eyes analyzing you and no words but the whistling of the wind to drag you down into their same pain. in the middle of the night, it’s okay for everything not to be okay just for a little while, until the sun rises in the east and life once again asks far too much from someone far too little.
midnight is an unspoken mercy where the world allows you to suffocate and drown in peace for a moment, only a moment.
-
january 16th, 8:20 pm.
we went to see the cherry blossoms, they’re blooming all along the street outside our place now! sometimes, i still can’t believe we’re living together now, haha.
while walking, i told her that the flowers weren’t as beautiful as her laugh, and she turned red in a really cute way ~ i still can’t tell if im more in love with her smile or her heart, though, because on our stroll, she ran up to chat with a grandma selling dried fruits on the street and bought a whole bag of them. she doesn’t know it, but when she ran ahead first, the grandma stopped me and told me she had the soul of an angel, and i agree completely.
afterwards, we headed to a cafe, and of course, my angel made so many new friends quickly. a little boy was running around too fast and almost tripped, but she thankfully caught him, and scolded him playfully before taking his hand to go look for his parents, who turned out to be the owner of the cafe.
it’s weird, but i can’t shake the feeling that she looked almost… disassociating when the mom hugged her son tightly and warned him not to run around like that. i’m sure i was imagining it, though. she doesn’t talk about her childhood or family a lot, but-
ah, i gotta head out, jisung just texted that he needs me at the studio for something. it sucks i don’t think i’ll be back before she goes to sleep, but tomorrow’s still sunday, so i can make her breakfast in bed~ maybe i can use some of the dried fruits she bought?
january 17th, 0:08 am.
the sleep deprivation really is getting to me, haha. i swear i heard hiccups in the house when i came back from the studio, but she was fast asleep in bed, so there’s probably a ghost in the house? haha, i guess i’ll head to sleep for real now.
january 30th, 2:04 am.
another late day, jeez this really is a busy season for us. she’s so understanding, of course. sometimes i wish she wasn’t, but that’s arrogant of me to think. one thing i’ve learned after a month of living together, she, well, doesn’t really ever ask for anything. i still always ask and double-check, but she’s so insistent about it that it scares me a little bit.
i don’t think there’s any need to worry too much, though, i hope she knows she can come to me for anything she needs. lately, i haven’t even been able to get home until really late at night, so she asked for permission to go out on a day trip with her friends.
probably overthinking, but it feels unsettling that she wants to ask for permission for that? like, it’s different from just letting me know or giving me a heads up, right? of course i granted it, and i told her she doesn’t need to ask, but she laughed and brushed it off, saying it was just for her own reassurance too, which now that i think about it was a weird way to word it.
thinking about this will probably make me go crazy, aha. lots of people grow up in different environments with different norms, right? as long as she feels comfortable and safe, than it’s not a big deal ~~~
february 9th, 10:32 pm.
ever since we moved in together, i’ve gotten to see so many adorable new sides of her, and i swear i fall more in love with her every time i do.
when we’re having movie nights, she always starts on one side of the couch and slowly inches her way over, but if i move towards her, she freezes like an alarmed cat, it’s honestly so cute. she always cooks too much for dinner, so i get to sneakily eat the leftovers heh, although i’m starting to think she does it on purpose.
it’s getting way too busy lately, i miss her so much it’s actually crazy. the members have caught me staring at my lock screen (a picture of her, of course) multiple times during rehearsal breaks, and i don’t think they’ll ever stop bringing it up.
i’m a little worried she’s not taking good care of herself, because she’s getting darker eye circles even though i swear she’s always asleep by the time i get back, and every time i ask her about how her day was, it seems like she never has any complaints. not that i want her to have anything to get upset about, of course!
seriously though, sometimes she’ll tell me about something that happened with that same unwavering smile, even though the stuff that happens would definitely annoy me if i was in her shoes. ah, but once again, if she’s safe and comfortable… i’ll just quietly get angry on her behalf then, haha.
speaking of nothing in particular, Valentine’s Day is coming up, and even though she tries to be inconspicuous and barely ever gives me any hints on what to get, i caught her admiring a silver necklace on one of our walks a few weeks ago, and according to the text i just got, it’s ready for pickup tomorrow! she’s going to be sooo surprised~
february 14th, 11:43 pm.
it’s Valentine’s Day, and i managed to convince the managers a while back to give me a day off today so i could plan a whole special day for us! we haven’t been able to get a lot of alone time together, and i’ve been missing her a lot to be honest TT she’s always worrying over me too, so i decided it was the perfect time to repay her for everything.
this morning, i woke her up with breakfast in bed, and she started tearing up. i tried to tell her it was just breakfast, but she insisted on making it up to me. somehow, i didn’t even notice she was hiding a whole box of valentine’s gifts in the closet??
she’s seriously the most perfect girlfriend ever, she got me a new set of headphones and laptop case, and that super new massage gun. i don’t think i’ve even mentioned to her that my back has been really sore recently, can’t believe she even noticed.
we went on a date to the same restaurant from our first date, and after the classic who-gets-to-pay argument (i finally won, for once haha) we went on a walk near the han river, and i gave her the necklace i bought her with her birthstone. it’s definitely not enough to be equal for the amazing gifts she got me, but she said it was already too much, so i hope that means she likes it~!
since we stopped for takayaki, we only got back just now, and she fell asleep almost immediately in bed. i had to make a few calls, so i’m in the kitchen right now. seriously, i don’t think my body is used to sleeping this early, so i might just read beside her until i doze off. being around her just has that way of making me feel like i can let down all the weight from my shoulders…
-
you stared at the closed door, hugging your knees to your chest. chan was still on call with his manager, you could hear his phone on speaker.
the gems in the necklace he had given you reflected in the moonlight streaming from the window above your stand, the promises of love that it had come with echoing in your head like pounding drums.
why? why would he give you this? how were you supposed to just accept it so easily, without paying him back, without feeling like you owed him something in return now?
the very thought of being loved unconditionally made your heart and throat twist. to receive affection and adoration without earning it first was a concept your body seemed to reject to the point of nausea.
it was getting harder to breathe. it was getting harder to even look at chan without feeling as if your chest would be crushed under the way he expressed his love for you as naturally as breathing. why? why? why? why?
your gaze shifted to the clock on the nightstand beside you, watching as the seconds ticked by and the numbers pulsed.
maybe you would never escape being that child crying in silence under the blankets. maybe you would never learn how to be someone that deserved to be loved, and that was why you couldn’t accept the idea of a love without a price.
but god, you were tired of only being able to feel that high by tearing yourself apart and selling the pieces.
-
february 20th, 8:26 pm.
she’s… crying.
i don’t think she knows i came home early. she’s in the bathroom right now, i can hear the sink running. i can hear the sobs shaking through her body. her side of the bed is littered with tissues.
… whatever happened must’ve been really bad for her, of all people, to cry like that.
-
it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts-
it was burning, it was static, it was clawing at your throat and stretching you thin and hanging you to dry.
you stare at the reflection in the mirror, of someone too selfish to just. handle. it. the reflection of someone dying from the inside out for wanting to be loved, yet only wanting the mask of her to be loved.
the longer chan loved you as if it was simply the easiest thing in the whole world, the more you felt like you were suffocating because he didn’t really love you, right? how could he love you without expectations?
well, don’t you love chan unconditionally? a small, insolent voice that you thought you had strangled piped up, sounding like a naive child.
that’s different, you shoot back. of course you would love chan no matter what, but as for you…
you’re simply unloveable if you don’t have a purpose.
yes, that was why chan seemed to believe he truly loved you. because chan only knew, and therefore, only loved the version of you that you presented, the only version he’d ever known, the only version you’d ever show him. bright-eyed, smiling, perfect, kind and selfless and convenient and obedient and wanted for nothing yet gave everything and never faltered and never stopped and never… never fell apart.
you look up from the marble counter, looking once more at the mirror holding someone who could never truly be that version. someone who broke down simply from being exhausted by playing a part that was meant to come to her naturally.
seeing the reflection of yourself with dried streaks of tears and red roses blossoming across your face unevenly, of the you hidden and stuffed behind peeling layers you had tried so desperately to glue back together, only one thought bubbled forth in your mind.
she’s so ugly.
-
february 21st, 7:45 pm.
i couldn’t shake the weird chill down my spine i got when i heard her crying that day, it felt like something i never should have heard but i…
when she walked out, her face had this expression that looked so tired, so hollow and… almost defeated, but it was only for a second before that smile, that smile i fell in love with and that crinkle under her eyes swallowed that face. she ran up and hugged me when she noticed me standing in the kitchen, as if she hadn’t been crying with the most heartbreaking, detached sobs i’d ever heard.
i wanted to ask what happened. why she’d been crying, but there was just… never an opening. she kept talking and going on as if nothing ever happened. i might have thought i hallucinated it, honestly, if it weren’t for the way her voice had this hoarse edge, as if her throat had been stripped raw, the way her cheeks were still spotted red and pink.
she always taps her index finger under the table on her leg like a metronome, quietly and in a far too uniform rhythm when she’s nervous inside. she did the same thing on our first date, the day we signed the lease papers, backstage waiting for me at our concert…
all that to say, i came home early again, earlier than i did yesterday and…
the same running sink. same hyperventilating breaths hidden behind rushing water. same tear-stained tissues scattered across her half of the bed.
how long has this been going on? how haven’t i noticed? dammit, i’ve been so busy with the comeback and everything else but i… there’s really no excuse for this. i feel like i failed her.
will i make it worse if i ask her about it when she comes out? i don’t even know the reason she’s upset, i don’t even know where to start, but if she’s hurting and i don’t do anything about it, that feels infinitely worse.
she’s always so composed and bright and positive, she’s always there for everyone else…
i promise i’ll be the one who’s there for you, now.
-
get over it.
you’re better than this.
what happened to being mature for your age?
aren’t you a little too old to still be crying like this?
stop overreacting.
how many times had those words sliced you open like a gutted fish before you learned not to let the tears escape the floodgates?
enough. enough for it to be drilled into your psyche that crying in front of others was humiliating and pathetic. anything other than a masquerade smile was reason for shame.
so why was chan, sat on the bed, hugging you the moment you left the bathroom?
why was he whispering promises to be there for you, his own voice cracking with emotion?
your limbs felt heavy and frozen, unsure how to reciprocate, unable to process anything but the red-hot embarrassment boiling inside you.
breathe. breathe. breathe. breathe. breathe. oh, but you couldn’t. chan’s comfort felt like a violent mockery, the tips of your fingers were shaking, your throat felt like it was closing up.
stop it, please, stop it, please, please, please, stop saying it’ll be alright, please stop acting as if you’re handling something fragile, please stop seeing and knowing and caring and loving.
you opened your mouth, then closed it, then shakily repeated the script you’ve been swearing yourself by all this time.
“i’m fine,” you said, tongue feeling heavy with the lie. “really, i’m alright. it was nothing.”
chan pulled away, eyes still lidded with concern, eyebrows furled in that skeptical expression. “are you sure?”
you knew he saw the way your fists were curled up tight, nails digging into the skin deep enough to leave red crescent moons. and still, you smiled as if he were speaking nonsense. “yes, i’m okay chan, why wouldn’t i be?”
why wouldn’t you be okay?
nothing was wrong, after all, except you. oh, how the thought of you felt wholly nauseating in every deformed and mangled way possible.
“i’m here for you, yeah?” chan said softly after a moment of silence ticked by. “it’s okay to let it out sometimes.”
those words were about… years too late. they sank deep into your skin, phrases you had whispered to yourself in denial when you began to hate yourself for hating yourself, delusions to believe if only for a second that something wasn’t broken within you.
funny then, that the words you had craved like a lifeline coming from the one who had done nothing to prove otherwise made your skin crawl with insects and your stomach to recoil.
how laughable. it was positively laughable how disgusting and narcissistic you were.
something wet and burning trickle down your cheek, and you wondered if it was raining indoors. you wondered why chan looked so heartbroken for someone who was no longer perfect.
even now, when the perfect visage you had so carefully crafted just for him was splintering, chan’s hand still came to your face to gently wipe away the tears betraying your resolve.
“no,” you whispered, the word so foreign on your lips.
chan watched you for a moment, but let his hand moved away from your cheek to rest against the mattress.
“you don’t have to tell me what happened,” chan began, as much as you internally begged him not to finish his words. “but just know i love you, okay?”
he sounded so sure, so doubtless. as if hearing you break at the seams and crumple like a ragdoll hadn’t changed how he loved you at all, when to you, it was surely the final straw to send him curling back in repulsion.
and yet, he sat there, still so confident that he loved you through it all.
why couldn’t you accept anything without strings, without motives?
your breaths began to come out shorter and catching in your throat.
because if you accepted chan, if you stopped treating his devotion as if it were burning and numb and a facade,
your hands began trembling, twitching in the air as if trying to grasp some last shred of sense and dignity to no avail.
if you set away the only reflection of yourself that you ever thought could be loved, and he was still there holding you,
your heart, full of poison and doubt, echoed like the drums announcing a procession against your ribcage as if you were facing down a monster.
if you fell apart outside the shielding cloak of blankets and midnight, yet the morning sun followed regardless,
watery, bleary and broken eyes met chan’s, tears stinging like venom searing down your face, heat prickling underneath your skin and brain pounding with a hurricane of nightmares and desperate dreams.
then it meant that all this time you could have been loved, no matter what seemingly universal truth was conditioned into you. every prism of you could have been loved,
“i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you hiccuped through muted cries, rubbing your eyes in a half-hearted attempt to force the tears back in.
and all this pain and heartache of shattering the ‘unloveable’ prisms of you was never something ordained.
“nothing is wrong with you,” chan murmured, arm wrapped around your shoulder and squeezing you tightly. “trust me.”
your airways felt far too constricted as you curled up with your knees hugging your chest. “you can’t be saying that. you don’t know- you don’t know what- how can you say that?”
“then tell me,” chan said, staring far too deep into your gaze and seeing far too much of the you that you hated. “why do you think something is wrong?”
heaves for air seemed to lodge in your throat as your gaze slid to the floor beside the bed, searching for the words within an endless internal storm. “i try so hard to only act the right way, but it’s so draining, but i don’t know how to stop.”
you took a deep breath, trying to quell the emotions fraying the splintered string holding your last defenses.
“i get overly emotional and involved. i hate having to talk to strangers for too long, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. i wake up, and i’m already tired at everything i have to do when i haven’t done anything yet. i want to take a break, but resting makes me feel anxious and guilty. it’s so… messed up.”
chan pressed his lips to the top of your head gently as your body wracked with the first escaped sob. “i wish you could see yourself the way i did, then,” chan said quietly.
“you always give your heart to the world, usually too much than others need or deserve. you always make sure everyone is seen and heard, and i love that about you, though sometimes i’m worried you forget to take it easy. you’re brave and trusting and understanding, but none of that means you’re not allowed to take care of yourself.”
it felt as if chan had removed the keystone of a dam, every silent whisper you had torn yourself apart with spilling out like crashing riptides.
“it’s not selfish to be tired,” chan reminded gently, letting you collapse in his arms without an ounce of judgement. “it’s not selfish to want to be loved, either. i can’t speak for what you may have gone through before we met, but i promise you are so, so loved now, and you have every reason to love yourself back in turn.”
one more particularly painful sob tore through you, and chan felt a knife twist in his heart at the sound.
i’m sorry i couldn’t be there for you, when you were silently dying behind closed doors.
i want to be there for you now. i promise every time you begin to curse your reflection once more, i will be there to remind you how safe and adored you are.
the clock ticked by like it always did, and your cries died down in the quiet of the dimly lit bedroom, in the warmth of chan’s arms and his heartbeat drumming against your head.
for once, for a moment, the snakes in your mind were quiet, with nothing to say.
“i love you,” you whispered, barely loud enough for chan to hear, voice weak and raw but more honest than it had ever been.
chan stilled for a second, feeling his own tears threatening to spill over.
“i love you too,” chan murmured, and this time, in the muted evening, you could feel some part of your heart begin to accept it.
in the middle of the night, when you are tossing and turning, mind churning with doubts and disbeliefs, someone will be there to wrap an arm around you and sleepily mutter comfort.
in the middle of the night, someone will be there to protect you from yourself as you slowly but surely stitch together the wounds left open for too long.
in the middle of the night, you can begin to heal from what all those previous midnights wrought.
please do not translate or repost my works without credit to here or any other website! this work is not based off real events and is purely fictional. (this blog does not use ai and is an ai-free zone, so please do not feed anything here to ai, much appreciated!) ୧
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➥ Contains: No SKZ: fellas are in some imaginary group bc they be toxic, down horrendous Hyunjin agenda™, an unhinged kiwi, Chris the Hyun whisperer, idol industry diss, meta fandom shenanigans, doubling tripling down on the delulu because it's the solulu, gratuitous amounts of Hyunchanner fan service because i can, insane shit then wholesomeness midfuck per youzhe
➥ Reader discretion advised: See the masterlist for the full disclaimer about this project, general warnings, and request guidelines. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk.
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Corruption fetishism, objectification, MMF, sex with other people present in the room, overall irrational behavior
➥ Hyunjin doesn’t fuck around when it comes to biases—if you’re ulting him, you’re ulting him, period. If you can so casually announce you’re getting “biaswrecked”, he can and will wreck you back.
But sign the NDA first.
*a/n: Back on my irregularly scheduled Derangedjin bullshit because June sucked.
I just want to receive love.
Ask any survival show contestant why they want to become an idol, and that’s the bullshit they’ll feed you with a wholesome smile, which is the politically correct way of saying, “I want to be worshipped.” No one even judges them for it because new gods on the block will always be in demand.
Fresh meat and whatnot, you know.
The only catch is you’re no longer allowed to worship anyone if you have worshippers yourself. Have you ever seen a god who simps for her own devotees?
Please.
If you “make it”, there is only one law you have to abide by—stick to your meticulously crafted persona and be generous with fanservice, and almost a decade into his career, Hyunjin hasn’t had a problem with it. He does study the faces of his “regulars” before he goes into fancalls. He does flirt a little extra with them at fansigns, holding their hands a little longer, a little tighter, less tsun more dere, even sharing little intimate details of his private life only they are privy to.
Well, allegedly.
That’s the least he can do for his off-the-books sugar mamas, no? He is a part of a grand romance scam after all.
It doesn’t mean he’s never struggled with keeping up the act, of course. With all the things he has to suppress, all the things he cannot scream at certain entitled brats’ faces, some days he does come very very close to snapping. What’d you expect? He is trapped in a life he hates doing something he loves.
Which is why it’s Stockholm as fuck that he’s found distraction from his delulu dealer duties by completely leaning into it.
It’s not even guilty, just pure pleasure for him to browse through fan work. As if he needs any more reasons to inflate his behemoth of an ego… Over time, his fandom has become a point of pride with him—so much talent scratching his Stendhal itch just right. The origin point doesn’t matter; the end result is still solid fucking art. It’s like he’s the Beatrice to a thousand Dantes.
Maybe “Like artist, like fan” does have some merit to it.
The literature department of his counterfeit Renaissance cult is where things get a little more unhinged. Some of these people write him so vividly, so intensely sexy that if Hyunjin could fuck himself, he would. It’s kinda disappointing that there is a strict hush-hush rule about fan spaces, which forces him to pretend he doesn’t know what a Kinktober is. Otherwise, he would have loved to send some flowers, signed merch, fucking fan club membership as a thank you for all the nuts busted. When the average market value for life-changing orgasms is in three to four digits, a cup of coffee seems criminally low.
Is it still sex work if someone makes you cum without touching you at all?
Among the sea of creators he religiously follows, of course he has favorites, and whoever goes by zipcode10320 tops that chart. He finds the hardcore shipping fucking hilarious, but he actually respects the preferred method of worship. The thirst might be heavy, but unlike the bitches practically living outside his apartment, it’s at least from a non-suffocating distance.
From a... distance...
anonymous asked:
what if hyunjin is deadass reading you lol
A decade-long career with a fake boyfriend side hustle. Five restraining orders. Three court appearances. Endless blacklists…
Hyunjin lived to see the day where it’s the distance that suffocates him.
He never thought one day he’d find himself on the other side of the fence like this. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he just can’t tell what it is about this person he’s so hung up on. He has a battalion of authors writing about him, so what’s so special about this one? Is it a style thing? Is it the subject matter? Why is he looking forward to the next character he’ll play like it’s the next season of his favorite show? Why is he getting this ticklish feeling for no reason whenever he scrolls through a new drop in his bed? It’s as if the words are laced with something because he only feels it when he reads.
But what the fuck IS IT that he’s feeling?!
zipcode10320 replied:
im pretty sure he has a life 🤣 on the super off chance that he does tho, hi bby save me from my misery and swipe my v-card plz 💋
Huh…
Well, now he knows.
So it wasn’t for no reason that he turned into a shark—there was blood in the water, and it reeked of the proverbial innocence. So all that lustful longing you keep writing… All that unhinged sex you keep depicting…
Is that…? How you want to be…? By him?
It’s too late when he realizes his fascination with the “art” has turned into something else entirely, but he can’t stop it. He just can’t! It’s in his every waking thought that someone out there loves him just a few drops shy of unconditionally, wanting him with lust so carnal that the desire can no longer stay inside its shell. It jumps into a getaway car with words for engine and fucks right off, all gas no brakes, because it has to get to him as fast as it can. It has to exist in the same corporeal realm as Hyunjin so it can call out to him. It’s in his every waking thought that a god out there compulsively conjures little Hyuniverses, unable to contain the fond smile whenever they doodle his name on a surface, be it cellulose or binary codes.
Hyunjin as a psycho.
Hyunjin as a prince.
Hyunjin as a psycho prince.
Hyunjin as the meaning of life.
Hyunjin as the meaning of MY life.
Hyunjin.
Hyunjin.
HYUNJIN!!!
anonymous asked:
if he asks you to give your virginity to him ur ACTUALLY gonna say yes?
zipcode10320 replied:
who tf says no to hwang hyunjin fucking BET!!!
anonymous asked:
what if he’s a freak tho
zipcode10320 replied:
if the freak is me getting sandwiched between hyunchan i volunteer as tribute thank 😌
anonymous asked:
what if IM hyunjin and ur just giving me ideas lol
zipcode10320 replied:
even IM not that delulu bro cmon
Well, maybe you should get on his delulu level because there is some freak that needs to be matched here. It’s okay if you can’t right from the get-go; he has all the time in the world for you. He can show you everything. How to match it. How to get him there. How he will get you there. Everything. Everything you can imagine, he will teach you with utmost care.
But he needs to complete a little self-assigned mission first.
He starts bringing his notebook to every single fan event to take notes of his interactions. Mannerisms, tone of voice, clothes worn that day, some word that sticks out to him… Whenever someone asks what he’s writing so fervently, his go-to excuse is, “Things that inspire me before I forget”. He does show a few actual snippets to cover his tracks, and luckily, all he gets in response is dreamy sighs and, “Oh my god, you’re like sooo romantic!” instead of suspicious looks.
It’s called a “bias” for a reason.
It doesn’t matter if your face doesn’t show in your posts. He has all your notifications on, so every fancall or concert video you share, every photo captioned with “They don’t know I’m zipcode10320” goes straight to his “data” folder where he compares his “field notes”. It doesn’t take too long for him to finally put a face to the name, and the satisfaction of victory weirdly feels like afterglow. He doesn’t smoke, but he craves a cigarette all of a sudden.
His fascination with you mutates into infatuation so fast, he might just blurt out a marriage proposal next time he sees you.
He keeps waiting for you to pick up what he’s putting down, but you seem a bit too insistent with that godforsaken “respect to his personal space” thing. What personal space? There is no personal space when it comes to the two of you; don’t you get it? You need to occupy the exact same space so he can be where he’s meant to be. As your very first. As your very last. So he can be your muse for the rest of your life. Can you even imagine the stories he’ll inspire you to tell if you spend just one night with him?
Don’t get it twisted, that’s just a figure of speech. He can’t and won’t settle for anything less than a couple of hundred nights with you. You know, to teach. So that the freak can match perfectly in the finale.
Unfortunately for him, the news of the iceberg arrives before he can finish packing for the maiden voyage, and for the first time ever, Hyunjin wishes he was blind so he wouldn’t be able to read your words.
zipcode10320
guys im this 🤏 close to ulting the shit out of chris hes been wrecking me left and right this comeback SEND HALP
Oh, you just… Oh, you fucking did not…
Really? That’s the extent of your loyalty? One whore goes Magic Mike, and all of a sudden you’re wrecked? Did the memories you shared mean jack shit to you? Weren’t you the one going on and on about him being your muse just YESTERDAY?!
Oh, you’re gonna get wrecked alright.
“Jiwon, do you have an NDA copy on hand?” Hyunjin addresses the driver in the front seat, his eyes still glued to his phone.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he opens his contacts and dials a number. “Turn the car around.”
“Where to, sir?”
“I’ll tell you in a bit.”
The car completes the U-turn after the third ringback tone, and a trollmeister voice answers the call on the other end.
“Yo, Hyunzales.”
“Where are you?”
“Fucking your girl in the backseat of my car.”
“I know you’re ragebaiting, but do you want to?”
The elongated silence on the line lets Hyunjin know that the hunter was successfully hunted. He softly chuckles to himself, amused by his triumph.
“Pussy got your tongue, motherfucker?”
“You’d actually give the fic girl to me?” Chris asks for good measure, his rabid giddiness spilling all over his voice.
“Calm the fuck down. No one said anything about giving you stuff,” Hyunjin sternly corrects. “I’m just inviting you to come play.”
“You’re the pettiest, most possessive man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing, and that includes the GOAT Joe Goldberg,” Chris starts a mini interrogation to do his due diligence. “If there is a chance for you to hit that yourself, how come you’re inviting me?”
“You fucking know why. I don’t trust myself,” he admits. “It’s not a random hookup. Bin’s hosting an opening ceremony tonight, and I want her there.”
“No fucking way…”
“Deadest of asses,” Hyunjin finally releases the death grip on his lips and lets them curl. “Meet me at his place if you’re interested. Otherwise, I’ll risk it all and go solo.”
“Race you there, fuckface.”
When the call disconnects, Hyunjin takes a deep breath to calm… his nerves? And well, his residual annoyance—he can’t be in that kinda headspace right now. He closes his eyes, and just the thought of your surprise is enough to put him in a good mood. He pulls up your profile again and presses play on the video from the concert two months ago, fondly smiling as he listens to you scream at the top of your lungs, “I’LL SIGN THE NDA, HYUNJIN, JUST ONE CHANCE!!!”
“Well, you said it yourself, beautiful,” he turns to his right, watching the nightlights pass by the tinted window. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”
You blankly look at the man’s face for a solid ten seconds, unsure if you’ve heard it right, because there ain’t no way…
“Just to triple confirm,” you briefly squeeze your eyes close. “We’re talking about the performer Hwang Hyunjin, right?”
“Yes.”
“The art harlot Hwang Hyunjin.”
“Yes.”
“The Hwang Hyunjin.”
“Just assume every adjective you can think of is true, but if we could get to the matter at hand, please,” the man sighs, rapidly losing patience. “Mr. Hwang strongly wishes for your companionship tonight.”
cOmPaNiOnSh— What?
How would the man, the myth, the legend himself, the only baby daddy you’d be willing to accept, Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin even know you? This has to be a hidden camera prank or something!
As you suspiciously look the man up and down, however, you’re struggling to hold onto your prank theory. The weirdly familiar butler-henchman hybrid guy is clad in a crisp Dior suit, his nails are perfectly manicured, and his hair is so neatly coiffed that bro can walk a runway if he wants. Now you’re trying to logically explain why someone would send a man like this to locate you at this hour. Maybe if they are bored enough? But what entertainment can possibly come out of interrupting a plain mortal’s cocktail hour with their friends?
WHY would a Diorland resident want to locate YOU in the first place? There is literally NO possibility of your paths ever crossing!
“Wait, you’re in every single fansite picture when Hyunjin attends a public event,” Mina points at him, her face contorting with her revelation. “You’re Kim Jiwon, aren’t you?”
“I am,” the man acknowledges.
“How do you even know this guy?” you turn to Mina.
“Girl, even you know him,” she answers with a content smile. “He’s Hyunjin’s bodyguard.”
As you let out a long “Ohhh…”, it finally clicks in your mind why he seems so familiar. He pulls something out from the inside pocket of his blazer and clicks a silver pen.
“I’ve been told this was your own request,” he hands you an envelope containing a single sheet of paper. “You need to sign it before I can take you to him.”
There ain’t NO WAY…
You can see the words, but your brain refuses to process them. That’s it; you’ve been fangirling so hard that it has finally given you permanent brain damage, and now you’re hallucinating worse than ai. At least, that was how you were planning to plead insanity.
But the “OH MY GOD!”s raising from the table confirm that your friends can also see the title reads “Non-Disclosure Agreement”.
“Please don’t. This document contains sensitive information,” he snatches the paper from the prying eyes before they can commit it to memory, and points at the bottom. “If you won’t be signing it, please let me know right now, so I can relay it to Mr. Hwang. This is a time-sensitive issue.”
“T–Time-sensitive?!” you widen your eyes. “Can’t I at least tell my friends where I’m going so they know I’m safe?”
“No, you can’t, but I’m obligated to ensure your protection just as much as Mr. Hwang’s,” he indirectly informs the table. “This isn’t a job offer, so there is nothing to contemplate here. It’s just a promise that you will be discreet about the time you will be spending in Mr. Hwang’s company. Yes or no.”
Yet another “OH MY GOD!” erupts from the table, and by then, Jiwon is at his limit. Before he rescinds the invitation altogether, you lunge at the document telling you to shut the fuck up and sign it. You don’t have one logical answer as to how the Hwang Hyunjin knows you, or why he, quote, “strongly wishes for your companionship”. But the three Cosmopolitans in your bloodstream convince you that making shady deals in the middle of a restaurant is a great idea. And that you will regret it if you don’t go all in tonight.
Whatevs, if anything goes off the rails, you’ll just scream bloody murder, and his career will be over before he can spell “handwritten apology”.
“If I don’t send a thumbs up within 15 minutes, call the police,” you quietly scheme with Mina as you take your sweet time gathering your belongings. “If I do send a thumbs up, call a mortician because his sheer hotness will fucking kill me.”
You follow Jiwon to the valet area, barely registering that he’s just opened the door to a Rolls-Royce Phantom for you. It’s a true test of willpower not to yell “SHUT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK UP!” as you get into the disgustingly smug flex all over Hyunjin’s socials. So it’s true. It’s actually true. You are being taken to the only man ever. For whatever fucking reason…
WHO CARES?!
You make it to the mystery venue in just under five minutes. As he accompanies you to the elevator, Jiwon hands you what looks like a gold-plated card, instructing you to just swipe it to reach your intended destination. So you do. With a thousand butterflies in your stomach, and still only half-believing that you’re about to appear before His Majesty.
Once you get out of that cabin, you can only see one large door at the end of the hallway. A light breeze of music leaks into the carpet-clad corridor. The distance you need to walk suddenly seems like miles long, and the entire time, you keep repeating to yourself, “What am I doing? What am I doing? What the ACTUAL FUCK am I doing?!”, which is entirely pointless considering you’ve already made it this far. Might as well see what’s behind door number two.
Well, door number 4001, to be exact.
Standing in front of the heavy-looking oak, you take the deepest breath of your life and ring the doorbell, your group chat still open in your hand just in case. After a ten-second silence, it finally opens.
Your knees damn near give way when you make eye contact with your greeter.
“Hey, beautiful,” the only man ever leans against the door frame with that sultry smile you know too well. “Remember me?”
You quickly send a thumbs-up emoji to the group chat and shove the phone inside your bag, having no idea what to do with yourself. It’s him. The man who stuns you when he just breathes, the man who has sheer grace and absolute harlotry running in his veins instead of blood is right there smiling at you. It’s REALLY him!
It is really him, but something is not.
Every memory you have of him suddenly flashes before your eyes. Every “private” moment you were lucky enough to share, the handholding, the small talks about his personal work, the eggplant lasagna jokes… All were so soft, so comfortable, and it was like that by design. Even though he knew your name, you were fully aware that this man was at work. That “See? I remember intimate details about you because you’ve made a mark on me” shtick was the first line of his job description. These guys were probably handed a study pack full of attendee information before those events anyway.
But right this moment, not even a shred of the sentimental soft boi is present in his demeanor. Eyes darkened, pupils dilated, posture relaxed, cunningly smirking. The man standing at door number 4001 isn’t Hwang Hyunjin.
It’s the fucking DEVIL!
“Uh… I feel like I need to make sure, just in case,” you shake your head to snap out of it. “You are aware I’m not an escort, right?”
“Why would you even say that?” he furrows his brows.
“I signed a document that says you want my companionship for an opening ceremony tonight?”
He’s so amused, he starts laughing, and you die a little bit. That part is at least the same. When he laughs, your heart still goes into overdrive.
“Yes, I’m aware,” he answers.
“How do you… even know me?” you hesitantly ask, making sure your tone wouldn’t make him think you’re displeased by the invitation. “I couldn’t come up with one reason why you of all people would look for me.”
But the way his face falls, he must be offended. You panic, trying to find ways to explain yourself and what you really meant by that. That he is a god walking among mortals, that you’re one of the aforementioned mortals, and that it just doesn’t make any sense why he wouldn’t summon a fellow goddess instead.
“See, I’m a glass-half-full kind of man,” he speaks through a sigh as he slowly approaches, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Some might say your zip code starts with 103. I say it ends with 320.”
No.
No, there ain’t NO MOTHERFUCKING WAY…
How is that even POSSIBLE?! How many degrees of separation have you been from Hyunjin all this time? Does one of your followers just HAPPEN to know him somehow? Then what, did they just show him the fucking embarrassing amounts of delusion? Did he at least get a good laugh out of it?
Seems a bit too late to deactivate now…
“Well, you asked for it yourself, didn’t you?” he chortles, lifting your chin. “You signed the NDA. Now’s your one chance.”
How are you still not passing out?
Fuck the how, he knows. He knows about it all, and you have never been this mortified about something in your damn LIFE! Your shame brute-forces its way into the main control room of your brain and disables all your cognitive functions.
You can’t think of ONE thing to say to him!
“Unless… You’d rather it was someone else instead,” he cocks a brow at your silence. “Someone who’s been wrecking you recently?”
“I… I–I’m… I don’t…”
The door he left ajar behind him opens again, and another familiar face peeks out, flashing you a pair of heart-stopping dimples.
“Fucking hot,” Chris bites his lips, resting his chin on Hyunjin’s shoulder while staring at you. “Lucked out with this one, huh, Hyun?”
WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN GOING ON RIGHT NOW?
Where did he come from all of a sudden? What does it all mean? And why is this whole thing starting to feel like a fujoshi trap?!
“It’s just a party,” Hyunjin reassuringly smiles, caressing your cheek as if to calm you down. “We’ll hang out, talk, have a couple of drinks, that kinda thing.”
He holds your hand and presses his lips on your wrist for at least a solid five seconds, deeply inhaling your scent, then looks at you with dreamy eyes.
“But if the fancy strikes,” he steps aside, gently pushing you from your waist to lead you in, “we can always party a little harder.”
Incredulous that you are actually flanked by your very own OTP, you walk into the gigantic suite where the chatter of the crowd melts into the music. You recognize a lot of these faces because it’s crawling with idols inside, but the sight is the furthest thing from variety show cutesiness. Their claim holds up. It is a party.
They just forgot to tell you what kind.
The front end is “frat”. Two fandoms are amidst a vicious fanwar online, yet their “oppas” are heavily broing it out, all clearly intoxicated, laughing their asses off as two of the bunch are trying to do body shots off of each other.
Whereas the back end is “swinger”. Socials are filled with snark about who paved the way, yet the younger artists are busy teaching their seniors how to eat their pussies properly. No one cares that they are in the presence of a crowd—they are going at it.
“How’d you like the cesspit black hole of bubblegum pop?” Chris asks, plopping down next to you on the giant sectional by the window, and hands you a glass of vodka on the rocks. “Not giving ‘ending fairy’ at all, yeah?”
“You don’t say,” you raise your brows. “Feels like I passed through an underworld portal just now.”
“So…” Hyunjin flings an arm around your shoulder, comfortably spreading his legs. “You’re a shipper.”
Your drink almost comes out of your nose with panic-slash-fluster. THAT’S how he chooses to bring it up?!
“It’s just entertainment,” you play it cool, trying to choose your words carefully. “I don’t actually believe you are in a relationship.”
“Even when we live together?”
“That’s not proof of anything.”
“Even when we shower together?” Chris presses. “Stuck in hotel rooms together for months on tour…”
“Everybody knows that’s a convenience thing when you’re strapped for time,” you refute.
“But what if Hyunchan is real, and we’re laughing our asses off hiding in plain sight?” he looks you up and down, annoyingly smirking. “Post a picture of me giving him head right now, and haters will still say it’s fanservice.”
“Didn’t you see the pepero thing?” Hyunjin chimes in. “He’s the only one I almost made out with, and our parents were in the audience, mind you.”
Before you catch on goddamn fire, you have to force quit the fangirling and put your rational thinking into overdrive QUICK! What are they even after, having a weird ship conversation about themselves out of nowhere? It’s almost like they are trying to convince you it’s real, but even if they do, what’s going to possibly come out o—
Oh.
Oh, okay.
Okay, so it’s just a random jackpot thing. They saw your stuff, picked you as a target, and this is how they’re “getting even” by humiliating you to your face. Ha ha, very funny…
“Alright, message received,” you sigh in defeat, your mood suddenly bitter. “Do you want me to apologize in writing, or—?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not mad about that at all,” Hyunjin quickly interjects. “I canceled a porn subscription because of you. I goon to your stuff a lot.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO YOU FUCKING DO NOT!!!”
You scream at his face out of pure reflex, but everyone in the vicinity is so faded that no one even hears it. Well, except for Chris who folds in half howling with laughter.
“Ask him,” Hyunjin points at the yang to his yin extremely seriously. “What was I doing just last night?”
“I’m gonna be a gentleman and say he was reading the latest drop, but he changed his sheets at 2 a.m. Do the math,” Chris corroborates while wiping the tears from his eyes. “So yeah, can confirm he’s not mad. Mad horny, maybe”
“But…” Hyunjin snuggles up to you, speaking directly into your ear. “I am mad about something else.”
“W–What did I do?” you turn your head to face him, almost brushing against his lips.
“What is it about me that you don’t like anymore?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“WHAT?!”
“It’s the haircut, isn’t it?” he tsks in disappointment. “You find it off-putting.”
“Absolutely not! Where did that even come from?!”
“Then how fucking come you’re wrecked so easily after all these years? I thought we had something.”
The course of the night is quite disorienting as it is. Then he goes ahead and says all that in a single breath, fire shooting out of his eyes as if you’ve cussed out the entire Hwang bloodline. He sounds more delulu than all fics in existence combined, yet he’s dead serious, legitimately demanding an answer from you.
You’re so dumbfounded, you can’t produce a single coherent thought!
“Fine,” Hyunjin pulls out his phone and shows you the screen. “Read it. Out loud.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake…
If you can get an ETA on when you can vanish, please, because the self-cringe of looking at your own blog is suf–fo–ca–ting! Nevertheless, it suddenly doesn’t seem entirely implausible to you that these two may indeed be dying laughing at the fanservice defenders. If you posted about this very moment right now, no one would ever believe you, either, would they?
Mad imagination, bro. 12/10 gooned. Have my reblog.
You sigh in exasperation, trying to dissociate from the fact that those are your own words on the screen, and start reading.
“Guys, I’m this cl—”
“No,” Hyunjin stops you with the tone of an insufferable director. “With feeling.”
Are you unknowingly auditioning for something, or…?
You try to remember what you were doing when you rabidly typed this nonsense and yeeted it into the void of the interwebs. Some teaser pictures had dropped, so it wasn’t even anything that deep. Just plain, good ol’ thirst for normal people, but treason-level betrayal by a certain kiwi’s insane biasing standards.
And nothing less than a recommittal blood oath will convince him of your loyalty, apparently.
“Guys, I’m this close to ulting the shit out of Chris. He’s…” you pause to chase some of the cringe with a sip of vodka. “He’s been wrecking me left and right this comeback.”
“I know, right?” Chris cheeses at you, then mimics Hyunjin’s earlier tone. “It’s the bench press thirst traps, isn’t it?”
“All of it,” Hyunjin demands. “Don’t stop at the best part now.”
Real talk? You’d rather endure the ship interrogation than this medieval-adjacent self-reflection moment. Maybe they used to make witches read their own fics aloud, too, who knows?
“Send help,” you punctuate your unhinged diary entry with an eye roll and hand him his phone back.
“Well then.”
He suddenly pulls you close from your waist, shifting you to straddle his lap. The sight must be a little too satisfying, the way his jaw drops watching you sit on your new throne, breathing heavily as he runs his hands up your waist.
“Help,” he brushes two fingers down your cleavage, “has arrived.”
It doesn’t feel real at all. You’re so close to him that if you move forward just an inch, you can kiss him. In your absence, Chris moves right next to Hyunjin and starts lazily stroking your legs, smiling to himself as he watches goosebumps spread on your skin in slow motion.
“Be honest with me,” Hyunjin puts a hand on your cheek, pointing at Chris with a nod. “Do you wish it was him touching you instead?”
“That’s not what I meant when I said—”
“Look, I get why you might have slipped for a moment,” he interrupts, holding Chris’s face between his thumb and index fingers. “Just look at him. He’s so hot, fucking pisses me off sometimes.”
“Pisses you off, my ass,” Chris scoffs with a snort. “Tell that to your dick standing at attention every time I get out of the shower.”
“Not the time to air our dirty laundry,” Hyunjin turns off the black box, then turns to you. “But if you’re really sorry for abandoning me—”
“I didn’t abandon you!” you protest.
“You did, and it broke my heart,” he instantly denies your appeal, his expression somehow crestfallen and quietly enraged at the same time. “Or are you not sorry at all?”
“I am sorry for upsetting you, but not for abandoning you,” you respond. “Because I didn’t.”
“But you are sorry.”
“I am.”
“Then,” he slowly drags a strap of your dress down your shoulder, “show me how much.”
“T–There are people here,” you quickly grab his hand.
“Of course there are,” he purses his lips. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a ceremony.”
“Just what the hell is this ceremony for?” you crease your brows. “I haven’t seen one ribbon getting cut.”
“Just because they aren’t in your face doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” he responds with a grin. “You asked me to save you from your misery, remember?”
what if IM hyunjin and ur just giving me ideas lol
Your face changes when it finally starts to sink in.
You look around, and that’s when you see the room for the first time. There are clusters of people spread all over the place, each with a “focal point” amidst them. Depending on the kind of lens you have, you can claim they are being worshipped, pleasured, or entirely humiliated.
Only then does it dawn on you that the “opening ceremony”, at least the one held on this side of the room, is of you.
“Don’t avert your eyes,” Hyunjin holds your face with the kind of tenderness that does not belong to the salacious backdrop. “Look at me.”
And look, you do.
You see two men before you, their gaze somewhat soft but not because it bears any wholesome intent. It’s a tiger and a wolf sitting side by side, and the only reason they don’t snarl is not to spook the gazelle. Otherwise, you can see the drool pooling in their mouth. The intent doesn’t seem entirely nefarious, either, but you have lowered inhibitions and complete heart eyes for them, so… Not exactly the beacon of sound judgement.
When Hyunjin starts pulling you in, the remaining crumbs of sound judgement evacuate the building anyway.
“Kiss the lips you keep writing about,” he quietly demands.
Your life temporarily ends when he takes your lips within his. It’s not like your makeout scoreboard is completely blank, but you’ve never felt anything like this before. The man doesn’t kiss; he attempts to pour himself into your body, then permeate every single corner until he completely possesses you.
Divide and Hwangquer.
“Feeling a little neglected here,” Chris interrupts. “No kisses for me?”
That pout paired with the puppy eyes gives you a little cuteness aggression. You steal a glance from Hyunjin, trying to gauge how upset he’d be if you kissed Chris, but he beats you to it. He just knows you’ll prefer the “fanservice” over a stupid membership card anyway. Now he can thank you for all the sheets he ruined in a single installment.
He grabs Chris by the nape and fucking goes for it, showing you what you would have seen if he had finished that pepero to completion. It makes you wanna combust that their rhythm seems so memorized. It’s pure muscle memory. If these demons had a side hustle where they made out to entertain an audience, the entire community would find out the day they created an account. Not even the most devout “It’s fanservice!” supremacist can explain how two people can know each other’s hot spots this well if they haven’t found them firsthand.
FUCK, IT’S TRUE THEN?!
As Hyunjin languidly grinds against you, he unbuttons Chris’s pants and frees his cock, making him whimper when he wraps his long fingers around him. You can’t control the throb between your legs when you hear that sound, and of course Hyunjin notices, breaking into a diabolical smile.
He channels his attention to you again, this time meeting no resistance when he reaches for the strap of your dress. He takes the left side while Chris takes the right, both men savoring the fuck out of unwrapping the present they treated themselves to. The tiger and the wolf can no longer hide their intent, openly showing their teeth as they stare at your bare chest. As if they communicate with telepathy, each sucks on a nipple at the same time, the same way they make out with each other. Loud. Messy.
Wet.
When you run your fingers through his hair, Chris looks up and makes eye contact with you. He lets go of your nipple and reaches for your face, demanding his kiss. They both melt within your lips, but it’s like night and day. Hyunjin kisses like a Sunday morning—slow and lazy, deep sighs, soft touches because you have all the time in the world. Whereas Chris is like a quickie you know you shouldn’t have—fast and passionate, heavy breathing, firm gropes because you are strapped for time before you get busted.
But both set your body on fire just the same.
Hyunjin stops when he realizes there’s a makeout session going on over his head and starts kissing your neck, fondling everything he can reach. Shortly after, you feel a hand on your inner thighs caressing you. Then it moves up. More. A bit more. It makes you shudder when it reaches the dampened fabric gatekeeping your wetness.
“So, you’re saying,” Hyunjin unzips his pants and lets his cock hang, “if I dip my tongue in there, I’ll be the first ever to taste you?”
“Y–Yes,” you barely manage to answer, wits barely intact.
“You wouldn’t… lie to me, would you?” he squints with suspicion.
Then something you can’t quite explain happens.
Hyunjin looks the same, but his demeanor feels… sinister, almost. It’s like there is a very specific answer to his question, and if you can’t get it exactly right, there will be consequences. The problem is, you can’t tell if he’s roleplaying or if his personality is actually changing right before your eyes.
If the tiger snarls that loudly, obviously it will spook the gazelle.
“Of course not,” Chris intervenes with the wholesomest smile, his voice softer than cumulus clouds. “She would never do that to you.”
“She said she loved me, but it didn’t stop her from having eyes for you,” Hyunjin stares daggers at him. “How do I know she’s telling the truth this time?”
“Hyun, you’re scaring her.”
Hyunjin swiftly turns to you, and when you make eye contact, his rigid scowl suddenly disappears. He averts his eyes like he’s ashamed, but the pout doesn’t go anywhere.
It’s like you’re trying to communicate with a stubborn kid.
“If I hurt you so much,” you softly utter, tilting your head to look into his eyes, “would you like me to leave?”
He immediately grabs your hand like you’re going to vanish otherwise, his eyes widened like saucers. Chris giggles at his reaction and wraps his arms around Hyunjin’s waist behind him.
“You just loooove being a mega spoiled brat, don’t you?” he nibbles on Hyunjin’s earlobe, then flashes his mega reassuring dimples at you. “Asking for a kiss like a normal person is too pedestrian for our prince, so he has to make a scene.”
You thought he was fucking around when he said he was heartbroken earlier, but he looks it. You are so confused, and nothing makes sense to you, but a part of you feels weirdly privileged to witness whatever is going on.
“Come closer,” Chris invites you, placing open-mouth kisses on Hyunjin’s neck. “Let’s pacify him a bit.”
You hold Hyunjin’s hands and put them on your waist, then pull him into a kiss. As soon as your lips touch, he immediately starts melting, and you can feel his body go limp in your arms. He softly moans into you, one hand on your face, the other holding Chris’s hand behind him.
“Do you really love me?” he asks with a pout.
“I came here tonight because Mr. Hwang asked for me,” you affirm. “There was no mention of Chris.”
“Will you stop loving him then?”
“Will you?” you raise your brows, unwittingly laughing. “Don’t ask me for things you don’t have the balls to do.”
“Will you at least stop biasing him then?”
“What’s happening to you?” you smile through your creased brows, strangely endeared.
“Nothing, baby. It’s his dinner time, and he gets very groggy when he doesn’t eat,” Chris answers on his behalf, looking at you knowingly. “So you might wanna feed him now.”
Hyunjin doesn’t lose another second and gently pushes you to lie on your back, comfortably settling between your legs. He has zero patience left to take the teasing route, but still tries his best to hold it together and not rip your underwear off altogether.
“Oh, you so wanna shove it in there already, don’t you?” Chris chuckles, seeing Hyunjin practically drool at the amount of slick.
“Fucking look at this, my god,” Hyunjin bites his lips hard.
“Rock paper scissors?” Chris extends his hand.
“Oh, fuck you, I have bias privileges,” Hyunjin slaps it away. “Dibs on everything.”
“Yes, you do, but you will do my requests, right?
You kinda wanna slap Chris when Hyunjin stops two millimeters away from your pussy and looks up at him. It’s so strange that he seems to only listen to Chris and do everything he says with blind obedience, as if he doesn’t have a mind of his own.
Huh…
“What do you want?”
“How about you get her suuuper wet first,” Chris speaks, dragging Hyunjin’s lip down with his thumb, “then double cream her?”
They smirk at each other, and you almost die because WHAT EVEN IS THIS INSANE DYNAMIC?! They’ve done this before for sure; the correct question is JUST HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES?
“I’m just gonna borrow her a bit so I can cum faster, okay?” Chris gives a quick peck on Hyunjin’s lips. “She still only loves you.”
“I know,” Hyunjin tries to play it cool, but massively fails when he can’t help his smile.
“And I only love you, too.”
FUCK—THIS!!!
You suddenly forget where you are and what you’re about to do, barely stopping yourself from shedding happy tears, because what other proof do you need here, really?
fAnSeRvIcE, my ass!
“I guess it’s only fair that I warn you about this,” Hyunjin licks his lips with sheer hunger, spreading your legs wide.
“A–About what?”
“That no one’s gonna compare to me after tonight. You’ll live the rest of your life looking for me in everyone you fuck,” he smirks big. “So maybe don’t even bother fucking them in the first place.”
You inadvertently arch into him with a gasp when he finally graces you with that first lick, grabbing onto Chris lying by your side. It’s such an unfamiliar, brand-new feeling, and it spreads all over your body faster than a pandemic. So wet. So warm. Dangerously addictive. Unfathomable that someone could have this kind of appetite for you one day, but there you have it in technicolor. And out of all people it could possibly be, it’s Hwang Hyunjin.
The only man ever.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” you let slip unbeknownst to yourself.
“Mpf…”
You sink your fingers deeper into Chris when Hyunjin moans into your pussy. The vibrations feel so nice. It’s like an ‘achievement unlocked’ moment—when you talk to him, he reacts.
And he reacts good.
“Feels good, yeah? Now we’re gonna do the same with you,” Chris gets on his knees and presses his cock on your lips. “Open your mouth for me.”
You don’t exactly understand why, but you’re starting to relate to Hyunjin. For whatever reason, when Chris says something, you just do, no questions asked.
You take him into your mouth, but he doesn’t move for a while, just enjoying the sensation as he watches Hyunjin work wonders on your pussy. The man is gone, eating like he’s been starved to death, and when he realizes Chris is watching, he stops sucking, spreads your lips, and makes a complete show of flicking his tongue on your clit as fast as he can.
You’ve heard of chain reaction crashes before, but only now do you understand how they work. Hyunjin licks your soul out of you, you moan louder, and it somehow manifests itself within Chris’s body even though he’s fucking your face. It’s as if you’re just a vessel connecting the two lovers, and Hyunjin pleasures Chris through you.
If you can choose your own death, this is your preferred way to go.
“Oh, FUCK, sorry baby, borrowing your man for a bit,” Chris hurriedly pulls out and rushes to Hyunjin. “I’m about to explode. Fucking finish me!”
Hyunjin gets on his knees, fervently stroking Chris until he unloads a hefty load all over his cock. It’s unclear whether it’s Chris or you who’s about to pass out when he cums because you’ve never seen something this hot in your entire life.
“Do it now,” Chris flashes a fucked out smile. “Before it dries.”
Hyunjin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and aligns himself with your entrance. As his precum mingles with Chris’s drops at the tip, you see the tiger has fully murderous intent now, groaning loudly even though he very very shallowly thrusts into you, only a knuckle deep. Literally just the tip, barely holding himself back from ramming himself into you with how deliciously slippery you are.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he soothes you when you flinch a bit. “I’ll be very gentle.”
“Why? I didn’t ask you to.”
The two men look at each other and flash the most evil smiles you’ve seen anyone flash.
“Jackpot,” Chris sinks his teeth into his lips.
“Lick her clit so she gets tighter around me,” Hyunjin demands, then looks deep into your eyes. “We’ll see how you like me now.”
“Ah, FUCK!”
You said it yourself. You said so many things yourself. How you were this obsessed with him. How you wanted him to break you in. How you wanted just one chance in exchange for an NDA. And now not to be gentle with you. You’re right, why should he? It’s not like you’re made of glass. You’re a big girl, you can take it.
He’s just complying with your wishes here.
“Your eyes are rolling back,” Hyunjin clenches his teeth, maniacally laughing. “Go ahead. Go ahead and fall back in love with me.”
All you can make is incoherent noises while he sinks into your deepest spots, Chris’s tongue gliding all over your clit. This is it. This is how you go certifiably insane, if not die altogether. Not even the worst fantasies your mind has ever conjured can compare to this, and in your heart of hearts, you know Hyunjin is right. No one’s gonna compare to him, to them, after this, and you have no idea how you’re supposed to go on with your life.
If only there was a way that… If only…
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m about t— HYUNJIN!!!”
As you let out a sound you didn’t even know you were capable of making, both men pin you in your place, forcing you to just let the pleasure in. In all your years of self-pleasuring, you have never reached a high this surreal, tearing your soul from your body, and you just know that after tonight, you never will. Squeezing him to death within your walls, you shove Hyunjin into his atom-rearranging orgasm, and his load is so heavy that you can feel every single drop he shoots inside you.
Meanwhile, Hyunjin is so happy he got to be your first that he could die.
“Are you in love with me again?” he nuzzles against your neck once he comes back enough to be able to speak words.
“If I say yes, will you stop obsessing over this?”
“I’m not promising anything.”
You flash him the most fucked out smile. He smiles back. Your heart swells in your chest to the point of combustion when you see his dimples.
“Then no, I’m not,” you stroke his kiwi hair. “Try again.”
He’s not in the least bit offended. If anything, this is the closest he’s been to fansign Hyunjin the entire night, his chuckle making your heart go into overdrive.
“Now that the official ceremony is over,” Chris gets up and starts putting his clothes on, “let’s bounce.”
“Are you really gonna make us move right now?” Hyunjin whines.
“Of fucking course, I am!” Chris scowls, incredulous that Hyunjin would even dare say something like this. “I still need to fuck her, and all our toys are back home.”
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