#bdsmrelationship

summary — An embarrassing trip to the ER leaves you sitting under harsh fluorescent lights with a very specific, deep ache. While you try to stay composed under the doctor's questioning, Chan stands by, utterly smug and thoroughly proud of the literal medical proof of how well he fucked you.

Pairing — Bangchan x reader

genre — aftermath of smut, established relationship, teasing/praise, humor

cw/tags — referenced rough/deep intimacy, mild medical settings, cervix bruising (mentioned/diagnosed), strong language, smug!chan, praise, suggestive themes, no explicit acts shown, bdsm behavior.

word count - ~650 words

a/n — this is my first time posting a fic like EVER please tell me what do you guys think of it!!

Two Days Ago || Pre- Hospital Scene (the smutt)

The ER waiting room hums with sterile light and low-grade misery. Fluorescent tubes bleach the color from everything. You’re sitting in one of those awful plastic chairs, legs crossed tightly, trying to look like you have a normal, respectable ache. A UTI, maybe. Anything but the truth.

He’s beside you. He hasn’t stopped smiling for two hours. Not a big grin, but a small, persistent, utterly smug curve of his lips. His arm is draped over the back of your chair, his thumb stroking idle circles on your shoulder.

Every time you shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t send a fresh, deep twinge through your lower abdomen, his smile widens just a fraction.

A nurse calls your name. You stand up, wincing at the movement.

“Easy there, tiger,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. The heat in it is immediate and embarrassing. He stands with you, a hand hovering at the small of your back as you walk to the triage door.

In the exam room, under the harsh clinical light, it feels even more absurd. The young doctor, efficient and bored, asks about your symptoms.

“Uh… deep, aching pain. Low. Central.” You gesture vaguely.

“Any unusual discharge? Fever?”

“No. Just… sore. Really, really sore.”

The doctor nods, typing. “When did it start?”

You clear your throat. “About… yesterday morning?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him lean against the wall, arms crossed. He’s looking at the floor, but his shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

The doctor orders an ultrasound. The cold gel, the impersonal press of the wand, the black-and-white screen showing nothing ruptured, nothing torn, just… a healthy, but very angry-looking uterus.

Later, the doctor returns with the verdict. “Well, everything looks structurally fine. No signs of infection or ectopic pregnancy. But there’s some significant inflammation and what looks like a minor contusion… on your cervix.”

The words hang in the air. Contusion on your cervix.

You stare straight ahead, your face flaming.

The doctor, bless her, keeps a perfectly professional tone. “It can happen from… particularly vigorous intercourse or deep penetration. It should heal on its own in a few days. I’ll prescribe a mild anti-inflammatory. Take it easy. Maybe… use a pillow for elevation next time.”

Next time.

You mutter a thanks, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“A contusion,” he repeats, his voice thick with pride and amusement. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “I bruised your fucking cervix, baby. I marked you so deep the doctors can see it.”

You swat at his chest, but there’s no force behind it. “It’s not funny! It hurts!”

“I know it does,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. His laughter softens into a predatory warmth. He nuzzles your neck. “And I’d say I’m sorry, but we both know I’m not. Remember the way you were screaming? The way you clawed my back raw? You wanted it that deep. You begged for it.”

He’s right. And the memory, mixed with the throbbing ache, sends a treacherous pulse of heat between your legs. The worst part is, he sees it. He sees the flush, the quickening of your breath.

His hand slides down, over your hip, his fingers pressing gently into the sore spot low on your belly. You gasp.

“Hurts here, doesn’t it?” he whispers, his eyes locked on yours. “Every little throb is just a reminder of how good I fucked you. Of how hard you came on my cock.” He leans in, his next words a hot promise against your lips. “And the second this little bruise heals up… I’m gonna do it again.”

He helps you off the table, his arm a solid support around your waist as you walk out, prescription in hand. In the parking lot, under the yellow streetlights, he opens the car door for you.

As you sink gingerly into the passenger seat, he bends down, framing your face with his hands, and kisses you—deep, slow, and thoroughly proprietary.

“Best fuck in a hot minute?” he says, pulling back just enough to speak. “Baby, that was the best fuck ever. And we’ve got the medical bill to prove it.”

The drive home is quiet, filled with his satisfied silence and your aching, proud, thoroughly claimed body. The bruise is a secret, exquisite trophy. And his teasing is the ribbon on top.

Discipline is all a man needs.

dear women this is to way to a man's heart. if you spank him everyday he'll be in love with you forever.

Men love being for you, you just need to start doing it to your boyfriends/husbands.

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